I was pretty sure I’d been more okay with my fate back there against ‘Mr. Hugs’ than I was with the present state of existential horror. A few others in the group had some degree of uneasiness clear in their expressions and postures too.

“If it helps,” Tattletale said. “Don’t think of it as us being out here in the open air, mountains and pits all around us. Think of it as us being on the other side of the glass. Each crystal is a computer, each pane is a single area of focus, we’re things one program set into motion that are now poring through the file system until our program runs out and we wake up again.”

I thought about it, trying to put my thoughts to words.

“That makes it worse,” Sveta said, before I could manage.

“That,” I said. “What Sveta said.”

“Most of this is happening through the corona thingy,” Kenzie said. “Um, Byron?”

“What?” Byron asked. He was getting to his feet with Tristan’s help.

“That means you’ll probably go back to… not being okay,” Kenzie said.

“Oh,” he said. I could see his eyes move, see his lips press together.

He didn’t volunteer anything more.

“It might help kickstart things,” Kenzie said, with some enthusiasm. “Like getting a running start, might stir things up.”

“Maybe,” Byron said. “Stirrings sounds right.”

“Vista has been stopping by a lot. You seemed to notice her,” Tristan commented. “If you need any motivation.”

I could hear Candy cooing, jostling Darlene and Kenzie, who joined in, and reaching past Darlene to push Chicken Little, who rolled his eyes.

“Ah,” Byron said. “Maybe. Let me finish processing the… overwhelming information I have right here, before getting into that?”

“Sure,” Tristan said.

I looked away, turning my attention to the crystals around us. Each facet of crystal was its own area of focus. Every time I thought I understood the logic behind a particular facet, I’d see an image that was out of place or ill-fit.

Maybe it did make sense, but the things that linked those out of place images were things like thoughts or associations.

Me, at various ages. Kid Victoria, often viewed in the mirror, or in videos, or in photographs. Then me after Gold Morning, in a Patrol uniform, watching a bunch of eighteen-year-old guys in similar uniforms spar. Then more Victorias from childhood, broken up by an out of place scene of me in my Antares costume washing my face with one hand while holding a tissue to my nose to stem the blood with another. That one was immediately followed by a scene of me in Gilpatrick’s office, the Wretch reaching for the glass, getting canceled before it could break that glass and inconvenience Gilpatrick.