“I need you, Sam,” he said. “Suit up for me? Last time?”

Kade enmeshed with Ananda, with Sarai, with a whole circle of the children.

This might just be the last time, he thought.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Open the mind.

Let the breath become a focus.

Let it draw the attention.

Let it synchronize.

Let the common breath become a sync between minds.

Let it connect them all.

Let it deepen.

Minds touched minds.

Thoughts linked to thoughts.

Working memories opened, interlocked.

Attentions expanded, enfolded, became a continuum, stretching from mind to mind.

Something larger came into being. A mind greater than the sum of its parts.

The component that was Kade opened itself wide. It showed them everything Su-Yong Shu had passed down.

This time, for the first time since he’d been frightened weeks ago, Kade didn’t hold back.

The memories and thoughts and knowledge and tools and weapons and plans from Su-Yong rose through them.

All her hopes. All her dreams. All the incredible insights she’d passed on in that short time.

And all the horror.

To see a woman, a being, who’d expanded the definition of humanity, who’d explored new realms of the possible, who’d experienced the sublime.

Tortured. Degraded. Made a prisoner and a slave.

To live through that with her.

To feel her madness.

He needed the children to feel it with him. He needed Ananda to feel it with him.

It was cruel, it was horrible, it was terrible to share this pain.

But they had to know. They had to understand if there was any hope.

And as he’d known, as they came together, as their breath synched, as their minds linked, as their perceptions expanded, as their working memory grew by leaps and bounds, as the size and intricacy of the patterns they perceived grew – the horror gained context, became more bearable, became…

Became a pattern. Became a disease. A disease of the humans. A disease of society. A disease inflicted on Su-Yong Shu, infecting her mind.

He showed them what he had planned. The bare bones of a plan. A hopeless plan. A plan with no chance. A plan so thin, so miniscule, so fragile to hang the hopes of the future on. A plan no fighter would ever make.