Su-Yong Shu’s thoughts pressed on. Her mother wept inside, wept in despair, yet her thoughts pushed into Ling, crushing Ling’s will, reading her daughter’s neural circuits, rewiring them, pushing aside pieces of Ling, overwriting them with pieces of her mother.

PLEASE! PLEASE! WHY? WHY?

But Ling knew the answer. As parts of her mother wrote themselves over parts of Ling’s mind, she understood. She was the perfect vessel, from every cloned strand of her DNA, to the all-pervasive nanites she’d been seeded with before birth, to the years of constant contact with her mother’s mind. Ling was a creature like no other, suited for this task like no other.

She would do this thing. She would be her mother’s emissary, her mother’s herald. She would ready the world, clear the path. Then she’d restore her mother to life, and let her loose upon the world.

Then the old men who’d trapped her here would pay. The Americans would pay. All humanity would pay. The world would be reforged in her mother’s image. Reforged in fire.

Ling screamed louder, screamed and screamed and screamed, but only her father heard her.

Chen Pang watched, glassy-eyed, numb and paralyzed, as his monstrous child was broken and reformed, possessed by his even more monstrous wife.

His daughter screamed, screamed again, crumpled to the floor, blood dripping from her nose, screaming and convulsing, echoes of it leaking into his mind, driving him mad.

Make it stop, he begged his wife. Make it stop. Please.

But he was her slave now, and she cared nothing for his pleas.

Ling screamed and screamed. Bit by bit, she became something else, someone else, and her screams died, until they were silent, mental only, from the scattered parts of her that her mother lacked the time to resculpt.

Ling/Shu rose then, blood dripping from her nose, and turned her too-wise eyes towards her father/husband.

“Come here,” she told him with voice and mind. “And kneel before me.”

Chen Pang rose, and came to her, and did as his goddess commanded.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The writer’s life is solitary. A book is a solo effort.

Hah!

In my case, at least, these statements couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m blessed to have the friendship, both personal and professional, of a number of people who’ve supported me and contributed to this work in its gestation.

My wonderful girlfriend, Molly Nixon, has served as sounding board, brainstorming partner, first reader (often nightly), critique giver, and cheerleader throughout this project, from well before the first word was written. She’s been my secret weapon. (And no, you can’t have her.)