He flipped his palm and externalized the standard welcome page, something he hadn’t seen in years. His heart sank as he realized that all of his settings had been wiped clean. Well, what did it matter? Ambrose Truax had been a sort of fake ID, too. Mistletoe had the right idea, he thought. At least she’d chosen her own name. He wondered where she was, and for a few seconds his mind drifted out over topside Eastern Seaboard City. He pictured her darting between atmoscrapers, snagging a BetterPear from a synth-cart, wandering shell-shocked into one of the vast indoor shimmerdomes, where people enjoyed their Unison experience from the comfort of recliners and beds, their motionless fleshbound bodies protected by guards who patrolled the mile-long aisles.

But that was all crazy; she couldn’t even go topside. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe. And as much as he wanted to find her, part of him knew that she was better off staying far away.

“We’re here,” Len said, tense and serious.

Ambrose vapored away the pleasant green welcome page. One of the Security Associates tossed him a clean piece of gauze, which he ripped in half and wrapped twice around each palm.

“I’ll get you a new suit up in the lab,” Len said.

Ambrose realized his skinsuit had been torn in several places, resulting in a faint, fragmented projection of the sharp blue holo-suit he’d worn to the procedure, a lifetime ago.

“I don’t want to wear suits anymore,” he decided suddenly.

Len sighed. “Fine, Ambrose, wear whatever you want.”

Ambrose felt a queasy upsurge in his stomach. Len’s face grew outward from his head and elongated to a point around the nose. His skin stretched to fit the inhuman skull shape. Long red welts appeared, like wounds from a medieval flogging. The welts oozed and broke apart to reveal a new skin of green scales. His eyes narrowed to yellow slits.

Ambrose screamed.

Len grinned, exposing Martin’s impossibly white teeth. His grin widened. All Ambrose could see were rows upon rows of teeth, stretching back into oblivion. The gaping mouth blotted out the inside of the transport. A great wind howled in his ears, as if he were standing alone in the middle of an empty field. He felt—but could not see—a slimy tongue slither around his entire body. It began to squeeze the breath out of him, tighter and tighter, until a rib snapped like a twig. He tried to cry out in pain. The air stopped dead in his throat. It felt as if he were being held underwater. Then it was over.

He opened his eyes, even though he didn’t remember having closed them.

He was sitting across from his brother in the transport. His heart was pounding.