“Denied,” the first soldier answered. To Marcus, he repeated, “This entrance is for Committee use only. Orders from on high. Move along. Now. This is your last warning. We will fire.”

Marcus didn’t doubt he meant it.

“Forget it, Marcus,” Olena said. “Idiots. Let’s go.”

“Fuck ’em,” Marcus said. “We should check on the villagers anyway.” The two moved away, backtracking for a time before finally turning their backs on the soldiers.

Marcus had been chewing over the idea that if they couldn’t get in to the protection of the Cosmodrome they should keep moving, get even farther away from Talas, maybe someplace secluded to wait this all out. He’d been reluctant to bring it up with Olena, the Handsmith, and Bulat and other village elders. He didn’t know how they’d take it, after they’d gambled so much on Baikonur. But it was starting to seem like their only option. He began, “Listen, Olena, if we’re trapped on the outside when the contagion reaches—”

He cut the words off when the wasp appeared again, right between his eyes, dangerously close. “Hey, what the—” It dive-bombed him, zigged to one side when he swiped at it. He’d never seen anything quite like it. An annoying, harassing green annoyance of an insect. He’d just decided to tongue tag the bugger when a swarm of other green wasps joined the first. For a second Marcus and Olena were caught in a swarm of them. Then they congealed, blended into each other, and took on human form. Not much of a human, though, just a half-sized, emaciated figure, small as a boy but with a face that looked a couple weeks past death. He was naked. This fact only marginally less disturbing for the swarm of wasps that blurred where his genitalia should’ve been. His eyes, as green as the hornets.

“Infamous Fucking Black Tongue!” he exclaimed. “We thought you were toast back in Talas. You don’t even look burnt. You’re kind of in trouble, kid, though it won’t really matter if we all go insane and…” He had more to say, but his eyes slipped to Olena. He studied her a long, lecherous moment. “Hello there. You know, from what I’ve seen the last few days the world’s days may be numbered and counting down fast. Half of me is bugging out, but despite that a part of me wants to do nothing more than to get to know you better.”

Olena smirked. “Which part of you is this? That doesn’t care about the world, I mean.”

“We should talk about that. Jonathan Hive, at your service. And yes, I mean the Jonathan Hive.”

Dead-faced, Olena asked, “Why do you tell me you have hives?”

“No, no. Hive, from American Hero! Season one, back when it was real.”

Olena scrunched up her nose like she was remembering the smell of something rotten. “I don’t watch American television. Except HBO.”