She’d been running simulations for . . . well, it probably only felt like years. Most of them were for fellow scientists and she’d already started getting data back. One, however, had been stripped down to the “rock hits planet, planet goes boom, almost everyone dies” level, and even after that there’d been an extensive argument over both boom and almost everyone. Dr. Adeyemi had been driven to banging her head against the conference table.

Here and now, in the star-strewn sky over JPL, the asteroid was not visible.

The stars meant she’d missed the last bus to the east parking lot again—although as usual would be the more accurate observation. Her ass ached, her eyes burned, her skin felt like it didn’t quite fit her body, but on the bright side, when . . . no, if the asteroid did finally hit, she’d welcome the chance to fall over.

The sole of her right shoe dragged against the asphalt, the rubber shrieking in protest, the sound eaten up by all the empty space around her. Even though she knew there were half a dozen engineers in the Assembly Facility . . .

“On the one hand, we might be going the way of the dinosaurs.” Howard grinned at her. “On the other hand, they’re letting us play with the really cool toys.”

...she felt like the only person alive. Wall-E, not Will Smith, doing her job at the end of all . . .

Hoofbeats?

Kiren stopped under a lamppost and squinted in the direction of the Angeles National Forest. There were deer in the forest, there were occasionally deer in the parking lots, but as far as she knew, there’d never been deer actually inside the perimeter fence. It had been specifically built high enough to keep them out.

The sound was definitely coming from this side of the fence.

The banging two coconuts together sound of hooves on pavement.

Coming closer.

With no actual idea of how a running deer would sound, Kiren didn’t think that sounded like deer. It was too . . . purposeful. This was an animal running with intent. This was . . .

A unicorn.

Large and muscular, it looked like a draft horse crossed with a narwhal, two species even Kiren—an exhausted non-biologist—knew were incompatible. It gleamed in the shadows between the streetlights, muscles moving fluidly beneath its coat. Silver-gray hooves struck sparks from the ground—impossible, but unicorn, so Kiren let it go—and its mane and tail both flowed and rippled so perfectly she had to remind herself it wasn’t CGI.

The ivory, spiraled horn had surprisingly deep, dark grooves.

As she watched, too tired to do anything more than stand and wonder if the power bar had been a little too far past its best before date, the unicorn’s nostrils flared—they were impressively red on the inside—and it pivoted on one front hoof, turning almost a full ninety degrees from its original path and heading directly toward her.