She looked down at her hands. Somehow she felt like they were chained to the table between them. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

Sol raised his eyebrows, his expression no longer poisonous, just resigned. Go ahead, you idiot. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Obelus is alive.”

She saw the slideshow of confusion run past his eyes in less than a second—How is he alive? The FBI has the body. The body is on ice in San Bernardino. Then, swiftly, acceptance. The hows and whys don’t matter, because the rules that apply to an amygdaline Similar body are not the rules that apply to a human body. “Where?”

“We don’t know.” Her eyes returned to her hands on the table. “Ampersand put him in Čefo’s old body. But then Obelus gave him the slip. We don’t know where he is. He’s trying to get off-world, but his three Similars, the ones we thought had left, are still here. They don’t know where he is, either, but they’re hunting him, too.”

“How the hell do you know about that? Have you been in communication with them?”

“No, but I’ve seen them. It turns out that Obelus belongs to the same genetically ‘defective’ subset as the rest of the Fremda group.”

“And how did he survive?”

“Ampersand saved him.”

“Why?”

She imagined herself betraying the truth about Ampersand’s relationship to Obelus and nearly laughed at the idea. “I don’t know,” she said absently. “I assume he thought he could control Obelus, but he could not.”

Sol let out a deep, angry sigh. “Okay.” Another, deeper sigh, irritating and loud. “So I suppose the United States military apparatus should wish him luck on his hunt when he comes to? Maybe give him a road atlas so he won’t get lost?”

“I told him we needed help. Your help to find Obelus. The Big Brother surveillance state’s help. He didn’t want your help.” She looked up at him. “Is he okay?”

“We don’t know, exactly. He seems to be awake, but he isn’t responding.”

The part of her that had until now refused to feel anything bent a little.

“It’s public now,” said Sol. “They need names. They need identities. The can has been kicked so far down the road, the road has ended. There is no more road. They need legal names. I’m guessing you and Ampersand have already agreed to one.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Jude.” Her face a wall of iron. Go and make some pithy remark. Give me shit. I fucking dare you.

“Sabino?”

“No,” she said. “Bad optics, even if it makes the most sense.”

“Ortega?”

“Fuck you.”

The light breeze of a smile touched his lips. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“Atheatos.”

“And Enola Gay?”

“Nikola.”

“Nikola Atheatos?”

“Celaeno,” she said.

“Okay, then.” He sighed. “Let’s go see Jude.”

* * *