“Giant constellation. Work with me.”

He nodded.

I left them behind. There were other bases to cover. Tattletale and her fucking metaphor, for one. She’d acted like she knew what she was doing when she’d ordered Dinah to run around like a headless chicken, and as far as I was concerned, we really fucking needed someone who knew what they were doing.

Or someone who was convincing enough at pretending to know that they could keep us all centered and organized.

I caught one chunk of rubble and blocked another with my forcefield, to spare the Undersiders who’d hunkered down beside some cover. I was momentarily without my forcefield, and something hit me square in the back. I dropped to my knees, grunting.

One of Rachel’s dogs collapsed to the ground, just to my left. Not fallen, but lying down near where I was, to use its body to protect me.

Ow. Fuck me, ow. My legs still seemed to work, and it was more in the ribs than anything, but fucked up ribs on the left side of my body in conjunction with a fucked up collarbone made me feel like the left side of my torso was going to break free of the rest of me.

“Thanks, dog,” I managed. “Good dog.”

It only kept one eye closed, head turned away from the storm of flying materials.

It wasn’t like a whirlwind where things flew in what seemed to be a fairly steady circle. There were things flying crosswise. Pieces of costume, pieces of pillar, computer stuff, wires, wood, concrete, tile, papers. They smacked into one another, into us. I saw someone get hit by something on his left side, stumble, and get hit on his right.

Golem was on Chevalier’s team, and was trying to create concrete hands to wall off the constant assault, so the bulk of the Wardens at one end of the facility only needed to protect themselves from the front.

“Tattletale,” I grunted. Fuck, I couldn’t raise my voice anymore.

Tattletale was on the other side of the cover I leaned against, while the dog lay at my feet, taking its beating. I heard her voice. “Metaphor. We’re playing chess. Each and every one of us, we’ve got a board and we’re sitting on the other side of the table from the all-knowing angel. She can think ahead to endgame, and we don’t know how to play.”

“Dinah knows?” I asked.

“Our Kid Cassandra is flailing in the dark, compared to our lady in silver. Sorry.”

“We have more pieces on the board.”

“Oh hon, I’m not so sure we do,” Tattletale said. “Too many of us are compromised, she’s had a good enough look at enough of us to know what moves we make or could make until the very end.”

“Then what?” I asked.