Surgical blades slashed deep into the hot rainbow blood. A war-torn body tried in vain to heal, but there was too much weakness, too much damage. With the skull suddenly exposed, the biggest child yanked an iron hammer out of his water jar and swung hard ten times before exposing the brains. Each brain was remarkably similar. They had the same size and a similar elongated shape, covered with tiny hairs that had infiltrated every other brain. They wore the same glossy gray color of something that wasn’t metal or stone, that couldn’t be shattered by human force and that was alive without belonging to the living world.

Divers’ brain was on top, attached to a long armful of ruddy wet meat.

And Divers had won.

Her siblings felt it, knew it. Another pair of cuts, graceless and savage, and she would have popped free from the body, torn loose from her siblings’ minds. But the children with the knives did nothing more. Obeying instructions, they stepped aside while the wounds struggled to heal, and that was the moment when Divers said to her sisters and brothers, “No, I won’t leave you.”

No one else spoke, not with any kind of voice.

The minds had always known how to talk silently to their neighbors, and that was the voice she used then.

“We’ll stay as one and die as one,” she promised.

Decisions were made in those next quiet moments.

Then after more healing, Divers took hold of the mouth, the long tongue, announcing, “We are done.”

The children put down the knives and guns. By the time soldiers arrived, the ravaged body was halfway recovered. An event resembling an election or chemical reaction had run its course. One soul was granted full control over the mouth and motor functions as well as the largest share when it came to decisions and plans. And that soul lifted the gouged body off the mat, telling the papio, “We are finished.”

The doctors were too flustered to think clearly. But all of the children smiled—even those temporarily wearing chains.

“I’m in total charge,” said the new voice, lucid and strong. “But if you should ever try to harm any of us, now or tomorrow—if you raise a blade against us for any reason—none of us will help you again. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

The doctors claimed to understand, and so did the various leaders who arrived over the next days, paying their respects to the reborn child.

And for hundreds of long days, Divers had walked about the world with a measure of freedom, and Divers spoke to whomever she wished, and life became such a pleasure that the Seven inside her began to love everything that they shared.

The man’s words were being dragged through long reaches of secure copper, making his voice even less impressive than usual. Sounding like a shrill boy reading a script, the Archon of Archons told her, “My condolences for you and for your suffering people.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Then aiming for a caring tone, he said, “Prima.”

She bristled whenever the ambitious little man used her given name.

“This is a grave tragedy, a supreme crime,” List continued. “You know I’m not a man given to idle promises, but I swear, there will be justice, Prima.”

Prima was standing at the back of the command center. What was it that made a simple sound into your name, and why did you hate your opponents mangling your identity with their unworthy lips?

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“What have you heard from the other Districts?” he asked.

“Every Archon is promising every resource. And their offices and mine are coordinating our united response.”

“Wonderful.” List didn’t ask for specifics. No sane leader could spell out what “united” meant.

“Every District is on full alert,” she said.

“Naturally,” he said, papers shuffling near his microphone. “In fact, Baffle District has front-line ships patrolling the fringe of papio airspace.”

Prima hadn’t heard that news. With two curling fingers, she caught the attention of a young lieutenant, bringing him close.

“I only wish we had our forces stationed in your District,” he continued.

“They’ll arrive soon enough,” she said.

What might have been a click of the tongue came into the earpiece. “This is the not the time for doubts. But if you’d allowed us to base a portion of our forces inside your territory—”

“Destroying precedents older than any tree,” she said, invoking that hoary cliché.

“A mixed force, a balanced force. Every District would have a picked contingent.”

But Baffle District and the Mists, Bluetear and the rest of her allies would send only an elderly scout ship or two. Only the District of Districts had the resources and buffer zones to station forces outside their home berths. List was making noise for its own sake, and Prima had her own fine reasons to say nothing, jotting a question down on privacy paper, folding it and sealing it before handing the slip to the waiting officer.

The lieutenant nodded, put the slip into a pocket and left.

“How many wings have you seen?” asked List.

“Three wings patrolling near the reef,” she said. “Other machines were running on their landings. But they’ve been put back to bed again.”

“And the papio,” he began.

“Yes?”

“Have you had been in contact with them?”

Prima threw her gaze out the long windows, but all she saw was a small man made sick with ambition.

“Just tell me,” she said. “What are you hunting here?”

Laughter was the response, or the wires invented that noise out of the random vibrations. Either way, List seemed to enjoy himself. “The coral-shitters are making outrageous claims. They’re innocent, they are blameless, and we’re fools for thinking whatever it is we’re thinking.”

The tone was peculiarly aggressive, and important.

“Our local consulate sent everybody to my door,” Prima admitted. “Maybe they’re lying, but these diplomats seem terrified. The same as you, they claim to be helpless spectators to this ugliness.”

“Of course,” List said.

“I insisted on their help. I want to understand who would gut my district, brutally murdering so many, all in the useless attempt to kill one of my citizens.”

“How did the papio respond?” List asked.

“They showed incisors and claimed my best allies were responsible.”

The hiss of the wire ended with a curt, “Nonsense.”

“Of course I told them that they were mistaken,” said Prima. “Our allies and our friends of convenience have no motivation here. But the papio assured me that my species is afraid of the boy, that certain old notions don’t relish what he represents. And that’s why they want him burnt up and lost to our world.”

Suddenly loud, seemingly close, the Archon of Archons said, “That’s not my wish, madam. Not in the least.”

“I understand that. Believe me, I do.”

“You know my feelings. The boy’s a treasure, and I’ve always thought he would be safe and happy living with me.”

“You can’t say anything else,” she said. “Not and remain believable.”

List sighed.

A second voice intruded, shouting with that hard distinct bark. “Is the little fellow safe?”

King was yelling.

“Diamond’s quite safe,” she said.

“The one blessing in this very miserable day,” said List.

Sad to think, she had doubts about this supposed blessing. Without the boy, the future would become more predictable. Not that anything in the world would ever find its way back to normal again, but the human mind kept searching for the expected and the boring—that’s where most of life’s blessings were waiting.

With a careful tone, List said, “Madam.”

A blackwood cabinet stood near Prima, sporting rows of important lights. A few lights were beginning to flicker.

“Where’s the boy now, if I might ask?”

“Sitting across from me,” she lied. “His father and his teacher are here, and his monkey is asleep on his lap.”