“We received a signal from a young trans man whose bioaffective levels rapidly deteriorated after he looked at a photo of your aloe plant. He was the first viewer.”

“I—”

“Let me finish. Aside from noting that you have sent a vulnerable trans man into the Shadowlands, we have measured your bioaffective aggro levels toward Aiden Chase. We think that having you and Aiden help pull this person back toward his baseline would be a healing process for all involved.”

“Wait. The person in the Shadowlands isn’t Aiden?”

An almost imperceptible smile line crossed the Operatrix’s face. “No.”

Sparkling sacks of shungite!

We’d fucked up.

“We need you and Aiden to fly to California and retrieve Blithe from Joshua Tree National Park, which is where he entered total darkness.”

“I didn’t have a whole extraction team when I was in the Shadowlands,” I pouted.

“We sent you to Sophie, didn’t we?”

“True. So what happens after we pick Blithe up?”

“You’ll decide on a stable place to bring him back to health. You must ask the Witch how long her hex will last. And, Pen?”

“Yes?”

“You must find something to do with all your rage.”

“What if Aiden doesn’t want to come with me?”

“He must.”

I stared as the Operatrix rose, trying to connect the person before me to my idea of a shape-shifting autonomous being who roved around the world connecting queer people through a subaltern, mycorrhiza-modeled network. In the recent past, the queer child of a billionaire had started funding the Rhiz, and so the network could jet Operatrixes around and pay for surgeries and offer health insurance. My friend Minna’s sister was part of the Rhiz, and I was always pestering her for gossip, but it remained coiled in mystery. While I was in my Shadowlands, I had tried to placate myself by imagining their in-fighting, toxicity, ill-advised hookups, and illicit use of data.

I could not imagine queerness leading ultimately to anything more than ruin.

The Operatrix moved toward the door, carrying a small pouch that glowed in ever-shifting colors. Damn, a Bio-meter. Gwen had no reaction to this stranger in her home. It was as if she didn’t even sense the Operatrix’s presence.

“I will have a portfolio of Blithe’s data sent over to prepare you. The Rhiz will also provide your airfare, accommodation, and transportation.”

I stopped myself from saying, I remember back in 20—, when the Rhiz had full integrity and no money.

“Goodbye,” the Operatrix said, and extended a ringed hand.

“Bye,” I said, and took it.

I was tempted to run home and tell the Witch that she had erred, but that would only have inflamed my aggro levels. What to do, what to do.

I called Sid.

“Bra!”

“Hey, bra!” We forever pinged back and forth between mocking masculinity and dipping into it.

“You’re not going to believe this, but the Operatrix came over.”

“Shit, dude, are you having another major crisis that you neglected to tell me about?”