“Edwin! Windee! Didn’t I tell you not to run in the halls? Your brother is tuning the warp field. And why aren’t you at your posts?”

“Sorry!” they said in unison.

“So, you two, what is all this about?”

“We wanted to know—” Edwin started.

“That now that we’re off ship, should we call you Mom or Captain? I wanna call you Captain,” said Windee, saluting.

Lan saluted back. She tried not to smile.

“Very well, Ensign Windee.”

“But sometimes can I call you Mom?” Edwin said. He grabbed her waist and held on tight.

“Oh, Edwin … Settling on one name will be difficult, won’t it? What matters is that we’re together, and safe. And that means no more running through the halls. We don’t want anyone to get hurt, right?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

“Good. Now, back up to the store, you two. Don’t you have jobs to do?”

Lan watched them running back to their posts. She shook her head and smiled. Family. She would cross a universe for her family.

In fact, she already had.

From what Astrid could gather, the house next to Miss Satomi’s had been owned by a Japanese family, then a Mexican family, and now a Chinese one.

Yet more than anything, this neighborhood reminded her of her childhood in Switzerland, of her grandmother bent over her carrots, peas, and asparagus. For whatever was parked in the driveway, whether VW or Toyota or Chevy or Mercedes, every family here seemed to have a grandmother, and every garden seemed to have vegetables.

Astrid had arrived a month before Miss Satomi to prepare the house. Luckily, Miss Satomi had retained a groundskeeper, so the persimmon tree was healthy, and the fishpond was fine.

But Miss Satomi’s garden had been woefully underused. And though Astrid was no grandmother, she would plant vegetables, as well. Turnips. Cabbage. Perhaps aubergines. If she started now, they would be ready by next year.

Then again, next year, would she or Miss Satomi even be here?

Astrid’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. On the porch were a bag of green beans and two bitter melons. Astrid waved to the old lady next door, who bowed and waved back.

Astrid looked at her newfound bounty. The beans she knew how to prepare, but bitter melon?

Grandma Strafeldas in Fribourg had never grown a bitter melon.

Los Angeles has days of blue sky, mountains, beach, eighty-two degrees, and palm trees all around. But LA truly becomes a paradise on those rare days with clear traffic, no obstacles, no accidents, just miles and miles of pure smooth road and any lane to choose.

However, Shizuka was not driving on one of those days.

A truck had lost a mattress just before the 605 interchange. The river of cars jostled her insides with stop and go, surge and swell.

Worst of all, the Queen of Hell had to pee.