His being was reformulated in reality. The next thing Betelgeuse knew, he was sitting on the seat of the Dust-Trekker. Screams and yelps. Meng Bi was beside him, with his hand firmly on Betelgeuse' shoulder.

  "B.T.!" Filippov roared, fumbling with his weapon out of reflex. Queen She's honor-guard were roused suddenly to action in a cacophony of yells and screams.

  "Settle down," Betelguese said, lacing his words with the compulsion and raising his hand once the troop compartment had stopped spinning. Almost immediately, the space quietened.

  He shifted in the seat, feeling that his ass was sitting just a little too snugly. He pushed himself off to find that a portion of the seat-cushion had just disappeared.

  At least it wasn't fused to the chair.

  ... How did I get here?

  He settled back down and turned to Meng Bi, but before he could say anything, the surroundings were once again sucked out from his perceptions. A pitch-black darkness asserted itself, to be replaced by a crimson brightness.

  The feeling of falling. Terrible weightlessness.

  Betelgeuse stumbled, but was held fast by Meng Bi's hand on his shoulder. He caught himself at the edge of a sandstone cliff and righted himself, then looked down to find a vast, red plain stretching toward a horizon smudged with the crimson dawnlight. As far as he could see, there were red rocks and red juts and red formations. And a long way away to his left were the yellow sands of the Elluhada. To his right was a bulbous gray mass that looked like a giant tumor grown out of the red skin of Desert.

  He was no longer in Gehen.

  With the flickering of a powerful intentionality, the world was once more consumed by darkness.

  Then light.

  A cool wind caressed his face. Betelgeuse blinked away the feeling of vertigo: before him, a sky of muted grey stretched out into the foggy distance.

  Betelgeuse lowered his gaze. Stretched out before him were a variety of non-standard shapes all tessellated into a messy grid. He looked closer, observing that these were blocks of buildings—skyscrapers, apartment complexes, multistory carparks. To his left was a block of factories belching whitish smog. To his right, the most notable landmark was a bulbous, shimmering and translucent mass that looked like a plastic film wrapped around a relatively small portion of land.

  The sounds were the sounds of a city.

  The concrete surface he was perched on hummed with the vibrations of a HVAC system of gothic complexity. He was so very far up—the skypiercer he was perched upon was larger than anything he had ever witnessed, far larger than any Saltillan Obelisk. The city appeared to be built around this tallest building.

  Nothing was higher than he was. Nothing, except more of that megalithic structure.

  Betelgeuse looked out into the distance. The carpet of buildings resolved into a distant curvature, and beyond that was only static fog. Betelgeuse stepped backward, daunted by the scale, to find his back against a concrete wall.

  Meng Bi's hand was still on his shoulder and his intentionality suffused Betelgeuse' mind. Betelgeuse turned to look at his erstwhile companion, carefully distinguishing his own intentionality from Meng Bi's in order to avoid mixing up the two.

  Mixture led to susceptibility, and susceptibility led to the diffusion of personality. The truth was that it was that the personality of a human being was always in danger of becoming socialized by new influences, so that some measure of 'hygiene' was imperative to preserve the direction of one's stated inclination (i.e., one's goals).

  In this case, Betelgeuse had to be careful to sanitize his own mind to prevent the seed of corruption from taking root. His higher purpose, now made clear, was genetic differentiation. Above all else, this could not be compromised.

  "... A Jumper. Spacetime manipulation?" Betelgeuse said, pulling his mask forward so that he could breathe the stale air. It tasted like it was recycled. "How have you made it stable?"

  "It's none of that, really," Meng Bi said cryptically.

  "Then… what did you do to us? To me? How did you manage the Jump, to…" Betelgeuse trailed off, not knowing where here was.

  "You've just died three times over, technically speaking. Both of us did," Meng Bi said calmly. "When you Jump with me, you die and are reborn. That is, if you believe in the immutability of a soul and the corresponding body. Your soul died with your first body."

  'What's he talking about?' Betelgeuse thought to himself. 'He's referring to the fact of the teleportation, but what does he mean, exactly?'

  "Why do you say it means death?" he asked, tracing the thin lines between the blocks of buildings up to the brilliant-white supports holding up the great curving highways.

  "The School of Theli says so," Meng Bi snarked. He wasn't being serious, clearly.

  "Spare me the BS. I don't believe in that. Nothing is immutable," Betelgeuse returned. "The fate of life is to be inconsistent and aberrant."

  Meng Bi laughed again, louder than ever, his voice pealing out into space and dissipating with the artificial wind.

  "Then, can you believe that all you are is information—data—and nothing more? That the transmission of the self can be effected by nothing more than the transmission of information by quantum means?" he said.

  Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes, letting go of his mask and pursing his lips.

  Information. What is he really saying? Does he have power over quantum mechanics energy-transmission? Probabilistic manipulations?

  Betelgeuse dredged old theorems and generalizations he'd once learnt in school, a lifetime ago now. Humanity's understanding of quantum mechanics rests on a mode of description that is probabilistic, or so he remembered.

  Ultimately, however, it was impossible to say for sure what the nature of Meng Bi's power was without more.

  "Enough games. Where have you brought me, Meng Bi?" Betelgeuse said finally.

  "I'd have thought this place would be familiar," Meng Bi said.

  "I don't know where this is," Betelgeuse returned, glancing at his wrist-transceiver to see that there was satellite connection. JEG, the location code read. As it were, his transceiver was blowing up with messages and call-requests from Filippov.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "What! You've never been here?"

  "No."

  "... Ye gods… you're serious," Meng Bi muttered, a note of surprise creeping into his tone.

  "I don't care anyhow. You're trying too hard to impress me," Betelgeuse said flatly. "What is the purpose of all this?"

  Meng Bi stood there for a moment, his grip tightening on Betelgeuse' shoulder. This Anomaly couldn't have been that old—the timbre of Betelgeuse' voice betrayed his youth. And yet, the stature with which he carried himself could not be denied. No arrogance could be discerned from his bearing—only a precise estimation of his own skills and abilities, and a powerful will to use this for his own benefit. Shock-and-awe tactics wouldn't get Meng Bi anywhere.

  "Bring me back this instant. We have important things to do," Betelgeuse said, seeing that Meng Bi wouldn't answer him.

  "As you wish."

  Again, the environment was sucked into the void, and within an instant—or eternity, depending on one's perspective—Betelgeuse was back in the subterranean tunnel, with the flaming drill-rigs still burning themselves out by the gloomy darkness.

  Vertigo... it wasn't simply vertigo, but the feeling of every cell in his body rebelling. He felt touched in a way that was taboo, with all its attendant feelings of dirtiness and taintedness.

  "S-sir," a weak voice sounded behind Betelgeuse.

  Betelgeuse suppressed the feeling of strangeness that assailed his mind, and turned.

  Private Fuller was there, kneeling next to two forms laid side-by-side on the ground. One of the forms Betelgeuse recognized as Private Nahdi. The other was the charred nugget of flesh that had once been Private Alterk.

  Queen She was nowhere to be seen.

  Where did that woman go? Betelgeuse wanted to ask, but he held his tongue when he observed on Fuller's face an expression of pure and unadulterated sadness.

  Fuller had been mourning.

  Betelgeuse shrugged off Meng Bi's hand and stepped toward Fuller. Fuller's gaze shifted from Betelgeuse to Meng Bi and then back to Betelgeuse again. They locked eyes—Betelgeuse' black pupils against Fuller's brown—and found that there was no need to say anything. Everything was understood. Betelgeuse had gone through what Fuller was going through, and, though he wasn't exactly close to Nahdi and Alterk, he could empathize.

  God, could he empathize. On the one hand, Betelgeuse wanted to show this sincerely, but instead, he resolved merely to put on a certain mask, to demonstrate instead a certain kind of dignity and universal love of his fellow man that was far from his own. All because Meng Bi was watching.

  Behind him, Meng Bi's intentionality flared, and Betelgeuse felt like an actor on a stage. His feelings were sincere, and yet he felt like he had to put up a show for Meng Bi, if only to confuse him.

  "Thought you were gone," Fuller said dejectedly. "The boys deserve their prep."

  "They did good," Betelgeuse said, addressing Fuller with a somber tone. Both knew that these were empty words, because Nahdi and Alterk had died for nothing good. They died for Betelgeuse, that was all.

  The threads of fraying intentionality splintered off Fuller's mind, and Betelgeuse felt the urge to take control of Fuller—to yoke him with the compulsion as he had first done in respect of all the men he'd made his Privates. But something amoral within him stopped him dead in his tracks. The compulsion is a crutch, the thought occurred. And anyway, Meng Bi was watching.

  Betelgeuse wondered if the domineering thought would signal its disagreement, but there was only silence. The silence of the dead.

  And beside them, Meng Bi watched with owlish curiosity, his mind turning with silent calculations.

  'Here I thought I found the consummate Egoist,' he thought. 'Is he really doing all this for his own benefit? There is a certain falsity to the way he moves and says what he is saying, but also a certain sincerity. He must have been close to the ones who died.'

  Meng Bi, who was versed in the ways of parsing the nuances of intentionality-waves, found that Betelgeuse' domineering nature manifested its Egoism in a peculiar way. The more he learnt, the more interested he became in Betelgeuse. For although Betelgeuse was one Anomaly amongst several, it was the rarest specimen he had yet seen.

  Betelgeuse stood out because of the depth of his self-reflection, and all Golden grades who had achieved the highest levels of 'mental arts' knew that the capacity for self-reflection correlated with the strength of one's compulsion. For someone so young to have manifested such a great capacity for self-reflection…

  Private Fuller had by now wiped off the sadness from his expression. Composing himself, he regained his feet and bowed his head.

  "Queen whoeverthefuck she was hightailed it," Fuller said. "She left very quickly after...

  Fuller shot an uncertain look at Meng Bi, "... after you were taken away."

  "I gathered," Betelgeuse said drily.

  A noise stirred behind him, pulling his focus. He turned, observing several women who had originally been trapped in the bag of plastic picking through the half-bodies scattered about the drill-rig. Someone had cut the bag open. These women were engaged in salvaging breathing apparatuses, and there were about 20 or more of them left.

  "I freed those girls," Fuller explained softly. "Cun't let any more of 'em die."

  "Good," Meng Bi said, addressing Betelgeuse with a knowing tone. "One of them will be very important."

  "—Who the hell are you, anyway," Fuller flared hotly, jabbing his finger suddenly at Meng Bi. But Betelgeuse raised his hand, indicating for the Private to back off. Fuller obeyed, though he couldn't keep the suspicion from his eyes.

  Betelgeuse pursed his lips. Meng Bi was hinting at something important. If he could discern Betelgeuse' nature as an Anomaly, perhaps he had also sensed a 'crucial link' amongst the cargo of girls.

  "...nyway, I freed them," Fuller continued mumbling.

  "Good," Betelgeuse said, echoing Meng Bi. "How about Filippov?" he asked, placing a hand on Fuller's back.

  "Hazzan's with the convoy, but the Captain's* coming down to salvage," Fuller replied, thumbing behind his shoulder toward where the entrance into the space was. "I better tell him you're with me. He was having a crashout, said something about you Jumping through the Dust-Trekker—"

  *[Captain Filippov]

  ***

  It was about 10 more minutes before Filippov appeared with the rest of Queen She's honor-guard in tow. Betelgeuse headed off Filippov's request for clarification (in respect of his sudden appearance in the Dust-Trekker with the unknown, blue-robed man) with the reminder that 'time was of the essence'. Then he quickly explained that Queen She had absconded, and that they were all officially under his command now. As their commanding officer, he instructed them to salvage whatever stores could be salvaged from the dead bodies and damaged drill-rigs, and to round up the surviving 'human cargo' for conveyance to their transport.

  The work began in earnest. Betelgeuse was grateful that Filippov refrained from asking any further questions. Of course, Filippov gave him a look that said 'You better explain later', which Betelgeuse fully intended to do anyway. Captain Filippov went ahead with supervising the post-battle clean-up.

  Betelgeuse himself retired to the edge of the room, taking Meng Bi with him. They took up near the entrance to the space and struck up a quiet conversation whilst Betelgeuse kept one eye on Filippov's progress. There were still many important things Betelgeuse wanted to clarify.

  "To be clear, you're saying there's an important lead to be found here, amongst the cargo of girls," Betelgeuse said.

  "I'm saying there's a high probability that we'll find a lead somewhere amongst them," Meng Bi said. Now that Betelgeuse was face-to-face with the robed man, he noted that Meng Bi was about half a head taller than he was.

  "A lead to what, exactly? I need to know what I'm looking for," Betelgeuse pressed.

  "... We'll find the political means to acquire real power," Meng Bi said, and Betelgeuse imagined he was smiling. "No great endeavor can be done without it."

  "Speak clearly!" Betelgeuse exclaimed, starting to feel frustrated at Meng Bi's cryptic speech. "You appear out of nowhere and expect me to trust your vagueness? Tell me—what are you looking for?"

  "Only a means to discover a chink in the armor," Meng Bi returned, waving his hand lazily.

  "What chink? Whose armor?" Betelgeuse pressed again.

  "You know, Mr. Betelgeuse, I could kill you if I wanted to. I think you ought to respect that," Meng Bi said slowly. His form began to leak that clumpy intentionality again, and Filippov threw a cautious glance his way from over by the destroyed drill-rigs.

  "Then do it. You came to me and proposed a partnership. This means sharing risk. I can't risk the lives of my troops without more information," Betelgeuse said adamantly, matching the strength of Meng Bi's intentionality with his own.

  After several seconds of thought, Meng Bi relaxed himself, and the suffocating air cleared. He turned his full-faced helmet toward Betelgeuse, saying: "Let's just say the Democracy and I don't get along well. Simply put, I need all the leverage I can. It's difficult to survive in the wilderness."

  Meng Bi remained an enigma.

  Betelgeuse felt his ire rising, but was careful to remain in control of his emotions. At the very least Meng Bi had made it clear that, like him, he was an enemy of the Democracy. The political lines were clear, at least, and it appeared that they were on the same side.

  "We have to return to camp first. I need to consolidate my forces."

  Meng Bi shrugged.