A woman sat behind a high table. She was smiling and laughing with the other people in the office, and then civilians came through the door and she turned into a different woman. She wasn’t old and she wasn’t young. A hard stare greeted the newcomers, and she glanced at the children before noticing the man walking with them. One boy earned a long gaze. She spoke to the tall man while eyeing Diamond, asking, “How can we help, sir?”

“We’re looking for this boy’s father,” Nissim began.

“Which boy?” she asked.

Nissim put his hands on Diamond’s shoulders. “The man works for your agency. From what I’ve heard, he’s one of your best.”

“I know everybody on our staff,” she boasted.

“Merit,” he said.

The name startled. Everyone in the room turned, people whispering while the woman behind the desk continued her examination of the unusual-looking boy.

“Do you know Merit?” Nissim asked.

“Oh, I do.” The woman blinked and sighed, collecting her wits. “I’m just a little surprised. We’ve heard about his son . . . but . . . but . . . ”

Diamond fidgeted.

She walked around her desk, wanting to touch him. But after lifting her hands, she stopped herself. “You’re too sick to travel,” she said.

“Is his father here?” Nissim pressed.

“No.”

“We were told he killed a corona.”

“I can’t believe anybody knows that. Rain soaked our wires. We’ve been out of communication with the far stations since last night.” But that didn’t seem like enough of an answer, so she admitted, “Merit’s late coming home, and that usually means success.”

A couple co-workers gave preliminary cheers.

The woman couldn’t resist any longer. She touched Diamond’s warm forehead and ran the back of her other hand across his cheek and down his neck, admitting quietly, “You’re not what I expected.”

“I want to see my father,” said Diamond.

“And I wouldn’t be surprised if Merit stepped through this door by the middle of the afternoon.”

From the back of the office, one man shouted, “He was hunting near Bright River.”

“Unless he’s gone somewhere else,” the woman countered. “Coronas go where they want, and our people have to follow. The only certainty is that every day brings change.”

Diamond backed away, escaping the caring hands.

The woman was offended. “And where’s your mother today?”

“I don’t know.”

She blinked and sighed. Then she said, “Well,” and looked at the other civilians.

“You can appreciate our dilemma,” Nissim pointed out. “His mother disappeared last night or this morning. Nobody knows where she is, and that’s why we’re searching for Merit.”

“Bright River Station,” the man repeated.

The woman lifted a hand, demanding silence. Then from some secret reservoir came pity, more pity than anyone would have guessed she was capable of. Her old face softened and the eyes became bright and sad. After a painful sigh, she said, “I’ll tell you what, my boy. I’ll dispatch a fletch to find your father and bring him here. Would that be good enough?”

Diamond said, “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“My mother’s gone, and I need to see my father,” he insisted.

“Well, we might . . . ” She concentrated, piecing together the bureaucratic excuses necessary for this indulgence. Then another thought occurred to her. Turning to Nissim, she asked, “And who are you, sir?”

“The boy’s bodyguard,” he said.

Eyes narrowed, her mind wrestled with the unexpected.

“And we’re his friends,” Elata added.

The woman looked at Diamond again. “I suppose you want them going with you?”

Diamond said, “Yes.”

And she shook her head in resignation. “I want you to understand. If your father were anybody else, I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t even wrestle with the thought of doing this. And I would probably laugh at all of you before I sent you on your way.”

Official papers were yanked from an iron box, and the woman wrote important words on them and stamped them decisively, leaving evidence that each document carried the weight and authority of a very important office. Then she handed the stack to Nissim, giving directions to the hanger before adding, “If somebody wants to doubt you, come back here immediately.”

“And we’ll try something else?”

“Oh, no,” she said, disgusted by the suggestion. “I’ll burn the evidence and throw you out.”

The four of them left the office. Diamond kept close to the Master, unsure about their destination but happy to be moving again. Distance was being covered. Surely Father was getting closer with every step.

“I can’t believe we’re going to Bright River,” Seldom said.

“Inside a fletch,” said Elata.

Diamond didn’t know what a fletch was, or a river, and he wanted to ask. But then the hallway ended, and they had to climb inside a tiny room. An old man wearing a gray and white uniform stood against the back wall. He looked at them without noticing anything. “Destination?” he asked.

“The hanger,” said Nissim.

“Shut the door yourself,” said the man.

Nissim dragged down a wooden grating, and the man pulled a switch and pushed one blood-colored button, something about those various motions causing the entire room to leap upwards.

“Is this a fletch?” Diamond asked.

Seldom laughed. “No.”

They started to rise faster, and Diamond felt his legs working. To Elata, he said, “I’m heavier.”

“We’re going up,” she told him.

He knew their direction, but how this was tied to his weight was another mystery.

They passed a big room. People were standing on the far side of the grating, but they vanished before he could have a good look at them. Then he saw different floors, some with long hallways and others with big offices full of sitting people, and there were other offices where nobody was visible. The final stretch had nothing to see but smooth dark wood, and then the elevator shook hard and stopped beside the largest room of all, endless and noisy and smelling badly. Someone screamed a harsh, unfamiliar word. Other men laughed. The old man behind them said, “Hanger,” and motioned for Nissim to raise the door.

A young man was sitting on a tall stool. Diamond recognized the soldier’s uniform and the soldier’s bearing—a wooden stiffness to his posture beneath a hard suspicious face that would fit on any toy warrior.

“Passes,” the man demanded.

Nissim handed him every piece of paper.

The soldier flipped through the stack and wrote in one corner, and pointing with his free arm, he gave the papers back.

That arm had to be followed. Nissim walked fast, Diamond remaining close. The hanger was huge and full of busy men and curses and fumes and filthy tools and racks of clean tools that were older than any man. The ceiling was remote, and the far wall had giant doors, as many opened as closed. Full-sized blimps hung in the air outside, tethered to landings and one another. But more impressive were the little blimps that sat indoors—sleek, arrow-shaped machines with wings and elaborate tail fins and windows on the nose and propellers that seemed too large for their bodies.

“Those are fletches,” Seldom said.

“Fast, fast, fast,” Elata said.

But the ships were stationary, and some couldn’t move now. Men in red uniforms were tearing apart engines and tinkering with fuel lines, and they were talking to one another with rough, familiar voices, and when the little parade walked past, they would stop working to watch. Some were curious why three children were here. The obvious answer was to supply entertainment, which was why one fellow showed them his back as they approached, and then for no obvious reason, screamed in agony.

Diamond jumped.

The mechanic turned towards him, holding his prosthetic arm with his surviving hand. Fake wooden fingers were clenched in a fist. His stump was short and hidden inside the floppy sleeve of his shirt. “Oh, damn. Creators, damn you! Look what you’ve done to me, bastards!”