Justine rose up into Golden Park beside one of the white pillars along the Outer Circle Canal. The melded domes of the Orchard Palace gleamed with a burnished sheen behind her as she waited. After all the weeks of anticipation, half convincing herself that she might have decades to wait, she was finally giving in to her body’s hormonal rush of anxiety as she watched the starship appear above the Port district. It was flying a lot slower now, though its wingtips were still trailing faint vapor trails across Makkathran’s cloudless sky. Wait-wings?

The starship circled around over Ysidro district and began a steep descent. It was suffering the same way Silverbird had, Justine decided. The flight wasn’t as stable or as slow as it ought to be; the Void was glitching its drive units. Once or twice she sucked down a sharp breath as it wobbled in the air. Then long landing struts popped out, and it dropped the last ten meters out of the sky to skid a way along the thick tangle of grass before coming to a halt not a hundred meters from the Silverbird.

A circular airlock opened in the starship’s midsection, and some old-fashioned aluminum stairs slid out. People trotted down, radiating a mixture of joy and disbelief that Justine’s farsight recognized easily. It was identical to her own.

There were nine of them standing together on the grass as she approached, a surprising number for a ship that size even if they’d used suspension. Then their farsights perceived her, and they turned to greet her as she jogged over.

Shouts of welcome reached her when she was still twenty meters away. Several were waving jubilantly. A couple of them even started to run toward her. They all seemed to be smiling wildly.

Not true, she corrected herself, and pushed her sunglasses up.

The big man standing at the back with a formidable shield around his thoughts-he wasn’t smiling. Nor was the one who looked as if he’d been in a bad street fight and lost. But the others were all genuinely happy to see her, which was good enough.

The one who was in the lead flung his arms wide and gave her an effusive hug. Something oddly familiar about his face-

“Justine Burnelli,” he exclaimed. “It’s been awhile.”

And that smile was so sinfully teasing, she couldn’t help but grin back. “Sorry. Who …?”

“We met at the Second Chance departure party,” he said wickedly. “Oscar Monroe, remember.”

“Oh. My. God. Oscar? Is that you? I thought you were still … I mean.” She shrugged awkwardly.

“Yeah, they let me out eighty years back. I didn’t make a fuss about it.”

“Good to see you, Oscar,” she said sincerely. “Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Nobody does. I think that’s the point of being me these days.”

She laughed, then glanced over his shoulder at the others. “Inigo, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Inigo didn’t go for the whole hugging scene. He stuck his hand out formally. That was when Justine realized she might be slightly overdoing the whole Queen of the Wild City act. All she wore was boots, a small black bikini top, and some denim shorts with the cattle prod, a pistol, and a machete hanging off her belt. The sun had tanned her skin a deep honey brown at the same time it’d bleached her hair almost white, and that hadn’t been styled since she arrived; these days she just tied it back with some straps in a loose tail. Quite a change for someone who back at the start of the twenty-first century used to spend over a hundred thousand dollars a year on personal grooming, and that was before her clothes bill. All in all, she must’ve been quite a fright sight.

Slightly more self-consciously now, she allowed Oscar to introduce everyone else. Araminta-two-two!-was interesting, the Knights Guardian were about what she expected, Troblum she didn’t know what to make of, Corrie-Lyn she took an instant mild dislike to, and Aaron just plain scared her. She wasn’t alone in that, judging by the way everyone else reacted to him.

“All right,” Corrie-Lyn said to Aaron. “We made it. We’re here. Now for the love of the Lady, will you tell us why we’re here?”

Justine was expecting Aaron to smile wisely at least, as any normal human would. Instead he turned his bruised eyes to Inigo. “We’re here so that you can bring Him forth,” he said hoarsely.

“What?” a startled Inigo asked. “Oh, sweet Lady! You are joking.”

“No. He’s the only one who can help us now. And you’re the one who has his true memory; you are connected with him. Especially here. You can reach into the Void’s memory layer where he was. You don’t even have to reset the Void anymore, which was the original intention. We know that now; Justine showed us this with Kazimir.”

Corrie-Lyn went to Inigo and took both of his hands in hers. “Do it,” she whispered fiercely.

“The Waterwalker is gone,” Inigo said with infinite sorrow. “He is a dream now. Nothing more.”

“You can bring him back,” Aaron said. “You have to.”

– to land on the ground at the foot of the Eyrie tower. His ankles gave way, and he stumbled, falling forward. Strong third hands reached out to steady him. But there was no crowd as there always was, as there should have been. No family. No Kristabel.

“Honious! I am wrong,” Edeard stammered miserably. In his haste to escape the horror of the hospital in Half Bracelet Lane, he had somehow misjudged the twisting passage through the Void’s memory and finished up … He looked at the small group of people staring at him; they were dressed so strangely-yet not. His farsight swept out. Finitan was not atop the tower. He scoured the buildings in Haxpen and Fiacre to find them empty. The city was silent, devoid of its eternal telepathic chatter. He couldn’t sense a single mind anywhere save the nine directly in front of him. “No!” He spun around to face the ziggurat, farsight frantically probing every room on the tenth floor. They were empty of people, furniture …

“Where are they?” he bellowed. “Where is my family? Kristabel!” His third hand drew back, ready to strike instantly.

One of the peculiar group walked forward, his thoughts calm, welcoming, reassuring. A tall man with a handsome face-a known face, though it was darker than it had been before, and the hair was brown instead of light ginger as it ought to be. Such trivia was irrelevant, for this was a face that could not possibly be here, not in the real world.

Edeard’s third hand withered away. “No,” he whispered. “This cannot be. You are a dream.”

The man smiled. There were tears in his eyes. “As are you.”

“Inigo?”

“Edeard!”

“My brother.” They embraced, Edeard hugging the man as if his life depended on it. Inigo was the only thing that made sense in the world right now; he was the anchor. “Hold me,” Edeard begged. “Do not let me go. The world is falling apart.”

“It’s not, I promise. I am here to get you through this.”

Edeard’s thoughts were awhirl, panicked, dazed. “The life you lived,” he choked out.

“Nothing compared to yours,” Inigo assured him.

“But … those worlds you showed me, the wonders that dwell there. It’s all real?”

“Yes. It’s all real. That is the universe outside the Void. The place where the ships that brought Rah and the Lady came from.”

“Oh, dear Lady.”

“I know this is a shock. I’m sorry for that. There is no way I could have warned you.”

Edeard nodded slowly and moved back to gaze incredulously at the one person he’d believed was forever beyond reach. “I thought you were someone the Lady had sent to comfort me as I slept. You showed me what kind of life could be built if only we tried. And I have tried so hard-” His voice broke. He was close to weeping.

“You did more than that, Waterwalker, so much more,” a young woman said. She had dark red hair and a pretty freckled face, and she looked at him so worshipfully, he was astounded. “You succeeded.”