77 Shadow Street

that it was either without emotions or fueled only by rage.

In the movies, this was where the star said something like, Go ahead, make my day, or maybe, Come on, asshole, Hell’s waiting for us. But Winny didn’t go for the cool quip because he wasn’t a star, he wasn’t a hero. That fantasy was far behind him now. All he wanted was to do the right thing here at the end, not any of the easy things he might have done, do the hard thing but not for the glory of it, because there wasn’t any glory in dying. Glory was for movie stars and country singers, and it wasn’t worth spit. He wanted only not to embarrass himself, not to cower, to be better than he had always thought he was.

“Iris!”

“Winny!”

He glanced back and saw Mrs. Sykes with a flashlight, his mom with a gun, and what a moment that was.

The creature hissed.

Dr. Kirby Ignis

If he was right about what this Gaea had contemplated and what decision she had reached when all of nature stopped out there, Kirby finally decided that he needed to see his rooms. Without explanation, he expressed his desire to go down to the second floor, insisting that Silas and Padmini should remain here in the Cupp apartment. But they would not let him leave without an armed escort; therefore, when he continued to be determined to go, they accompanied him.

As he stepped across the threshold of 2-F and found that his apartment here, in this Pendleton, was much as it had been in his own time, preserved when all else in the building had been scoured away and allowed to decline into squalor, the awe that had earlier overtaken him now almost overwhelmed him, and his legs felt weak.

With Silas and Padmini trailing behind him, Kirby followed voices to the kitchen, where he found Dime sitting behind the table, Hawks to one side of it, Tom Tran by the refrigerator, and one of the best staff members of his institute, Jason Reinholt, standing by the sink.

“Jason? Why were you in the building when the leap occurred?”

“I wasn’t, Dr. Ignis. I came to the Pendleton years after that event, and I’ve been here now almost a decade and a half. Since after the first Pogrom to reduce the human burden on the planet, and before the second Pogrom, which wasn’t planned.”

Kirby stared at him, agape, for the first time in his life wanting not to comprehend, but unable to hold back understanding.

Winny

Iris shuffled away from Winny and to her mother’s side. He stood alone for a moment before backing slowly toward his mom, holding the rifle bayonet at the ready.

The creature came forward a few steps, but then halted again. It looked from one to the other of them, as if deciding in what order to kill them.

Mrs. Sykes said, “What the hell is that thing?”

Winny had no answer, but as it turned out, the monster spoke for itself, a single word: “Pogromite.”

Bailey Hawks

As Padmini and Silas entered the kitchen, Kirby Ignis said, “But Jason, after so many years, you look … so young.”

“I don’t use that name anymore. I’m just Witness. I’m young because I was among the first volunteers for full-spectrum BioMEMS enhancement. In fact, I was your first.”

Kirby put a hand to the young man’s face and said wonderingly, “So it worked. A kind of immortality.”

“It worked,” Witness confirmed.

Turning his hands palms-up, Kirby stared at them for a moment, as if they amazed him, as if they were quite apart from him and had done things he could scarcely imagine.

Returning his gaze to Witness, he said, “But this Gaea, this world consciousness, how did she—”

“It calls itself the One. The world is without gender now. The Pogrom was begun with the intention of reducing the human plague to a more manageable number … to be followed by the Fade when we would scrub away what infrastructure wasn’t needed for such a reduced population.”

“And me? Where am I in this future?”

“Dead. Converted by a Pogromite into another Pogromite. You lived out your final days as a programmed killing machine.”

Stepping farther into the room, addressing Kirby Ignis, Padmini Bahrati said, “You did this?”

Everyone but Mickey Dime, who lived in his own world now, stood hushed by astonishment for a long moment.

Then Ignis shook his head in denial. “No. I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have. Not this.” He twitched with a sudden electrifying thought. To Witness, he said, “Norquist.”

The perpetually young man nodded. “Your theories, your life’s work—his applications.”

Ignis turned in place, surveying the faces aimed at him. “Von Norquist is a senior partner at the institute. A brilliant man. He has some controversial views … but not this extreme.”

To Bailey, Witness said, “The world was lucky for centuries. Scientists are rarely charismatic. But Norquist was both brilliant and exceptionally charismatic. He had the megalomania to make of his science a religion—and to persuade others like me, in our ignorance, to take up the cause.” To Ignis, he said, “He became