Out of Reach

       The King adjusted his crown, shot me an indignant look, then sighed and began bowing and apologising profusely to the plastic monkey. She scoffed (as if she believed a word of it) but loosened the cocoon around the Rose, dropping her to the floor. I craned my neck: no visible damage, leaves and stem intact. There, she was trying to rise, though righting herself in a toppled pot wasn't easy. Time to intervene. "Your Majesty... no, not yours," I corrected, glancing at the King. "The strongest fighter's gone, exits are sealed, you can relax. Let me check if your hostage is unharmed. You wouldn't want her dying before the Little Prince returns with the catchers' ship—or he’d lead an assault instead." The Rose squeaked indignantly, leaning away. The King, reassured he wouldn't be dusted again, overtook me in two strides, shoved me aside, and snatched up her pot, leaving the bag on the floor. He held her aloft. Great (not). How was I supposed to convey their roles in my plan now? The monkey wheezed laughing. Since her hearing poor, whispering instructions might've worked, but the relevant ears were currently well above my head. I could start with destroying the monkey, but if things went awry, there'd be no time to explain during a hasty retreat. Unless... I could speak obliquely, clear enough for the Rose but not the plastic-augmented queen. The King was too dense for subtleties, so all my hope rested on the Rose. "So... Louis, was it?" The monkey spoke first, quite calm already. "What did you do to make your companions so eager to brand you a cosmic evil and hand you over to die?" "Oh, the usual," I waved, heading for the water canteen by the door. "A romance triangle." The Rose yelped in outrage. Adorable. I could listen to that sound forever. "Ah, love is the root of much suffering," the monkey cough-laughed. "Fortunately, it can be simplified away. My subjects proved that." "I vehemently disagree!" The kingdom-less king interjected, shielding the Rose. "Love is sublime! A radiant joy—" "You read that somewhere," I circled him, trying to catch the Rose's eye. Three steps brought me into position. She was frowning, arm leaves crossed. I turned slightly out of the monkey's view, and winked at the Rose. Now stress key words and pray she'd read between lines. "But what did you face in reality? Nearly losing your head, literally. Picture-perfect! Worth of putting down in a sketchbook. Rosie, be a smart girl and tell him it's all garbage." "You said it was a misunderstanding!" The King stamped his foot but then remembered not to jostle the Rose and settled for jabbing his sceptre at me. "I speculated," I clarified (to him). "Could've been wrong. Maybe she just found you dull?" The monkey watched, chin propped on her knee. Her mood was unreadable without facial expressions. The Rose squinted suspiciously, face turning to track me. Then she gasped, clapping a leaf over her mouth before resuming her scowl. Fine, she had got the message. "Don't worry, I'll tell him." She mimicked my cadence, then paused, mouth opened, clearly choosing words. "I'll tell I agree with him completely. And what about you? No escaping, you can’t deny it. The Little Prince told me about your... motivations." At least she understood. "Precisely my point," the monkey cut in. "Feelings breed only strife. Without them, all improves. Do me a favour, share your tales. I feel they’ll all confirm my idea." The Rose "accidentally" nestled closer to the King's ear, hiding from the monkey, and whispered the plan for him to vanish into the notebook, taking her and me. Simple. Elegant. Now the tricky bit: conveying that they should only flee after I had finished my little business here. "With you," I chose words faster, "one never gets bored. But first—" The King's eyebrows shot up. "Aha!" He clutched the Rose tighter, together with her bag, even wrapping her in his poncho's sleeve. "Oh no you don't!" he crowed with suspicious glee. "No waiting! Let him stay behind for once!" With a triumphant glare over his nose, he dissolved into sparks. Bloody—Right. Still room to manoeuv— A dull thud and an "ouch!" echoed through the sparks. When the light faded, only the dazed Rose remained. Why?! I lunged for her, spotting a white blur in my periphery. The monkey! I barely deflected a tendril aimed at the Rose. The back of my hand burned from the impact. A second strike calculated for my weight, not a tiny shrub, sent me sprawling onto the seating ledges. A hard edge cracked my ribs, and I needed some seconds to catch my breath and force myself up. Limbs functional, the rest doesn’t matter. Worst of all, the Rose was again encased in a trembling spiral dome, poised to crush her. "Please don't, you'll regret it," I said evenly, louder. "Don't you worry, I can't vanish like that, nor can the Rose. We're not going anywhere. As you said, it doesn’t matter how many stay as your hostages." Oops. The King's grudge over the ant-queen incident ran deeper than I'd thought. The Prince had clearly drilled into them never to leave me unattended. Then again, had the King waited and taken me into the notebook, the Rose would've been left alone, likely amidst a fire. So, perhaps the King’s sudden retreat was for the best. Everyone's alive, my head's still on, and if the monkey missed the scheming, I might still lull her into complacency. Plus, I had cards up my sleeve—or rather, in my pockets. "You said it yourself, feelings are detrimental," I reminded her I checked my hand—the burn persisted. Fine motor skills would be tricky. The skin was scraped raw, but tendons seemed intact; fingers clenched despite the pain. "That wasn't a feeling but a common sense," she grated toneless. "Holding this plant until the ship arrives is no trouble. Safer this way." A tendril unfurled, hovering inches from my nose. "Ah, but until then won't do," I feigned levity. "Plants need light. Unless you've forgotten how real ones work. And water. That dome harms her." At least she loosened the coils. No visible damage, the Rose appeared merely frightened. Moving slowly, I approached her. The tendril shadowed me but didn't strike. "If it's so fragile," the monkey sneered, "why not simplify it? Then it won't break or need light. The converter's some levels below, but my vines can carry it." For a moment, the idea tempted me. The Rose, naturally, objected; she'd no desire to be a scentless, colourless plastic husk, however immortal. I countered that looks mattered little; the Prince would love her regardless. She insisted she was indivisible, with thorns, petals, fragrance, soul and all. Enough theatrics. "No, she'd still require energy," I demurred. "And her mass is negligible, so the conversion yield would be meagre. She might not last even until the ship returns. You wouldn't share your planetary energy, would you?" The monkey shook her head. Pity, really. Stripping the Rose down to one or two expressions would be... dull. She's amusing. But if one connected her to the planetary energy source instead of the monkey, to preserve that delightful complexity... That would require eliminating this plastic monstrosity first. ...Now another entertaining thought flickered: would the Prince sacrifice world after world to sustain a plastified Rose? She wouldn't even have the luxury of wilting away. Maybe I should give it a try. Meanwhile, I reached the Rose. The tendril around her had coiled into a disc, gripping the pot. "Honestly, I didn't foresee that," I murmured, nodding at where the King had vanished. It was unclear if she grasped my meaning, for she snorted, slapped my hand as I checked her head, and began adjusting her own petals. Right, where was the brightest spot farthest from the throne? I tried subtly tugging the pot free. No luck. "More light there," I pointed to a higher ledge near a minor spiral door. Three light conduits shone above it, not just one. The monkey, distrustful, carried the Rose there herself with a vine. I followed, watered the soil (back turned, of course) to whisper: "Be ready to bolt there," and tossed the bag toward the small door as a marker. Next, under tendril escort, I collected the Hunter's shattered rifle. The wooden stock had snapped from the metal barrel, taking the trigger mechanism with it. But the flintlock with the flash pan and frizzen remained in one piece. Usable, if not against too-fast tendrils. Later, perhaps... I tossed the barrel toward one exit, kicked the stock to another. "Your Majesty," I began the main event. "You requested stories earlier. Is the offer still open?" "Get on with it,” she conceded. “Hey, what's your little game over there?" I shoved my hand into the right pocket, nearly hissing as my scraped knuckles brushed the fabric, but the cartridges were at that side. I scooped them all onto my palm: the green moisture-condensing rounds went back into one pocket, the purple explosive one joined the matches in another, leaving the red paint-filled charges clenched in my fist. Time to lull the monkey’s vigilance. "Trifles. That’s just seeds, for fumbling." I began circling her pedestal at a leisurely pace. "You mentioned your rebellious daughter who fled." I stepped over one tendril. No reaction from the monkey, just her head swivelling mechanically to track me. Not even a twitch. "So?" came the disinterested reply. "We met her recently. Surrounded by children, grandchildren—even a great-grandchild. She led a motley crew of fire-shard catchers." Another tendril lifted to let me pass. I "accidentally" dropped a red cartridge beneath it, continuing my spiral path inward. "And?" The monkey's voice remained flat. The tendril prodded the cartridge without any effects. Good, let her think my entire arsenal was just as harmless. True, I had hoped for more dramatic reaction at news of her prodigy (and disregard me littering around); living creatures usually clung to sentiment about their young. "I believe she had reconsidered her views on necessary evils. You might've even reconciled with her." "She died to me the day she left this palace." The monkey's head rotated 360 degrees to keep me in view. Confirmed; she really couldn't detach from the pedestal. "Parental weakness is beneath me." I dropped another cartridge near the pedestal's base and shifted tactics: "Ah. Well, she died before our eyes, actually. Quickly. Brightly. Pointlessly." The Rose gasped in indignation at my callousness, but the monkey didn't flinch. Only sceptical boredom in her posture. Pity. Now came the critical phase. I needed ten, maybe twelve seconds of distraction. Risky, but I had one last riveting story. "Another fascinating tale about this very spot, cycles ago..." I feigned reminiscence while transferring the remaining red cartridges to the green ones, retrieving the matchbox and purple explosive round from my other pocket. "Seventy, seventy-five solar cycles back." I emptied the matches, slipping the explosive inside. "The floor was melonwood then, walls too, just lighter shade, and roof thatched so thick you couldn't discern its colour by glow-worm lanterns." I kicked one of the plastic floor ridges. "None of this eyesore existed." Keep four matches, return the rest to the pocket together with one striker strip torn off the matchbox. The monkey had gone very still, leaning forward now, fingers gripping the pedestal, tail coiling and uncoiling spasmodically. Now surgical precision required. On my second circle around her, I paused near the tendril guarding the Rose, knelt an arm's length from the pedestal, and placed the matchbox with the explosive at its base. "That morning, you weren't seated on your throne-stump. You were pacing around it in a rage, wearing only a nut necklace, as your crown of morning glory flowers hadn't been gathered because one maid overslept, another sneezed and dropped your breakfast. So, you were hungry. Furious." "How—?!" The monkey finally cracked. Behind me, the Rose gasped. No time for her. "How do I know? Because..." I struck the match bundle against the torn striker. Flame erupted, acrid smoke curling. "...I materialised behind your left shoulder and asked—" I lowered the matches toward the matchbox, dropped them, and stood swiftly. "—if you'd like to eradicate weakness of body and soul." "But how?!" The tendril shielded the matchbox from me as others lashed toward me. Too late. A flash. Bang. I covered my head as the shockwave hurled me backward to the bloody ledges again, but crucially, not onto the Rose. She shrieked when the convulsing tendril dragged her pot, but she had heeded my warning and tumbled free instantly. Only to flee a mere two steps. Blast it, I'd told her to head for the small exit! I scrambled up (nothing broken, seemingly). Turned. Ah. Great. The stench of burnt resin and plastic filled the air, dark smoke tendrils rising. The pedestal had either vaporised or shattered, tendrils lay scattered, twitching, their severed ends burning blue. Ah, no, one pale heap wasn't a tendril but the monkey's upper half, mangled plastic torso ending in a ragged stump. Still, the wretched thing scraped one paw against the floor, howling like its descendants aboard that ship. "Yes, it was me," I cut between screams. Silence fell. "The lanky one didn't lie. And now I'll finish what I started." The plastic face contorted, fist clenching in impotent rage. Incoherent screeches. I'd have loved to watch her fade up close, but priorities—the Rose still gaped at the blast site, then turned huge eyes on me. " You monster... Why? Couldn't we wait for my Prince?" "Why?" I purred. "She dared lay a finger on you. And your Prince won't come any time soon. But cheers for the compliment, I'm touched." When I offered her bag, she snapped her own tendril at the air and backed away... then yelped, staring past me. I turned just as something white streaked into my face. My cheekbone burned. The vision darkened for a moment, it seemed, but when I blinked the dimness away, lying on the floor, the Rose had already scuttled to the wall, the main exit's spiral door half-unwound but ominously still. But it didn’t strike again, for some reason. A draft carried stronger smoke, and pale yellow flames flickered in corners. The monkey's laughter rang out: "Not so fast! If you are the Snake, I'm stronger now. You'll never leave." Right. From this angle, I saw her lower half wasn't just debris. A thin plastic strip still connected it to the floor, likely linking the main door's control cable. Hence why the strike had only knocked me back: its reach ended mid-hall. Two other exits remained, the Hunter's rifle barrel as a lever, and spare matches. Manageable, if unpleasant. My head throbbed, half my face aflame. I touched my cheek and winced seeing blood smeared over my fingers. No double vision, though, and headache tolerable. Fine. It only hardened my resolve to end the plastic monkey. I moved toward the small spiral door near the Rose, pried at its coils with the rifle barrel. Futile. The monkey gloated from her ruin. "Why didn't the King take me?" the Rose whimpered, leaves hugging herself. "Likely because the Prince must take you into the notebook first by himself. He stashed the Fox there when the catchers blamed him for their tangled ropes, or so he claimed." I shrugged. "And you've never been inside. I can’t offer any other explanation." "Looks plausible." She shuddered. "And you? You can't return there at all?" "Even if I could—what's the point when I can’t take you with me. Don't fret, I won't abandon you." "Coming from you, that sounds like a threat," she muttered, chin lifting. Well, at least her spirits soared a bit. Since the rifle barrel didn’t work on the small door, I changed tools. The matches worked better. They melted the plastic alright, and it even continued to burn with a bluish flame, almost smokeless. A worrying sign; burning consumed oxygen and released various other gases, none of which were particularly wholesome for protein-based creatures. I needed to hurry. After melting through the door vine coil at one point near the wall, I kicked out a chunk of it, then dragged it into the hall to clear the passage. Drat, there was a dead end behind the door. It didn’t lead to a corridor but to a cramped storage room or whatever else might lurk in a monkey’s courtyard. A really tiny one, three steps by three. No ventilation shafts, no hidden doors, no hatches. This is what happens when you act without reconnaissance. Before, I had never cared about the palace’s layout since I could appear anywhere through the shadow subspace of the world. Now, I couldn’t physically recall what I had never known. Like where the second small door led. On top of that, I only had two matches left. Most likely, the plastic doll hadn’t been bluffing about there being no way out. In the best-case scenario, the Prince would burst through the ceiling right now, finish off the blasted monkey, and pull us out. But that was highly improbable. Impossible, even. He must’ve raced off to find and persuade the catchers, and they wouldn’t agree in five minutes to venture into a lethally dangerous zone, especially if there was no profit in it, like a habitable planet. Even if, against all odds, he happened to check his notebook on the way and saw the King there, learning all the news, by the time he turned the asteroid around and made the journey back… The Rose and I wouldn’t last that long. Even if the fire didn’t reach us, there’d be too little oxygen left and too much carbon oxides and searing smoke. Maybe even hydrogen cyanide; some of the burning patches resembled polyamides, which could release it by thermal degradation. I estimated the hall’s volume, the speed and spread of the fire. In half an hour, an hour at most, breathing would be impossible, and weakness and loss of coordination would set in even sooner. And if death might still be a release for me, the Rose was another matter… “Can’t you summon that blue ex-gloomy of yours? He’s made from your thoughts, isn’t he?” I latched onto another option. “Shimmerling,” the Rose corrected me. “Well, I’ve never done it before.” Still, she squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her leaves to her temples. Nothing happened. “Probably because I was thinking about my Prince and the Fox, not myself,” she said guiltily, lowering her leaves. Fine. That meant I had to finish off the monkey. With two matches and three paint rounds. If I failed, at least I’d die first—and maybe, just maybe, break free and tear this dump apart. The monkey didn’t know that if a living creature attacked me first, it lost its immunity, and I could kill without permission. Right, first, make things slightly safer for the Rose. I herded her into the storage room, placed her pot in the far corner, and in my most threatening tone, ordered her to climb in and not stick her head out. She asked what this was all about. “Most combustion products from plastics are lighter than air,” I explained, fishing a handful of rounds from my pocket. I picked out two green ones. “And the heavier ones still rise because they’re hot. So the safest layer of air is near the floor.” “What about you?” the Rose still hesitated. I didn’t answer yet, busy with the protective atmosphere. The broken rifle was tricky. Loading a round properly was one thing (make a tear in the cartridge, pour some powder on the pan, stuff the rest into the muzzle), but activating the hammer without a trigger… After some fumbling, careful not to blow my fingers off, I managed to release the hammer. The recoil sent the scrap flying from my hands, and a cloud of yellow smoke burned my fingers. Nothing unbearable. A pale yellow stain marked the wall. I waited for the barrel to cool before firing the second round, and soon a distinct damp haze hung in the air. “There. Water vapour, first, will do you good. Second, it’ll displace some of the other gases and settle soot particles from the smoke. And it’ll slow the burning when the fire reaches here. Hard to breathe, yes, but bear with it. You can produce oxygen, so you’ll manage if you stay awake. And why should you care about me? I’m a monster, right? I’ve only got one request: stay alive. I’ve got a couple more ideas to test.” “Maybe you don’t?” The Rose hooked my shoulder with a tendril. “Not that I’m worried about you, but so far, your ideas have only made things worse. The cloud was clever, so let’s just wait here for my Prince. He’ll definitely come back, and soon.” “No, he won’t make it!” I snarled, turning on her to enjoy her scared once more, watching her flinch and then remember she was a brave, independent vegetation, straightening up, nose in the air, leaves planted on her hips. A fluid, swift transformation, shifting between expressions, poses, quirks. Ah, one of her side thorns had broken. Fine. If I got lucky, I’d see more later. Never liked the word “luck.” Never relied on it. I turned back to the passage and managed one step. A sudden thought froze me right on the threshold. What the hell was I doing? More rescue operations? What kind of return to my true self was I expecting if I kept doing idiotic, noble things for the Rose? The next step I took at full height, even if only human for now. No, this was different. I was only saving the Rose because I wanted to have her. The monkey would get no mercy. Everything was fine. I was acting in my own interest, as always. In the dim light, the fire was barely visible. The stench, though, was impressive. My nose itched, my eyes watered. Right when I’d need clear vision and accuracy! Three paint rounds left. And besides the dye, they contained a tiny gunpowder charge. Now, how should I ignite one near the monkey’s last cable without matches? I scanned for burning patches. Hot debris from the explosion seemed to be the main smouldering points. And the draft from the half-open door drove the flames mostly toward the centre and my side. I tossed one round at the nearest patch near the throne. Missed. Zero skills. I’d have to learn on the fly. The second try hit, but all I got was a dull pop and a red stain on the floor. The plastic monkey managed to bat the third round away with the door-vine, and it didn’t detonate either. What if, like the Hunter himself, I used the rifle’s barrel or stock as a club? The stock was too short, leaving only the barrel. And if I first threw Rose’s burning bag at the monkey as a distraction… Bad news: the monkey could see everything I did and might guess my tactics. But what choice did I have? For the maximum surprise effect, I could take the rifle barrel into the Rose’s storeroom, grab the bag, and hide the barrel behind my back, moving sideways, so the monkey wouldn’t see it. Let her think the burning bag was my only weapon. Right, light it first from a smouldering patch further away. I approached from the pedestal’s opposite side, away from the active door. No time left, had to act now, while I still could. My throat was already raw, dark spots flickering at the edges of my vision. From five paces, I hurled the bag and lunged after it. Fast, to strike while the vine was blocking the bag. Or so I thought. Instead of the monkey’s head, the iron muzzle of the barrel swiped through air. The beast had caught it and yanked sideways with unexpected force, taking me with it. I didn’t manage to let the barrel go in time and slammed straight into the now-free door-vine. Plastic coils clamped around me, lifted. Luck failed, of course. What next? Maybe a quick smash against the floor? That would be the last resort. Rose, don’t leave your hiding spot… Alas, the monkey just commanded the vine shake me like a rag doll, pulling me closer. “No, if we’re dying, we’re all going together,” she hissed from the floor. “But you first.” I didn’t answer. Let her think what she wanted. Right, carbon monoxide should kill a human in under half an hour. Too long. But add oxygen deprivation and a cocktail of other toxins... I couldn’t run a chemical analysis by smell, but the dizziness and growing weakness told me I had minutes. That’s better. My body was already gasping for air. Good—faster collapse. Ten, eleven, twelve… Just in case, so the plastic doll wouldn’t suspect I was doing this on purpose, I kept clawing at the vine around my throat and chest, pushing. Useless, of course… Then, suddenly, I remembered a scene almost exactly like this. Only I’d been watching from the outside as a dark-haired boy, the original of my current form, struggled the same way in the grasp of the Gloomies, choking on the same poisonous mix of gases until he went limp. I froze. Too similar to be coincidence… Was this retribution, so-called karma? Oh, if it existed, I shouldn’t expect liberation. No point struggling now. My body barely obeyed, my vision darkened, voices blurred—the monkey’s triumphant yet panicked screech, Rose’s distant cry, indistinguishable. Well, at least I’d never have to watch her die again. And this was the last time I’d kill her. Ringing in my ears, darkness—just let the ringing stop, I couldn’t bear it if there wasn’t silence on the other side… Nothing.       *** The first sensation to return was pain. Nothingness had proved far too uncomfortable. Each breath seared and tore at my chest, yet going without air was just as unbearable. Right, then. Breathing, then. So, it hadn’t worked. No point lying about, time to drag myself back to reality and scout out what had happened and why. And take measures if necessary. I cracked my eyes open, and the light immediately stabbed at them, forcing me to squeeze them shut again. The headache wasn’t far behind, sharpening abruptly. Then came the sounds, just as precise in their assault on my skull. "—…and a real shame. Could’ve been rid of that thorn," a familiar grumble came from somewhere below. "Fox! How could you—" the Prince’s voice cut in from the side. Right, the rescuers had returned, and judging by how calmly they were bickering, the danger had passed. I squinted cautiously, adjusting to the light. Above me was the wooden ceiling of the house on B613 and a patch of dark sky through a gap in the wall, along with the Prince’s worried face peering over the back of the sofa and the Geographer’s smug mug at my headboard. Where had he come from? Before I could wonder further, he grabbed my wrist, waited a moment, then leaned over me with a magnifying glass, rudely lifting one of my eyelids. I flinched—or tried to, but it felt like a purple Hunter’s round had detonated in my skull. I froze, willing the agony to stop. The Prince asked the Geographer something. I couldn’t make it out, too busy waiting for the fog in my head to clear. If I stayed still, it was bearable. "No, nothing serious, really," the Geographer’s reply floated over. "A mild concussion, moderate poisoning, some scrapes, possibly a minor burn in the upper respiratory tract. Rest, fresh air, warm tea with glucose. Good thing the Businessman had antidotes for hydrocarbon combustion byproducts. One injection was enough. He’ll feel rough for now, but in about a week, good as new." "Why even botherr?" a familiar rasp came from further away. The pterosaur, the new pirate captain. How had they made it in time? And why had they agreed to come at all? "Easier to finish him off. And safer for you. I get it, Little Prince, you don’t want to hurrt anyone, but we’re talking about a villain. You didn’t even have to do anything, just leave him there." "No, no, and no," the Prince retorted wearily, turning to his unseen interlocutor. "The Queen of the Marriks made the same mistake, destroying her subjects for individual misdeeds, forgetting they had good in them too." "And what’s good about him?" The Fox grumbled again from below. Under the sofa, probably. "But he protected my Rose. And he disabled all the palace’s vines. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been able to land." "Your prroblems," the feathered one replied. "You’ll deal with the fallout if he stirrs up more trrouble." The rustle of feathers faded as he left. I tried to ask the most pressing question. Took a couple of deeper breaths to acclimatise to the burning in my throat, waited for the Prince to turn my way… The first attempt produced only an indistinct croak, the air turning to fire mixed with sandpaper. Each breath only aggravated the irritation. I squeezed my eyes shut involuntarily and missed the Prince approaching. But I did feel him lift me by the shoulders. My head nearly split again even from that gentle motion. "Try to drink," his voice murmured near my ear. "Should help, the Geographer said." I opened my eyes. He had indeed brought a familiar flask to my lips. I mustered the strength to take the flask myself. Every muscle ached. The last thing I needed was to drink from his hands. Not that he let go entirely, still steadying both the flask and me. Fine. The main thing was seizing a moment between spasms to swallow the contents. Something thick, slightly sweet. Could’ve been cyanide or strychnine for all I cared; rational arguments aside, my body refused to suffer further. No, not strychnine but an actual medicine. I even managed to articulate: "Rose?" "Oh, sorry," the Prince smiled, judging by his tone, "should’ve said straight away! I got her out safe. She’s in the flowerbed now, complaining of a headache, but so energetically that only I believe her." He laughed, and I nudged him with my elbow, hinting that shaking me wasn’t advisable. He stopped at once, letting me lie back down. But he didn’t leave. "The Queen of the Marriks is alive too," he continued, delivering more unwelcome news. On the other hand, if the plastic beast was intact, the genocide hypothesis remained untested. There still was hope. "The stick-insect engineer from the catchers’ ship figured out how to power her but disconnect her from the vines so she can’t harm anyone. Her relatives are furious, but the kid, Kai, volunteered to talk to her. I guess they’ll find common ground because he has made big mistakes too. Oh, and the thing turning everything into plastic—the catchers found and destroyed it." No, I didn’t want to hear everything right now, and I tried to say so. Managed "rest and quiet" without another coughing fit. The Prince took the hint but didn’t take offence, scurrying off on some errand. Claws clicked under the sofa. The Fox followed but tossed over his shoulder: "Welcome to our world. Thanks to you, the Prince and I got smashed into walls plenty too. So I understand your feelings. But don’t expect sympathy! I’m so glad that justice exists." At that, he was gone. Fine. I could lie still and breathe quietly, hoping the next breath would come easier. Sometimes autosuggestion worked. Sometimes it didn’t. Something scratched near my ear. I jerked back, tried to sit up, for the first thought was about the shard catchers lurking nearby, perfectly capable of reaching me. Without dire need, I had reconsidered testing the disembodiment hypothesis. But all I managed was propping myself up on an elbow. The sudden movement nearly finished me off before any hypothetical monkeys could. My lurch startled the Rose, who yelped and nearly toppled off the armrest. Oh. Just her. Why, I wondered. Ignoring the discomfort, I cradled my head in my hand and leaned against the backrest to study her. My palm brushed my cheek and stirred more burning. Right, I’d taken a hit to the face intercepting that vine. And my fingers traced something rough. A plaster. Rose suddenly extended a leaf, pressing it to my forehead. "Hurts?" Obviously, what do you think, I wanted to snap. But that was too many sounds, so I just grunted, not wanting to scare her off. Not wanting to scare off the odd sensation piercing even the nausea and throbbing pain. Her leaf was cool. Almost felt like my head was splitting slightly less. The Rose seemed so close. Closer than mere proximity. Like… Right, something similar had happened on her home planet when she said she’d been scared for me. But back then, she hadn’t known who was by her side. Now, her words, her scent, her touch were for me, no one else. Maybe this was what humans called "touching"? Or was it the floral scent? Yes, it would be a shame to lose that during repolymerisation. I inhaled it as quietly as possible, like stealing something not meant for me. "Thank you for protecting me," she whispered, so softly nothing could’ve drowned it out. Say more. "But… why did you even tell her who you are?" For a peaceful chat like this, I could force out a word or two. "Doesn’t matter. Didn’t… work." "Oh," she suddenly fretted, "sorry, it’s hard for you to talk, right? Later, then. I just… wanted to say something else." But she fell silent instead. I glanced at her. Up close, she seemed taller. I hoped it was just perspective. And her face pinker than usual. But she was staring at the floor. I made a questioning noise. "You know," she began again, "I don’t remember my old self, the me you took me to your planet." I knew, no need to remind me, felt bad enough already. "My Prince told me all about her, everything he saw, everything he understood there, on your planet." Uh… Was she talking about how he’d figured out before me why I’d wanted her specifically, not any of the billions of roses in the universe? She’d be the death of me yet. One consolation was that she clearly found this talk as awkward as I did. "I didn’t believe it. That didn’t add up—you, and love. I kept doubting even on my home planet, when I heard your confession as I was fading." You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. My vision darkened, the air vanishing. I squeezed my eyes shut. She’d heard?! How?! I’d—I’d stepped into the shadow subspace, I hadn’t broadcast the thought, and certainly hadn’t said it aloud! I had spoken to myself! Unless it leaked through the shadows, or she’d been on the brink of death and eavesdropped through some metaphysical crack. Whatever. Felt like I was about to melt. Then Rose laughed (soft, melodic sound), and I felt the cool leaf against my burning cheek again. "Today, I finally believed," she whispered almost in my ear. "Because you can say anything—especially you—but actions don’t lie." She fell silent again. "But… I’m sorry, truly, but… you understand." Think so. Couldn’t she have stayed quiet five more minutes? I knew what was coming. "You know I love him. And I could never love anyone else. Even if you stole me again, it wouldn’t change anything. You can’t separate me from him in my heart." Words. So many words. Tangling in the dark behind closed eyelids, forming an efficient circuit, begging to be spoken. Guaranteed to work. Rose, darling, I don’t need you to love me. Just to stay with me. I’ll even stop extinguishing worlds while you’re here. And you, like your precious Prince once did, could sacrifice a little time, a drop of freedom, proximity to your beloved, to save thousands of souls. She’d jump at the chance to match his martyrdom. She’d agree. No. Too much effort. Not today. I’d say it after liberation. No strength now. For now, lying on this fake asteroid in the universe’s backwaters, quietly, so as not to fall apart, and breathing in the scent of roses was enough.