[Hours later; FPSO-Factory]

  Betelgeuse slammed his hand through the visor of the Stonediver, the tempered glass shattering into a million shards.

  A shock of red hair greeted his vision. Betelgeuse was struck by a strange sense of familiarity.

  Before he could process the feeling, the red-head stuck out her left hand to grab the exosuit helmet lying upon a panel. No time to think—Betelgeuse fell upon her, his arm shooting out.

  The woman brought up her right arm reflexively as if to block a strike, but Betelgeuse' hand wrapped itself around her right wrist instead.

  Twisting sharply, the woman swung the helmet, slamming it full-power into the side of Betelgeuse' chin.

  Betelgeuse' head snapped sideways and then backward, his world exploding into a shock of reds and greens, his brain rattling within his skull.

  He held onto the woman's arm through the pain. Tasting iron, he pulled, feeling the woman's shoulder pop out of its socket.

  Screaming. Her voice picked at Betelgeuse' brain.

  Heedless of the cry, he crunched into the small cockpit and wrenched the woman around, forcing her out the cracked visor of the paralyzed Stonediver and dangling her by her dislocated arm. He could feel the woman struggle uselessly against the pain of straining ligaments.

  Betelgeuse blinked, fighting against the dazedness to, then frowned as he scrutinized the features of the mech-pilot.

  … Norma?

  Indeed, the face that peeked through the spill of red follicles appeared to be hers. She looked like Norma, even had her freckles and her fine nose—except that her pained expression scuttled her beauty and made him second-guess if it really was her—

  "Betelgeuse!" she yelled, and then there was no question at all that it was Norma. The same Norma Myrmec that he'd gone through Boot Camp with. The same Norma Myrmec he'd last seen serving as Rolf's second-in-command.

  It is her. She survived.

  And if she's the pilot, it means that Meng Bi planted the tracker in her mind, didn't he?

  Questions immediately started filling Betelgeuse' mind. Going on what Meng Bi had said, it meant that Norma must have been proximate to the source of the Donn-Tua at some point.

  But who? Rolf? Michael Thane? The Donn-Tua definitely seemed like a powerful technique—how did General Rabid of all people manage to control it?

  "It… is you… ha—my arm, you're hurting me!" Norma pleaded, as Betelgeuse pulled her body upward so that barely two inches separated their faces.

  Pushing his questions to the back of his mind, he focused his attention on Norma.

  "Norma Myrmec. I suppose I was expecting we'd meet eventually, once I saw who frustrated our efforts with the Ujung. Of course, I didn't expect we'd meet under these circumstances," Betelgeuse said.

  "My… my arm! Let me down—"

  Betelgeuse turned, bringing Norma's body back into the mech cockpit, then letting her down. She crumbled to the ground and then scrambled to the back of the cockpit, immediately popping open a plastic box situated behind the pilot's seat and jamming a rebreather into her mouth.

  Then she turned and eyed Betelgeuse, eyes glinting by the overhead lighting.

  "Rebreather's here," she said, pointing with her good hand at the box.

  Betelgeuse eyed her and, finding no trace of insincerity in either her demeanor or intentionality, he stepped forward carefully in the direction of the box. Norma retreated warily.

  The box was filled with syrettes and pills and other medical paraphernalia. Amongst the crinkling packets, Betelgeuse found what he was looking for—a mouthpiece fitted to an opaque knob fashioned of black plastic.

  Without wasting any more time, he popped the rebreather into his mouth as Norma had done, breathing in deep.

  A little stale, but it'll do.

  A grunting sound drew Betelgeuse' attention to Norma, who appeared like she was bracing her arm against the far side of the cramped cockpit. She appeared to be attempting to set her shoulder back in place.

  "Let me help," Betelgeuse said, stepping up to her.

  Without waiting for her acquiescence, he placed his hand on her arm. Norma flinched and glanced at him, her eyes widening, and he returned her stare with his own determined gaze.

  "... Okay," she relented.

  In one swift motion, the same way they'd been taught all those long months ago aboard the Vespertilio, Betelgeuse raised Norma's slender arm, and bent it at the elbow over her back. Then, he pressed the elbow further up over Norma's head and the shoulder popped back in place.

  Norma didn't utter a single sound through out the process. Once it was done, she turned and muttered something that Betelgeuse couldn't quite hear under all the sounds of combat drifting over from outside the warehouse.

  Betelgeuse sensed Norma's intentionalities shift. The full brunt of her hostility had all but disappeared, and in its place was substituted a keen wariness.

  "What now?" Norma asked. She was probing his face closely, almost as if she was reading the lines of his face for violent intention. Betelgeuse vaguely remembered the Etching she'd manifested—something to do with divining the actions of another person.

  Well, he didn't have any intention to hurt her anyway, not if she cooperated.

  "My forces are clearing the factory as we speak," Betelgeuse said, pointing to the hole in the wall of the warehouse which the Stonediver had made. "I need to know where Rolf is."

  "Your forces?"

  "No games. As long as you give me the information I need, there'll be no need for violence."

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Violence..." Norma echoed again, brushing her hair coyly to the side, her face shifting suddenly into a solicitous amiability. No trace of pain or fear, but for her fraying intentionalities.

  "There's no need for that between old friends, right Betelgeuse?" she said.

  "I need you to answer my questions. That's all," Betelgeuse repeated, furrowing his brows.

  "Ah, maybe I should pilot this thing over to the side, shouldn't I?" Norma said, sidling up overly close to Betelgeuse and causing him to take a half-step back.

  Norma followed through, pushing her torso up against Betelgeuse and jutting her pretty face close to his. Betelgeuse couldn't help but be moved, despite the sweat and streaks of dirt. Norma was a beautiful woman, and though she wore a bulky suit Betelgeuse couldn't help but dredge up memories of her ample bosom…

  "I'll take us to a safer place and then we can catch up on everything that's happened," Norma mumbled softly, her lips wet with moisture even as she sucked on her rebreather. "So many things have happened... and I've been thinking of you, you know that? I've been thinking of you even from before…"

  She's pretending. Oh, Norma, that's not going to work with me.

  Her intentionality betrayed her, emanating in sly and deceitful ways. Betelgeuse could sense it at a resolution that was far greater than he could previously muster—he supposed he should thank Meng Bi for it. The threads of her thoughts laced together with her words, and Betelgeuse felt that he had a measure of the woman, her lies, her petty plans, her rather crude use of sensuality.

  And he could see behind the shining eyes, see through to Norma's fears and melancholia. She had suffered under the thumb of Rolf, apparently. But her wants and desires appeared to be heavily suppressed, and her psychic drives felt to him to be atrophied things.

  Putting her under the compulsion would be a piece of cake, but in this case, she already had one foot out the door. Her loyalties didn't lie with Rolf, and anyway Betelgeuse always erred on the side of respecting autonomy, whenever he could help it.

  Betelgeuse threw his head back and chuckled loudly. Norma's expression changed almost immediately, her intentionality flaring widely, and it took several long seconds before the rude laughter tapered off.

  "What level is Rolf in?" Betelgeuse said finally. "The factory, I mean."

  Norma's face emptied itself of expression. She knew when she was caught.

  "... He has an office. On the top floor," Norma said meekly. "It's at the end of the main corridor.

  Keeping his eyes on her, Betelgeuse brought his wrist-transceiver up to his mouth and fed this piece of information quickly to Filippov, who snapped back a muffled "Roger, roger." Meng Bi, whom Betelgeuse knew was listening in on his own device, remained silent.

  Betelgeuse proceeded with the next question, addressing Norma: "Are there any easy ways of accessing the top floor from inside the structure?"

  "Two ways," Norma replied, narrowing her eyes for no particular reason. "Or... there were two ways. The factory has a loading bay by the front of the structure which caved in. As for the other upward access… it's past Smelting, at QA*."

  *[Quality Assurance.]

  Betelgeuse piped down this piece of information to Filippov without delay.

  Not that he expected them to make much headway—Queen She's contingent of cannon fodder wasn't going to last very long against Rolf's men, considering the kind of weapons they were likely wielding. All they had was the bunch of railguns Betelgeuse had brought with them, together with about 300 armature-rounds all-told.

  No, the focus would be on taking out Rolf himself. And for that, Meng Bi had kindly volunteered his services.

  Betelgeuse had one more question for Norma.

  "There was a thing that happened, the… Donn-Tua," Betelgeuse began, watching Norma's expression closely to see if she recognized the term.

  Predictably, she didn't, and all he earned from her was a quizzical look.

  "It's like 'scrying', you understand what I mean?" Betelgeuse said. "There's a person under Rolf who can do this scrying thing. A Silver grade. Do you know who I'm referring to?"

  Norma's expression betrayed nothing, but her wildly flaring intentionality gave away. There was no doubt at all that she knew who he was talking about.

  "Who…?" she asked innocently.

  Lacing his words with the compulsion, Betelgeuse reiterated: "I don't have time for this, Norma. The Silver grade. What's his name and where is he located?"

  Norma's face was the site of a brief struggle. The faux innocence was gone from her face, only to be replaced with a sort of dread at realizing that he was compelling her.

  Betelgeuse, using the compulsion? The same one who had helped her through Boot Camp? Who was he? What had happened to him? How did he manage to obtain such affinity with the compulsion?

  All these thoughts and more flitted through Norma's eyes, and Betelgeuse understood her as clearly as if she had spoken them out loud. After several seconds of internal struggle, she bit down hard on her rebreather and managed, through gritted teeth: "Melk… Ayerstein. His name is Melk Ayerstein. He... I suppose he should be in the office as well. The same one as Rolf."

  "Where did this Melk come from? How did you meet?"

  "It was... at Arroyo. I don't know why but he took a liking to Rolf..." Norma murmured, trying to stop herself from speaking but in the circumstances having no control at all over her lips.

  "Anything more you can tell me about him?"

  Norma shrugged.

  "Filippov," Betelgeuse said, speaking quickly into his transceiver. "The Silver grade is in the same office. For what it's worth, his name is Melk Ayerstein."

  "Roger, roger," Filippov returned.

  At that moment, a second voice transmitted through the transceiver—it was Meng Bi, his tone resolute: "I'm going in. We can't let him get comfortable, Mr. Betelgeuse."

  "Okay. I'll be there ASAP," Betelgeuse said, glancing at the mech's control panel and then shifting his gaze to Norma.

  He cut the connection.

  "What about me, Betel—"

  Betelgeuse seized Norma’s mind, freezing her words mid-breath and clouding her gaze. A flicker of guilt crossed him, but he needed a pilot—and she would do.

  ***

  [FPSO-Factory]

  "... They came faster than I expected, sir," Rolf said, leaning forward on the desk and looking quite unsure of himself. "But Gom will hold them at Smelting. Don't worry."

  The floor reverberated deeply every few seconds, blowing up swirls of dust from the sheafs of paper strewn about the floor.

  "You're telling me not to worry?" Melk said, pacing across the room, his voice lowering dangerously.

  "Gom always delivers…" Rolf began, squinting his steel-blue eyes.

  "Fool! What do I care for such trivialities?" Melk sputtered. "I underestimated their speed—I should have put up the wards earlier…"

  "Sir," Rolf said, pushing himself to his feet. "The defenses will hold. Aminata is collecting zealots as we speak, and he'll be back with substantial reinforcements. As long as we hold out, victory is certain."

  Melk whirled on his feet, locking gazes with Rolf. Anger rose within his gut, and he was suddenly struck by a sudden flash of murderousness.

  But he held it in. One of these days he'd have to commit to beating the stupidity out of Rolf, but today was not that day.

  "Did you not hear what Norma had to say? A spacetime-manipulator. We have to be ready for anything… even the possibility that he's a Jumper," Melk explained coolly, his words a sharp edge.

  "Jumper? Heck is that?" Rolf asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Oy vey! Teleportation… instant transmission, for God's sake," Melk groaned, suppressing the urge to facepalm.

  "Teleportation? Hrnh… I suppose that's a problem," Rolf returned, scratching the underside of his bearded chin and baring his sharp teeth. "Set up your wards then, sir."

  At that moment, Melk's hand shot out. He snapped his fingers, and Rolf was suddenly overtaken by a sudden flash of vertigo, stumbling backwards and then forwards again to slump down on the desk.

  "You will have respect when you speak to me," Melk intoned. "Make no mistake—I am in charge."

  Rolf grunted and forced his torso up from the desk, blinking away the mind-fog. He could feel his heart beat with rage, but he kept himself under control. Melk was not someone he could defy. If the man willed it, Rolf would be stripped of his autonomy without a second thought.

  No. He had to bide his time...

  "Remove yourself from my presence," Melk commanded. "I must prepare."

  Snorting derisively, Rolf pushed himself off the desk and stalked across the room, casting a complicated look at Melk before exiting the space.

  Melk watched the door slam shut and fell into a pensive mood. The Anomaly he'd come searching for… he would be lying if he didn't think he might have gotten it wrong. Maybe Rolf wasn't it after all.

  Rolf had a good affinity for manipulating intentionalities, yes, but lacked even a modicum of skill in imprinting a conception of 'self' upon the world. He was like a child, moorless, defining everything only by what was his and what was not his. Om-Tua was a concept that still eluded Rolf.

  But perhaps it's too early...

  A sudden chill filled the room. Melk intuited before he felt that something was wrong. He spun round on his feet, scrutinizing the four corners of the room.

  Nothing. Just paper and a desk.

  "The Hebron Star. Who would have thought I would find your kind here," a voice cut through the silence.

  Melk went rigid, icy dread flooding his body.