Ming was startled. You heard me musing?

Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t know you weren’t doing it for my benefit, or at least without caring if I heard or not.

How much of my thoughts do you get? she asked him, the worry coming back again.

Probably exactly as many as you get of mine. It’s gonna happen. Bound to. There’s really only one brain and central nervous system here. You heard ’em.

For his part, Ari was as insecure as she was, though more resigned. Many times upon awakening from sleep, it took a while before he could remember which one he was. At least once recently he’d awakened thinking he was her. Only when her own consciousness awoke and was clearly Ming did he realize his mistake and suddenly become “Ari” through and through again. Funny, too—her cultural heritage was eastern and mideastern; stoicism and pragmatism were part and parcel of that upbringing. His background was Latin, Greek, and Slavic—emotional, explosive types, expressive and always fighting against the Fates. For all her lack of belief, Ming was more Zen Buddhist deep down than he was Catholic. Yet, he was the accepting one, while she was fighting like hell.

Of course, “stoic” was a Greek word…

You want to go see this dump? he asked her.

Might as well. Besides, if I said “no,” you’d go anyway.

Might as well see what the budget is, at least for starters, Ari suggested. In a way, this could be like old times.

No, she responded slowly, sadly. It can never again be like old times.

Ambora

Angel Kobe, known as Jaysu, returned to her homeland more upset and confused than ever, both about herself and about the way the world should be.

So many dead. So much evil. The very existence of it, the depth of it, was upsetting to her. She could feel it, at that extreme, just being in proximity to the representatives, the diplomats and soldiers, who served it back in that Zone place.