Diamond whispered, “I can see the future.”

“What’s that?” Karlan asked.

“I know what’s going to happen,” he said. “Not about tomorrow, but with the bigger things.”

Everybody but Good stared at him. Even the cook was interested.

But Diamond was just talking. Words came out of his mouth, except they weren’t his words. He didn’t think before saying, “Fire.”

“What about fire?” Karlan interrupted.

“Nothing,” said the boy, wishing he had stayed quiet.

Elata stared at him, almost smiling.

The cook leaned forward. “There’s fire in our future? Is that what you see coming?”

Then Seldom was giggling and groaning, saying, “Well, really. Really? Who doesn’t see that?”

Flesh believed in time.

What was alive, no matter how simple, held deep confidence in the rhythmic changes of light and water, the passage of days and the inevitability of night. Time informed existence, defined its promise and framed every limitation. Complex, self-aware life went so far as to stare into the future, imagining what might be, and occasionally planning for events that wouldn’t occur for one day or a thousand, or more likely, would never happen at all.

Great events were sweeping the world, but old schedules remained intact, and the papio were perhaps the most methodical creatures—serving the metronome, the calendar, and their deep need for the illusion for order.

That morning, a new child was given to the Eight.

“Tradition put you here,” Divers instructed. “You’ve been granted the honor of serving the Corona’s largest, most helpless child. Except we aren’t helpless, and all you need to do is to stay close but stay out of our way too.”

“Yes, I know,” said a tiny voice.

“Don’t bow to us, and don’t ever strut in front of us,” she continued. “Just come forward now and give us your name. And if you want, ask questions. Regardless what you ask, we’ll pretend these are wise questions, fresh as the coral blossom sprays, and they’ll be answered however we choose.”

The child was a little larger than most for his age, and instead of red or pink hair, his scalp was covered with the darkest brown tangle of twisting hairs. In their life, the Eight had never moved from this isolated, thinly populated terrain, but they understood the reef through books and the stories told by others.

Judging by appearances, this boy came from the world’s farthest ends.

“Zakk,” he called himself.

The Eight and the boy were standing inside an empty hanger. The resident wing was destroyed during the raid on the Ivory Station. Its replacement would fly its mission today before dropping onto the tarmac outside, and that wouldn’t happen for a long while. The hanger’s doors had been left open. Vast golden eyes were turned forwards. Those eyes wore a papio face, strong and feminine and agreeably handsome. The hair was dense and pink, though up close it looked more like frizzy rope mixed with peculiar silks and spider webs and pale red worms wriggling slowly in the flesh. Half-trousers and a half-halter and new sandals were the only clothes. No tattoo ink or piercing could take hold in the brown flesh, and there was no way to build scars. Smooth flesh and huge eyes made the Eight resemble a toddler—a toddler built on a fantastic scale. But the toddler’s clumsiness was gone. Balance was effortless, and speed mattered, and Divers insisted that the Eight were ready to move faster than anybody expected. To that end, during the night, when untrusted eyes weren’t watching, she would force this body to climb steep slopes and sprint down the craggy backsides of the ridges.

The Eight leaned back, each hand holding a telescope, twin black tubes raised to the eyes. Both tubes were moving, sweeping the scene for anything interesting, and hopefully important.

Something about the scene made the new boy uneasy. His feet were moving, and the yellow eyes kept dancing, watching the open air.

“You’re safe,” said Divers.

“Am I?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled, telling him, “We’re dressed in shadow, Zakk. Even if the enemy noticed us, and they can’t, we’re shielded by coral and the hanger’s iron walls.”

“A lost bullet could kill me,” said the boy.

“It won’t. We promise.”

Support crews and soldiers were working in the depths of the hanger, loud, brash voices suddenly rising. Their noise drew the boy’s gaze.

Divers pulled his attentions back where they belonged, which was outside. “You’re from the City of Round Roads, we think.”

“Yes,” said Zakk.

“Your parents belong to the League, and one of them, probably your father, is a member in high standing with the government there.”

Zakk blinked. “You must have read about me.”

“No, we’re just guessing,” Divers confessed.

“But I’m not here because of my father. I’m qualified on my own.” The boy’s feet squirmed against the rubberized floor, and he stared at the giant papio body—at the long hair and the child’s face and the brown flesh that was entirely one color and one flavor. And in particular, the boy watched those long, quick-moving telescopes.

“Ask questions, Zakk.”

The boy nodded. “I think it’s interesting. You can see in two directions at once.”

“It’s easy, if you have multiple minds.”

“Those are huge telescopes,” said Zakk.

“We don’t hear a question.”

“Are you Divers?”

There was no point denying it. “You’ll never talk to anyone else. Other voices lead to confusion.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Is it, Zakk?”

The boy said, “I’ve read about all of you.”

“Wonderful.”

He began to name each important name.

“They gave you the standard briefing,” Divers said, interrupting.

“And Tritian,” Zakk said. “I read all I could about him.”

There were reasons to avoid this subject, but Divers decided on straightforward questions. “Did somebody steer you toward that subject?”

“No.”

“Studying my brother was your idea?”

“His blood is orange,” the boy said, as if that was ample reason. Then he added, “I saw a sample inside the doctor’s book. It was just a little dried spot, but I thought it looked very pretty. And then I read about Tritian, and he seems wonderfully strange.”

“Stranger than Divers?”

Happy with the subject, the boy grinned. “I only meant that he’s very different from the rest of you.”

“In some ways,” she allowed.

“In many ways,” the boy said.

The crews and soldiers had finished their work, and when they fell silent, Divers looked back at them. The creatures were resting on their haunches while staring at the Eight. Several smiled until Divers looked directly at them, and then they stood tall and silent for a moment, making themselves feel brave before they retreated into the darkness.

Others emerged from a doorway—a few high officers and government people had come out to greet the morning, gathering beyond the hanger’s iron door. They were conversing with mouths and long arms. Divers found the subject interesting. This would be a fine moment to approach, offering to help with their difficult day.

Zakk followed closely, chattering about Tritian’s blistering hot acidic blood and the orange muscles that also worked like hearts and the other organs—muscles that could live outside the body for days. One silent brother absorbed to the unexpected praise. The other six ignored that half-informed noise. Their voices were what mattered, and they spoke to one another—one busy shared murmur discussing possibilities and practicalities about important matters that this boy would never understand.

The officers were still angry about yesterday’s disasters. Government people saw nothing but ugly ramifications. Both sides agreed that war wasn’t their goal or anyone’s policy. The policy seemed to be rage, every papio face betraying a combustive mood.

The ranking general gestured at the two vast telescopes, asking, “Have you seen anything new?”