“Fuck!” Michael swiveled at the wheel. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Peter said. He could still feel the metallic hum of her landing, chiming through his bones. “Just Lish.”

Alicia rose and tapped the glass of the cab. “Relax, Michael.”

“Flyers, I thought we’d blown the engine.”

Hollis and Sara climbed aboard; Alicia took her place at the rail and turned to Peter. Even through the smoky opaqueness of her glasses, Peter could detect the orange thrum of her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said with a guilty grin. “I thought I could nail it.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you doing that,” he said.

The blade had never fallen. Or rather, it had fallen, when suddenly it stopped.

Everything had stopped.

It was Alicia who had done it, seizing Peter by the wrists. Freezing the blade in its downward arc, inches from her chest. The restraints had ripped away, like paper. Peter felt the power in her arms, a titanic force, more than human, and knew he was too late.

But when she opened her eyes, it was Alicia he saw.

“If it’s okay with you, Peter,” she’d said, “would you mind closing those shades? Because it’s really, really bright in here.”

The New Thing. That’s what they were calling her. Neither one nor the other, but somehow both. She couldn’t feel the virals, as Amy could; couldn’t hear the question, the great sadness of the world. In every respect she seemed herself, the same Alicia she had always been, save one:

When she chose to, she could do the most astounding things.

But then, Peter thought, when had that not been true of her?

•   •   •

The Sno-Cat died within sight of the valley floor. A chuffing and wheezing, followed by a final sneeze of smoke from the exhaust pipe; they coasted a few more meters on the treads and came to rest.

“That’s it,” Michael called from the cab. “We hoof it from here.”