With an enormous bang! the wraparound windows of the diner exploded outward into millions, billions of pieces of sparkling glass. The pieces burst away from the window frame in a rush of speed, then, somehow, decelerated and gently, impossibly twirled off into the darkness beyond.

  Everything in slow motion, then fast forward, then slow, vibrating motion, then incredible speed that made Yago's teeth chatter, on and on.

  "I can't hold her any longer!" Billy cried, clutching his head in his bony hands.

  In an instant, Yago saw Mo'Steel, Big Bill, Kubrick, and Alberto disappear, dissolve into nothing. Projections. Billy gone, too. And Mother. Jobs, 2Face, Violet, and the kid, Edward, were real enough, standing not ten feet away from him on the diner's broken floor.

  But now there was a chasm between Yago and the others, the floor of the diner opening in a yawn, stretching Wide, like a thin piece of clay being torn apart, slowly, the material thinning, thinning until there were two pieces separated by nothing, by air.

  Yago on one side of the great divide. Everyone else on the other.

  For a moment Yago was sick with fear, sweat popping out on his forehead, mouth filling with saliva. He didn't believe what he'd just seen happen. But he was fascinated, too. And excited.

  He had been chosen.

  Yes, it was coming to pass. Time for his destiny to be fulfilled. Yago had always known he'd be the one in charge of what was left of the human race. He'd wipe out Mother's Children. Then he'd find some way to conquer Mother. He.'d rule this ship. He'd have it fitted out entirely to his personal specifications. Mother would be his slave, his genie in a bottle, his ...

  CHAPTER 7

  HE WILL HELP ME.

  This one. The one with the strange eyes. The angry one. I will find what makes him happy. He will tell me what he wants and I will give it to him.

  And in return he will help me.

  Not like the other one. I thought I could make him in their image. In the image of my creators. I thought he might be the one. But t failed. He is only a reminder of my ineptitude. He is an insult and a sorrow.

  No matter. For this, the angry, strange-eyed one will do.

  Because I will not chance losing Billy. My Billy. After all this time ...

  It was wonderful. My joy was great. To find the shuttle so close, so lost. It was waiting for me to rescue it. And I did. I took it in and gave a home to all its inhabitants. Those who were alive.

  I took the data discs and ran the programs and I learned. I was entertained. Yes, I was confused , but more than that, I was astounded.

  These humans are a wonderful species! So imaginative so unpredictable!

  And most wonderful of all is Billy.

  Billy challenges me. He angers. He understands me.

  We have suffered greatly. We have been so very ill. We are alive in a way nothing else can be. How can it be? that this human child has so much in common with me?

  Billy is mine. He must be protected. Let the angry, strange-eyed one go.

  Billy will stay.

  Billy will stay.

  CHAPTER 8

  LET HER DO WHAT SHE HAD TO DO.

  Yago felt himself being sucked down, down, felt his stomach drop, but was he really falling or was it just in his head? He couldn't tell because suddenly, he couldn't see and he couldn't ... couldn't feel his body as a body...

  Until ... he found himself in an odd-shaped chair. He tried to move but couldn't, though he could see no restraints. He flicked his eyes around and upward. He was in a pit of some sort, facing a type of plasma screen. It was all very dark. He wanted to call out to see if anyone was close, but he couldn't seem to part his lips.

  It began with something like a pinprick in his head. Yago wanted to Jerk away but he didn't know how. It came again, more forceful this time and Yago began to realize that it was Mother poking at his brain, trying to find a way in. A crack, a crevice, a path into his head. Yago imagined the twisted gray mass that was his brain, all soft and vulnerable, and felt ill.

  But he could do nothing. He tried to empty his head of thoughts and memories but it was impossible. The more he tried to hide, the more he revealed. He was giving her what she wanted and she was taking it and the more she took, the more he gave.

  Ah, yes, a baby boy, born in June, Gemini.

  Here is your son, Robert Young Castleman, your firstborn son, your heir, the one who will do you proud.

  A voice is saying, "I am not what I am."

  Yes, I see, you will make yourself in your own image. And what is that image, boy?

  Too-bright lights and blue-masked faces and a hand coming closer, closer to his mouth, going to cut off his oxygen, make him choke, no! He bucked against the restraints, heard someone snicker and say, 'Kid never gets used to this part,' but they're suffocating me, I'm dying ... Another voice, "Little Bobby, Little Bobby! Time for dinner, honey. Time to come in for dinned"

  I don't want to come in for dinner. Not to my grandmother's cluttered old house, too full of books on politics and the history of the African-American, crammed with tribal art from Sierra Leone, the Dan people. The house is so small. and so full of stuff, I can't get a breath, my lungs are tightening, air, I need air, my throat is closing, help me, help me, help me ...

  He didn't want to be there with his grandmother while his mother and father were off campaigning somewhere. Always dumping him here with his white-haired grandmother and her pseudointellectual friends. Forced to listen and sometimes even to recite long, boring poems by some dead guy named Baldwin and some ancient woman named Angelou. Great voices of a great people, his grandmother said.

  And why does she call me "little" Bobby? I'm nine years old. I'm special. I picked Yago as my name but my stupid old grandmother refuses to accept it. Refuses to accept me, but she'll learn someday. They all will.

  Don't go, Bobby, don't go into the deep end of the pool, Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, you must learn to apply yourself, why, because you'll never amount to anything if you don't. That's crap. What, do you think your looks and personality are enough?

  Yeah, I do, and my cunning, I'm king of the jungle, I was born that way, I can't lose. Because I am invincible, I am rich, I am a rock-and roll star unlike any the world has ever known. I own houses all over the world and a yacht and one hundred cars. I own a jet and two professional pilots. Sometimes I get the urge to fly off to a tropical island at three in the morning just for the kick of dragging my employees, my personal staff, out of a sound sleep. Face it, without me they'd be nowhere. Face it. I own these people. I . . . .

  He tore at the thick rope around his neck but it was no use, no use. He looked at his hands; they were bloody and swollen and raw and he was tired and hungry and thirsty ... and he wanted to cry. He would cry, he didn't care anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't breath, he . . . .

  My mother, my mother, my mother is the great-great-granddaughter of a slave named Tilly and a free black man named Abraham Jones. Are you happy now, he sobbed, now you know, you know my shame and my sorrow....

  Yago gave up. He could tell her no more. It wasn't defiance now, it was exhaustion. He could hear, somehow, Mother reciting facts about his life. Like she was reading from a grammar school textbook. Fine. He was finished. Let her do what she had to do.

  Washington, D.C. District of Columbia. Capital of the United States of America, which declared Independence from Great Britain, the Crown, King George, in 1776 . The first President of these United States, General George Washington. The current President of the U. S. of A. has the distinction of being not only the first woman to hold the office, but also the first African-American elected to the office. An honor. Highest place in the land. Head of the free world. Most powerful person on Earth.

  Ah, she says. Yes. This is What I want .

  He hears her excitement and doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything.

  CHAPTER 9

  "NOBODY'S THAT IMPORTANT IN THE END."

  They found themselves on a huge stretch of lawn in front of a massive white house with columns and a shaded porch. Behind them was an avenue of live oaks decorated with lacy Spanish moss. The magnolia trees were in full bloom. The sun shone hot and bright. The smell of Indian hawthorn filled the air.

  "Pretty," 2Face said.

  "Some of it." Violet looked around. "It's a plantation. Has to be. The big house and the outbuildings, kitchens, smokehouses. Slave quarters."

  "This must be from Yago's head," Jobs said, squinting against the sun.

  "Why is Yago thinking about slaves?" 2Face said.

  "Yago's mother is African-American." Jobs said. "It's possible Yago's ancestors were slaves. Right, Miss Blake?"

  Violet nodded. "Everyone's defined to some extend by their family history. Heritage, Cultural memory."

  "I guess," 2Face said.

  "From slave quarters to the White House. That's an impressive path" Violet shruggle. "I wonder if Yago felt that he didn't belong in the White House. That he wasn't smart or brave enough. That could make him defiant, to cover the fear."

  2Face snorted. "Yago should get over himself. Nobody's that important in the end."

  "I'm not saying I like him," Violet said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just trying to understand what I'm seeing and why I'm seeing it."

  Edward tugged on Jobs's arm. "Can I go pet the horses?"

  Jobs nodded absently.

  "Everything seems so peaceful" Violet said. The quiet worried her. "I wonder if anyone's..." A woman's bloodcurdling scream pierced their ears and made them jump. Violet grabbed Jobs's arm.

  "It came from over - "

  A man's awful bellow cut off 2Face.

  "Let s go!"

  They ran toward the outbuildings, 2Face holding Edward's hand. Off to the rescue again, Violet thought. If I lose another finger in this place, is it really lost?

  They ran behind the big white house. In front of one of the outbuildings a small crowd was gathered. Violet heard harsh voices and again, the woman's cry. As they got closer, Violet noted that most of the people were black and dressed in old-fashioned cotton work clothes. Two white men, dressed in finer clothes, though not fancy, were wrestling a powerfully built black man to the ground. He fought them, but to no avail. A tall, slim black woman lunged forward but was restrained by an older man.

  No one seemed to notice Violet and her companions as they came to a stop under a flowering cherry blossom tree.

  "You'll pay for your insubordination," one of the white men shouted.

  "Oh, my god," Violet whispered, "we have to stop this!"

  "I don't think we can," 2Face said grimly."This is Yago's nightmare, not ours." From the outbuilding came a third white man, this one dressed in the kind of designer, three-button, navy blue suit that was popular when the Mayflower had been shot off into space. His hair was fashionably cut. A heavy titanium watch glimmered on his left wrist. In his right hand he held a branding Iron.

  Violet pulled Edward to her and made him hide his face in her stomach.

  It all happened so fast, or maybe it was that Violet was just so shocked. The man with the branding iron strode toward the black man struggling on the ground. The woman screamed again. Suddenly, Violet saw the black man's face. And the burning iron descend closer, closer.

  "It's Yago!" she cried. The man on the ground was Yago. Older, without the surgically altered hair and eyes, dressed in clothes from the nineteenth century, but still Yago.

  "You have become redundant," the man in the suit said. "I am sorry to say that as of this moment you are terminated."

  The iron touched the right side of Yago's face. 2Face whimpered. Violet held Edward tighter and shut her eyes.

  And then they were lifted, lifted on a palpable breeze and whirled, whirled away and dropped, dropped gently into another century, another time and place, another dream.

  This one was not a nightmare.

  * * *

  "Has anyone noticed that every woman here has a perfect body?" 2Face grinned. "And no face. Just a sort of – blank."

  "The eyes are the windows of the soul, Miss Blake said."The soul doesn't concern Yago."

  Neither, it seemed, did Jobs and the others. So far, Yago had either ignored them or just hadn't noticed them.

  Jobs looked around the room. A couple of guitars propped against a stand. A huge sound system that was, unaccountably, turned very low. Strange, for a party. Because that's what it was. And he and 2Face and Miss Blake and Edward were seriously underdressed.

  Jobs watched an older version of Yago, taller, more muscled, his hair dyed with stripes of orange and black, like a tiger's. Yago threw himself onto a plush couch where one of the faceless women was waiting.

  Jobs noted that the guys were all slight variants of Yago. It was a room full of Yagos.

  "Can we eat this stuff?" Edward asked, poking a mini-quiche. Next to the platter of miniquiches sat one of sushi another of fresh fruit. "I, for one, am going to try," 2Face said. "Nothing to eat since half a burger at McDonald's."

  Jobs grinned his half grin. "At least Yago knows how to throw a party."

  "You!" It was primary Yago, striding toward him."You're not on the guest list."

  Jobs wanted to say something but had absolutely no idea what.

  "Party crashers!" a secondary Yago hissed.

  "Throw them out!"

  "They don't belong here!"

  "What are they wearing?!"

  It was a chorus of Yagos. None of the women said a word. They had no mouths.

  Jobs was curious. Would he really be thrown out?

  Miss Blake took Edward's hand. "We were just leaving," she said.

  "Forget it." 2Face grabbed a mini-quiche and stuffed it in her mouth. "We didn't ask to be in Yago's pathetic little fantasy," she said thickly. She swallowed. "But as long as we're here, we're going to enjoy ourselves. Right, Jobs?"

  It was so absurd. Jobs grinned and picked a bright red apple from a silver platter. "Do you have any cake?" he said to primary Yago."I think I'd like some cake."

  CHAPTER 10

  "WHATEVER JUST HAPPENED, IT MEANS SOMETHING BAD FOR US."

  Ever since the Children had decided to eliminate the humans, Noyze had been worrying. She didn't know what sort of weapons the other Mayflower people had at their disposal. It made Noyze nervous to see how well equipped the Children were for battle.

  Take their space suits.

  The suit was formfitting and covered every inch of the body, including the tentacles that stuck out from the sides of the face.

  Noyze thought the color of the space suit was beautiful, a glossy blue-black, like the hair of a girl she'd known back in school. The suit might have been metal, or maybe Mylar. Mostly Noyze thought of dark, liquid steel.

  Rockets fired from the back legs of the suit powered the Children through the air. On the ground, the suits allowed the Children to move with speed and grace.

  Supposedly the suits were equipped with small missiles. And she and Dr. Cohen had seen the Children engaged in target practice, so they knew for sure about the fléchette guns.

  It had been obvious from the start that the Children's camp was a defensive one. Most of the forty Children in the camp wore their space suits all the time. Some of them patrolled the perimeter of the camp on foot. Others flew slowly above the camp scouting for invaders.

  But so far everything had been peaceful. No invasions, no surprise attacks. Nights were for sleeping, and Noyze had gotten used to the routine.

  It was morning. Whatever that meant. But the sun was rising, or what passed for the sun in this artificial Texas/war zone.

  Noyze stretched and sat up. Her back hurt from sleeping on the hard ground. At least it was fairly warm. At least the Children kept away from the parts of the environment that were a war-torn city. "Good morning." Beside Noyze, Dr. Cohen sat up, too. Twelve Hallowed Stones was watching them. He gestured with a tentacle and another of the Children came from behind them, bearing a paper bag.

  Noyze grinned. "McDonald's!"

  "Hope there's coffee," Dr. Cohen said, accepting the bag.

  "You don't think it's wrong to eat fries for breakfast?" Noyze said. "Because I..."

  And then she was falling through a crater in the ground, a hole that had not been there a moment before but was there now, yawning, gaping, huge. She fell past walls of dirt and rock, her body impossibly straight, feet down, arms raised over her head. Her brain was blank but for the word what repeated over and over and over until it was one long word whatwhatwhatwhat that had no real meaning.

 

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