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  Instead, I gently pry her hands from my wrists and reset my new Vader clock in its box. I can’t sit here with Mom forever; I must focus on other stuff. Like finishing that magnetic enhancer. Standing, I gently rest my hand on Mom’s shoulder.

  “You need some sleep,” I say softly. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Mom follows my guidance and takes to her feet. Leaving our small kitchen, we step out onto the main factory floor. It’s an open space that’s two stories tall and a quarter-mile long. Every inch is covered in a jungle of vats and pipes. Along the second story, the walls are lined with small offices that overlook the floor, all connected by an open catwalk.

  Together, Mom and I step up the spiral staircase to the second floor. We converted two of the chambers up there into bedrooms. The rest are all mini libraries with books I’ve reclaimed from RCM1. There’s a room for computer programming, chemistry, mechanical engineering, you name it. Mom used to love reading new books and quizzing me on stuff. She’d also spend hours inventing in the old chem lab across the factory floor.

  Sadly, those days are long over.

  Setting my hand on Mom’s elbow, I guide her to her bedroom door. My mother’s steps are shaky and her eyes unfocused, so it’s slow going. Eventually, I help her into bed as well. A tiny window casts a square of light across her frail frame and thin blanket. Mom’s shoulders rise and fall in a slow cadence.

  A shiver rolls up my spine. What if Mom gets worse?

  Images flash in my mind. I picture the Merciless guards again, only now they’re leading Mom away. A rope of worry tightens around my torso. With a force of will, I shake off the thought.

  If Mom gets worse, I’ll deal with it then. For now, I have other concerns, like that magnetic enhancer. Turning around, I head out the door and cross the catwalk to my bedroom.

  I have a deadline to meet.

  Chapter 7

  Less than an hour later, I’m seated on my bedroom floor. Shelves of specialty alarm clocks line the walls, along with one small cot. I lift my magnetic enhancer from my lap, giving it one last scan. What a mess. This thing could be abstract art sculpture called Wire Octopus Drinks Too Much Coffee.

  I shrug. Chaotic is the typical look for my inventions. My stuff is never pretty; it simply works. And this magnetic enhancer just passed all my diagnostics with ease, including the new dark matter brackets. A warm sense of pride seeps through my heart.

  It’s done.

  Tapping my smart watch, I summon Fritz again. Music sounds before his holographic image appears. This time, he isn’t kicking anyone to death. Bonus.

  “What did I say about electronic comms?” asks Fritz. “Come down to my office.”

  “I am not hauling my butt around in the middle of the night. Just send a drone. Besides, if you really wanted me in the office, you’d never have taken my call.”

  Fritz’s beady eyes glare at me through the hologram. “Show some respect. I just spent hours paying off government officials for you. Even Godwin doesn’t remember you now. Can you imagine what that took? And still, you won’t follow basic protocol and see me face to face.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. That little revelation from Fritz raises a good question.

  Which I probably shouldn’t ask.

  Actually, considering how cranky Fritz is, I definitely shouldn’t ask this question.

  In fact, a younger version of Mom’s voice echoes through my memories, saying: “Meimi Archer, stop asking questions.”

  But I can’t help it; I ask the question.

  “How’d you fix Godwin’s memory?”

  Fritz’s voice lowers. “Never telling you that.”

  “Did you bribe him to say he doesn’t remember, or did you use that new memory wipe technology?” I’ve been dying to learn how that stuff works.

  “Meimi, I swear on my grave, the next words out of your mouth better be thanking me for cleaning up your crap. Because if you keep pushing, I’ll tell the Scythe you missed your deadline. I’ve had it.”

  And although I like asking questions, even I know when to stop. Besides, there are other ways to find out how Fritz fixed Godwin. Something for later.

  “Thank you,” I say solemnly. “Now, can you please send a drone for this thing? If I go out this time of night, I’ll hit thieves or worse. Then you’ll have even more trouble to deal with.”

  Fritz exhales another of his long, put-upon sighs. “Fine.”

  Seconds later, a tapping sounds. No question what that is. Rising, I cross the room and open my bedroom window. Sure enough, one of Fritz’s drones waits outside. A massive silver hawk. Swooping inside, the fake bird lands atop my dresser. Once settled, the hawk’s belly snaps open to reveal a hidden transport compartment. It’s a bit of a squeeze, yet I’m able to get my magnetic enhancer inside.

  “All done,” I announce. The bird takes off.

  The hologram version of Fritz stares at me for moment too long. Genuine regret seems to flash across his face, but it’s gone too quickly to be certain. Besides, I’m not convinced Fritz is capable of feeling guilt.

  “Bye, Meims.” His hologram disappears.

  With Fritz gone, I should collapse onto my cot for some well-needed sleep. Plus, I often get those superpower dreams with my mystery guy, so you’d think I’d want to snooze right away. Not happening. Instead nervous energy hums through my body. I pace a line on the concrete floor, my thoughts racing. This is how I feel when I leave a Bunsen burner on or a power line ungrounded.

  Something isn’t right; I just don’t know what.

  Pulling out my data pad, I quickly scan the news feeds. There’s nothing about RCM1. That’s good. Still, I don’t allow government spider bots or drones in the factory, so I’m not dialed into the main Authority information line. It’s just too risky to break in when there are safer ways to access the same data feed directly. That means one thing.

  I’ll have to go to school tomorrow. That place is crawling with government tech that I can tap without leaving any incriminating electronic signatures. But that means my hermit-self must come up from her basement lair to interact with other people her age.

  Ugh.

  My uneasy feeling deepens as my thoughts return to the Lacerator. Maybe that’s what has me so cranked up. Did I truly mind-meld with that thing? My scientific brain quickly comes to an answer.

  Fritz was right. It was all an illusion.

  My brain probably short-circuited due to adrenaline overload. Somehow I escaped that situation and my mind wants the reality of it all to remain a mystery. Got it. When people are pushed to extremes, odd things happen.

  With that thought, warm waves of comfort move through my limbs. The more I think about it, the more I know I’m right. There’s nothing to worry about between me and the Lacerator.

  Finally, I settle into my cot for a serious rest. Soon I’m enveloped in yet another lifelike—and totally amazing—dream. Unlike my waking life, it features a very handsome guy. I won’t remember much in the morning, but right now, I’m not complaining.

  Ah, dreamland. So much better than reality.

  Chapter 8

  Now, I have my share of routine dreams. Like showing up to school without any pants. Or getting lost in the maze of vats that cover the Ozymandias factory floor. They’re all a little psychedelic too: walls morph, faces change, and noises vanish. You know, the classic dream stuff.

  Then there are my night visions of the boy.

  And those are incredibly lifelike.

  Sure, I can never remember his name when I wake up. In fact, I’m lucky if I can recall a few snippets of anything in the morning. There are superpowers and a hot alien, that’s pretty much all I get. But once I’m asleep, like I am right now? I savor every last detail.

  His name is Thorne.

  This time, my dream of him begins in a small domed room. The walls shimmy and arc, like they’re breathing. Then I remember. Everything here is made from shifting fibers.

  A jolt of realiz
ation hits me. When I saw the Lacerator today, it was contained in a box made of this same stuff. Moving threads.

  I look down, seeing a thin haze of blue particles surrounding me. The name of these tiny creatures appears in a flash. The Sentient. They’re miniature combinations of tech and organic matter that work in a hive mind. For some reason, they keep pulling my consciousness here to another planet. That name becomes clear as well. Umbra.

  My dream-self then comes to a conclusion that’s very different from its waking counterpart. My connection with the Lacerator was real. All of what happened at RCM1 is directly related to these dreams, which are no dreams at all.

  Everything is so clear to me in my dreamland. I make a solemn vow.

  Remember this in the morning, Meimi. The Lacerator is from Umbra. My power is a connection to the Sentient. All of it is real.

  Some small part of me knows this is a long shot. I never remember my dreams during the daytime. Even so, that won’t stop me from trying.

  My attention focuses back onto the domed room, mostly because of its solo inhabitant. In the center of the round floor there stands Thorne. He’s tall and broad shouldered with limbs that are roped with strength. The muscle part is hard to miss since he’s bare chested and holding a sword. Thorne has a square face, strong jawline, olive skin, and large brown eyes. He’s a little older than I am, maybe eighteen or so. Like always, his hair is cut in short military style.

  “Begin,” he commands.

  The brown threads of the floor come to life, rising up into the shape of a sparring partner. Thorne has fought these before. The partners are computerized battle routines called wicks, and they’re used for training. Thorne bows to his faceless opponent. The sparring partner does the same.

  For my part, I stand by the wall, well out of the action. Thorne never notices me in my dreams. That’s fine. I’m just happy to ogle from a distance. I’m not sure why the Sentient take me to Thorne. After so many years of dreams, I’m not sure I care, either. Watching this boy is a balm to my soul. It doesn’t matter if I never meet him. We’re connected somehow, and in my solitary life, that’s enough for me.

  Thorne begins a series of warm-up lunges, followed by a speed round of thrusts and parries. His wick keeps pace, which is pretty impressive. All too soon, we’re interrupted.

  The wall to my right shimmies with more force. The threads making up the panel divide, like curtains that are pulling apart. Through this new opening, another figure walks into the room.

  Thorne’s Mother, Janais.

  She’s tall and broad-shouldered, just like her son. Not for the first time, I marvel at her strong cheekbones, copper skin, and long neck. She wears a brown robe made of the same shifting fibers as everything else. The garment’s train twists as it follows behind her. A lace-like set of threads weave along her neck.

  For a few seconds, Janais watches her son practice. Then she speaks. “Your reaction times are getting better,” she says in her deep alto.

  Here’s what Janais really means by that. Thorne has two brothers, Justice and Slate. Wielding the Sentient is the currency of power here in Umbra. Both Justice and Slate command far more Sentient than Thorne. Justice wields battle Sentient, while Slate controls ones for seeing the future. Thorne wields a little of all four Sentient varieties—black for battle, silver for knowledge, blue for visions, and red for danger—but not enough to perform any major tasks.

  Thorne keeps on practicing. Sweat glistens down his back. “Why are you here, Mother?”

  “You must convince Justice. Your older brother listens to you.”

  “Convince him to kill father? No one can do that.” Thorne makes another lunge at the wick and misses. Big mistake. The sparring dummy gets a strike in on Thorne’s left shoulder. That’s the first serious hit the wick has gotten in. I know why. This conversation upsets Thorne, which is totally understandable.

  Who wants to kill their own father?

  Janais presses on. “That’s why the three of you must do it together. You, Justice, and Slate. Be secretive and surprise him.” She lifts her chin, but there’s no missing the wobble in her voice. Janais cares for her husband. “Your father is suffering. This is the only way to give him peace.”

  A sense of sadness weighs down my bones. Thorne’s father, Cole, is the Emperor of the Omniverse, the universe of universes. As such, Cole acts as both guardian and gardener for the many worlds under his domain. Basically, he prunes back parallel universes that could threaten other worlds. Sadly, the unique set of Sentient he uses for this purpose are eating away his mind. For months now, Janais has pressed for a mercy killing.

  Thorne moves into an aggressive set of strikes. The wick steps backward. “Father may be saved yet. Slate thinks there’s hope.”

  “Your baby brother is a dreamer.”

  “His visions often come true.”

  “Only when he has them time and again. But Slate only had one vision—just one—where there was a transcendent mate. A brief flash of a single reality where Justice found his transcendent, a mystery woman could match Justice’s power, making my eldest son strong enough to defeat Cole without killing him. That’s a false dream. Transcendents don’t exist.”

  Thorne strikes a killing blow through the wick’s chest. The sparring dummy melts back into the floor. Thorne turns to his mother, pulling in deep breaths from exertion. “But what if Slate’s vision is true? Justice could have someone who balances him out. Someone who does—“

  “What I thought I could do for your father?” Janais shakes her head. “I wanted to be his transcendent. I wasn’t. There’s no such thing, my son.”

  “My brothers and I are all in agreement. We’ll help patrol the omniverse, keeping the worlds safe. That will buy us time to find a transcendent for Justice.”

  “That won’t work,” counters Janais. “Cole already fears Justice will assassinate him. He keeps attacking your brother. Soon one of them will perish. You will choose which.” She steps closer. “You fight well in a simulation, my son. No one works harder at their studies. But that is all you can do. There are palace servants with more power over the Sentient. The only way your life has purpose is if you convince your brothers to act when the time comes. You must save Justice. He’s the eldest. It’s his destiny to be Emperor.”

  Thorne scrubs his hand over his face. “I would never stand by while Justice died.”

  Janais’s head slumps forward with relief. “Don’t wait too long, then. And please don’t place your hopes in those silly visions from Slate.” She snaps her fingers; a section of wall opens up once again. Janais starts to leave; then she pauses once more. “I was harsh before. I know you work hard to compensate for your lack of power. If only you weren’t so weak with Sentient, you could have been the greatest Emperor of them all.”

  Harsh words, but Janais is a harsh empress. It works for her.

  With that, Thorne’s mother steps out the opening in the wall.

  Once she’s gone, my vision ends too.

  For the rest of the night, I dream that I’m in the Ozymandias factory, searching for a book in one of my libraries. I tear through shelf after self, but the books transform into birds as soon as I pull them free. Even so, I don’t stop.

  This is important. I must find the right book. It has something to do with the Lacerator. I must remember.

  But no matter what I do, I can’t recall a thing.

  Chapter 9

  7 am.

  My collection of old Earther alarm clocks goes berserk, right on schedule. I grin into my pillow. These wake-up calls are the best.

  “Good morning,” cries one clock. “It’s Howdy Doody time!”

  “Who’s asleep in a pineapple under the sea?” sings another.

  And finally, the best and newest addition to my collection.

  “Luke, I am your wake-up call.”

  Reaching under my mattress, I pull out my data pad and scan for news. There’s still nothing about RCM1. Yes. Say what you want about Fritz, t
he guy does deliver. Then again, my data pad isn’t enough total proof. I still must hit school and check the official information streams. Again, that means leaving my hidey-hole of scientific joy and interacting with other kids my age.

  Yuck.

  Swinging my legs over the side of my cot, I haul my butt out of bed and shut down the alarm clocks. This morning, that task isn’t so easy. My fingers keep fumbling over buttons, which comes no surprise. After all, I only got a few hours of sleep. Now it’s like my brain is stuffed with cotton balls or something.

  So.

  Tired.

  My woozy head tries to process what’s happening. Why was I up so late again? Oh, that’s right. Quality time with magnetic enhancers and the Lacerator.

  Another banner day for Meimi Archer.

  Memories knock at the back of my mind. Last night, I had another one of those vivid alien romance dreams. Straining my thoughts, I try to recapture some shadow of what I saw. There was a handsome boy involved and something about the Lacerator, too. No matter how hard I try, I can’t recall a single thing.

  Oh, well. I can try to remember something later. Right now, school awaits.

  Leaving behind thoughts of my dream boy, I drag myself into my regular morning detox shower. The spray smells like rotten eggs and burns your skin, but it’s the only way to live out here and not glow with radioactive waste. Afterwards, I apply my chelation balm and slog through getting dressed. The Authority forbids manufacture of new clothing except for the military, so my jeans, boots, and I Heart Science T-shirt all sport holes and stains.

  Once ready, I half-sleepwalk downstairs to the kitchen. My heart lightens to discover that Miss Edith is here early.

  “Morning, Miss Edith.”

  “Greetings.” She takes a long sip of tea while eyeing me carefully. “You’re not getting enough sleep again. Neither am I, for that matter. But only one of us went to bed right after we parted.” She taps her chest in a way that says, and that person would be me.