An unnaturally sparkly young man is singing a song in what might be Farsi, the lyrics of which praise powders for your bath that can turn your skin glittery blue for twenty-four to forty-eight hours, while still making it clear results are not guaranteed.
“ORCHID FESTIVAL BOMBER AND KNOWN REMEDY RINGLEADER RIKO WATANABE WAS ARRAIGNED IN LONDON TODAY ON MULTIPLE CHARGES OF TERRORISM.” The screen shows Riko—pale and bruised, but chin still held high as she’s led through jeering crowds to what must be a courthouse. Noemi gasps. Although she can’t deny Riko’s guilt, she’s still shaken by the sight of anyone she knows handcuffed, in Earth’s clutches. “SOURCES INDICATE THAT A DEAL IS STILL POSSIBLE IF WATANABE NAMES OTHER REMEDY MEMBERS.”
Ephraim groans in dismay. Virginia’s eyes widen as she says, “Oh, crap. She knows you, doesn’t she?”
“Not directly,” he says, “but we have contacts in common. If she starts naming names, it’s not going to be long before the Earth authorities find my friends. I’m ruined already, but if something happens to them…” His voice trails off, and for the first time his dark eyes show fear, not for himself but for another.
Noemi shuts the communications off completely and pulls herself together. “Okay, enough of that. Now we find Abel.”
Virginia glances over her shoulder, flipping her red-streaked ponytail in the process. “Any ideas about how we get that started? Abel’s unique, but not the kind of unique you can really pick up on from orbit.”
“We find Burton Mansfield. Wherever Mansfield is, that’s where they’ve taken Abel.” Noemi knows this as surely as if she’d planned it herself.
“How are we supposed to do that?” Ephraim asks.
Virginia gives him a look. “Burton Mansfield is one of the richest, most powerful, best-known human beings on Earth. Somebody’s gonna know where he is.”
“Really?” Ephraim’s surprise is genuine. “On Stronghold, the more powerful people are, the less likely you are to get any personal information on them.”
“Well, on Earth, they love the rich and famous,” Virginia says. “Hey, Noemi, are you positive they won’t have taken Abel to some top secret lab, though? Mansfield’s old as dirt. Older than most dirt, I’d guess. By now somebody else might be in charge of studying Abel.”
Shaking her head no, Noemi rises from her chair and walks closer to the viewscreen. “Abel’s special to Mansfield. Personal. Irreplaceable. As long as Mansfield’s alive, he’ll want Abel by his side.”
Virginia’s hands begin to fly across the console. “Okay, searching for the residence of one Burton Mansfield—and there we go. Residing in what looks to be the most posh area of London, in the same home he’s owned for, wow, forty-six years.”
Of course it would be there, Noemi thinks. That was what Abel answered when the George asked his birthplace. “Then let’s visit London.”
They change clothes—Noemi into a black turtleneck and pants from Captain Gee’s closet, Virginia into the stuff she had in her ship’s cargo hold (jeans and a pine-green sweatshirt), and Ephraim into the only clothing he can find to fit him, a mechanic’s navy-blue coverall. Noemi’s able to retrace Abel’s work well enough to come up with a new fake ID for the ship herself; scans will now identify it as the private ship Atlas. Someone carrying an entire world on their back, its weight bearing them down—she’s starting to know how that feels.
They request landing clearance at the public dock closest to Mansfield’s house, which is closer than she’d dared hope, no more than a couple of kilometers. Virginia laughs at her surprise: “Come on. London’s one of the five largest cities on the globe. One of the greatest powers. Nobody has more spaceports than they do! Except maybe Beijing. Or Nairobi, or possibly Chicago—but, seriously, that’s it.”
“I’ve always watched vids set in London,” Ephraim says as the dock’s tractor beam starts guiding them in. “I may not be Earth’s biggest fan, but I had to admit—London looked a lot more interesting than any place on Stronghold.”
“So does every other place ever,” Virginia says, which earns her a glare from Ephraim. Noemi ignores them both, trying to quiet the strange queasy flutters inside her belly, until the ship settles onto the ground, and then there’s no holding them back.
I’m here. I’m really here.
When she looks over at Virginia and Ephraim, she sees her own fear and awe reflected in their faces. They walk together to the launching bay and stand by her side as she hits the panel. The silvery doors swirl open to allow Noemi to take her first-ever steps on planet Earth.
Beyond the ordinary dock lies a city larger and older than any Noemi has ever seen. On Genesis, a building that dates back seventy-five years is historic; from this vantage point alone, Noemi sees row houses that must be closer to five hundred years old, and a street paved with worn-smooth cobblestones. On those streets are wheeled vehicles, hovercraft, bicycles, and bright red buses. Sidewalks are thick with humans of all ages and races, trudging along with no sense that they’re anywhere special. Billboards and holograms glimmer from various signs and kiosks in eye-catching colors, but not as garishly as on Wayland Station. It just looks… lively. Everything smells chemical and fake to Noemi, but there’s that odd softness to the air telling her that, at some point within the past few hours, it rained.
And for all her love of her Genesis, there’s something about the way her body responds to this gravity, this atmosphere—an easiness where she’d never noticed strain before. Something deep inside her knows this is humanity’s true home.
“When will someone check us in?” Noemi asks. No George has yet arrived to take their information.
Virginia raises her eyebrows at the na?ve girl from Genesis. “You’re on Earth now, remember? You don’t have to justify being here.”
“Except to yourself,” Ephraim mutters.
“You’re both as blown away as I am, and I know it, so stop pretending you aren’t.” Noemi pushes up her sleeves. “Let’s just get out there and find Abel.”
So they walk away from the dock, onto the sidewalk, to merge with the rest of the crowds. To pretend that they’re from Earth, too.
After Stronghold, this air doesn’t feel all that cold, but it has a bite. Rain puddles line the streets and fill broken gaps in the sidewalks, of which there are many. The paths in front of the row houses seem crowded enough, but then they turn onto a main thoroughfare, and Noemi’s eyes go wide. Thousands of people, all walking, riding with purpose, most of them not looking up, few of them smiling—and they go on and on, shoulder to shoulder, seemingly forever.
And in those countless faces are some she recognizes: mechs. Two—three—no, more than that—