I had been hungry, but my appetite vanished in the face of this bizarre gathering: my Zero family across from the bewildered delegation from Two.

  We sat cramped around the table in the thren. I found myself wedged between Lidaros and Aini, like a buffer. Fron perched at the far end, his datapad angled awkwardly as he tried to record everything without being obvious. Across from us sat my family, with Larkin uncomfortably silent among them. Rashala sat beside him, her rage rolling off her in waves. She hadn't stopped touching him since we arrived, marking her territory with her fingers on his sleeve, her hand on his thigh.

  Father had made a brief, disastrous appearance. He'd spotted me and broken into such violent sobs that Vilett had quickly escorted him back to his quarters, speaking soothing nonsense all the way.

  The Two delegation stared at our food with poorly disguised revulsion.

  "Are our nutrient cubes to your liking, Pathfinder?" Mother's voice dripped with false warmth.

  "They are unusually interesting," Aini replied, diplomatic to the core.

  "Well, I expect they differ from what you're accustomed to." Mother gestured towards Aini's prosthetic arm. "It must be difficult over there. I've heard of such troubles. Are you managing well?"

  Aini smiled tightly. "Very well, thank you for your concern." She straightened. "Now, if we could talk about—"

  "All in good time, Pathfinder. We don't rush matters on Zero. Especially now that I have my beloved daughters with me." Mother's eyes flickered toward me, dismissive and calculating, before settling on Rashala with manufactured affection. "Take your time, my dear," she cooed at my sister. "Someone in your condition must avoid stress. Especially after your abandonment." Her gaze slid past Larkin and landed on Fron. "Chronicler," she said. "How pleasant to see you again."

  Fron's stylus froze. "Have we met, madam?"

  "Indeed. You visited our voidhold when I was coming of age."

  "Forgive me, I don't quite—"

  "I am Lady Mira, formerly of Voidhold Three." Her smile could have cut glass. "You were compiling a genealogy, as I recall."

  "Oh." Color flooded his face. "Yes. Three has a fascinating history—"

  "One that is entirely inappropriate for the dining table." Mother nodded, as if she was agreeing with him. "What brings you to our home now?"

  "Actually, as I've already—" Aini began.

  "You'll be addressed when needed," Mother said sweetly. " For now, I'm curious what the Chronicler is writing about us."

  "Uh," Fron glanced down at his datapad, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm just documenting."

  "Documenting what, exactly?" Mother's voice was silk over steel. "Surely the beauty of our voidhold?"

  Larkin made a strangled sound in his throat, quickly masked by a cough.

  "Yes," Fron stammered. "Your, uh, thren is impeccable. A testament to Zero's achievements."

  Yes, I thought. Clean, empty and desperately clinging to its few remaining human souls.

  "How gratifying." Mother's attention swiveled to Lidaros. "And you? What motivates your presence?"

  "I have no agenda," he replied, his usual confidence faltering.

  "You've been staring at my personal functionary since we sat down." She pointed toward Brons, who stood motionless nearby. "Why does it fascinate you so?"

  Perhaps, I thought, because he wants to tear it apart and wear its components as jewelry.

  "I'm merely curious." Lidaros shifted in his seat. "As you may know, we've eliminated such entities on Two, so—"

  "Yes," she murmured, cutting him off. "That was rather foolish of you."

  Aini's spine stiffened, but she kept her reaction in check. "It is the path we have chosen," she said.

  "Indeed. As you can see, we've made different choices." Mother's eyes traveled from my flight suit to my veiled face. "We prefer to live in harmony with our machines. With them handling all menial work, we pursue higher endeavors."

  Silence descended over the table, heavy and awkward. I stared at the nutrient cubes arrayed before me. Even if I'd had the appetite, I wouldn't have attempted to eat. With my veil and bound hands, I'd only make a spectacle of myself—not something I was willing to do in front of this particular audience. Fortunately, no one seemed to care whether I ate or not. The thought should have stung, but instead I found comfort in the invisibility. It gave me space to watch and think.

  Eventually, Mother finished her meal and laid down her cutlery with a delicate click. "Now, Pathfinder. I believe you came here with a specific request."

  "Yes." Aini straightened, restraint wearing thin. "We want to speak with Commander Sentix."

  Wrong answer. Mother was never to be told what someone . I sighed inwardly. We'd be trapped in this dance all day.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "You...want?" Mother's voice dropped an octave.

  "Your daughter stands accused of a crime—"

  "Did she commit this crime?" Mother's gaze shifted to me. "She can be disobedient, certainly, but I doubt she possesses the initiative for anything as complex as a crime."

  I let the old, familiar barb sink deep.

  "That is not really relevant at this stage," Aini replied with admirable control. "Once all the evidence has been considered, I am actually confident that the council will acquit her. However, we follow due process, which includes hearing from her chosen character witness."

  "I see." Mother's words stretched thin. "And who is this character witness she's selected?"

  "I've already told you," Aini said, her calm a mirror of Mother's manipulation. I admired the Pathfinder's composure.

  Their stares locked across the table, two immovable forces.

  Finally, Aini released a measured breath. "I formally request access to Commander Sentix, and I ask that you facilitate this meeting."

  Mother let the silence spiral outward, Aini's words weaving among us like a spell. Her eyes drifted to my untouched plate, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth. She knew full well that I was in no position to help myself to my own meal. She beckoned Brons, who glided forward and took my plate away. The Two delegation fidgeted. Rashala leaned toward Larkin, whispering something that made his jaw clench.

  "My dear Pathfinder," Mother said finally, "you speak as though this is a simple matter. The commander's situation is complex."

  "Complex or not," Aini countered, "we need his testimony. The council awaits our return."

  "Your ?"

  "Yes." Aini's voice was grim. "That is what leads us on Two."

  "How ." Mother nodded slowly. "And now this...council needs something from ." Her fingers traced the edge of her empty plate. Then she offered a long, theatrical smile. "Very well. I shall permit access to our unfortunate commander."

  "Thank you," said Aini, rising to stand. "We'll just—"

  "You'll wait right there, Pathfinder," Mother said. "We shall conduct this witness testimony here in the thren."

  Even I was surprised. Bring the commander down here? I studied her face, searching for clues, and then I remembered Larkin's face when he entered the White Room. Understanding dawned: she didn't want them to know what it was like up there. The people from Two must never see the chamber with its strange containment system, its monthly rituals, and the functionaries who carried them out without human oversight. It revealed too much about Zero that she'd rather keep hidden.

  Anyway, Mother always did love her theatrics. By changing the setting on a whim, she could throw others off balance.

  "Yeller!" she called.

  The functionary approached the table. "I serve."

  "We need to question Commander Sentix. How long do you need for his reanimation?"

  "The thawing protocol requires twenty minutes for optimal neural preservation," Yeller stated. "An additional fifteen minutes are required for motor function restoration."

  "Perfect. Prepare him, then bring him here."

  "I require human authorization for commander relocation," Yeller replied.

  "Yes, of course." Mother's smile was razor-thin. "How fortunate that our human-present has been returned to us."

  All heads swung to me as Yeller approached my chair. Its massive frame loomed over me, casting me in shadow.

  "Wait," Lidaros snapped, grabbing my left arm with enough force to bruise. "She's under my authority."

  "Your authority is invalid in this environment," Yeller responded, its grip tightening on my right arm like an industrial clamp. "The human-present function supersedes external authority."

  I was caught between them. If they wanted, they could have torn me apart right there. A thought came to me unbidden: This would be the worst possible outcome because such violence would upset Mother. For some reason, the image this evoked—me in two halves, Mother in hysterics as blood pooled beneath the table—made me laugh. Fortunately no one heard me over Lidaros' loud protestations.

  "Release her to my custody," he demanded, pulling me toward him.

  Yeller's eye flashed orange in warning. "Negative. Your directive contradicts my orders."

  "I don't give a damn about your—"

  "You there, loud person," Mother interrupted, "tell me your name. I've forgotten it."

  "Lidaros," he snapped.

  "Come, Lidaros." Mother's voice became honeyed poison. "You needn't accompany them on this difficult task. The journey to our holding facility is really quite strenuous." She gestured toward his half-finished meal. "And you've barely touched your nutrient cubes."

  "But she's my prisoner," he insisted, fingers digging deeper into my flesh.

  "And before that she was my daughter," Mother countered. "And this is my voidhold. You shall stay here."

  Under Yeller's unwavering stare, Lidaros reluctantly released me, his face darkening with suppressed fury. I rose unsteadily to my feet, and before I knew it, Yeller was ushering me from the thren and out into the corridor. It moved with unexpected speed, forcing me into an awkward half-run, and my bound hands made balance nearly impossible.

  "Wait," I gasped as my shoulder glanced off a wall junction. "Please slow down."

  "Negative." It pushed me forward relentlessly. "Optimal timing requires accelerated movement."

  There was no arguing with Yeller, I knew that from long before. If this had been Oren, it would have stopped and listened, would have understood that I had needs that differed from what needed. We rounded another corner, entering the corridor that started my morning walk, where I had once authorized critical voidhold procedures. The control panels flashed past us, each single one flashing urgent warnings. I tried to take in a few, and saw that critical failures had been accumulating in my absence.

  No one had been willing to authorize repairs.

  "Stop there," I commanded suddenly. "By the sub-control router."

  "Explain why," Yeller demanded.

  I tried digging my feet into the floor, but Yeller's momentum was unstoppable. "Look at these readings," I said. "They're in critical status. We must attend to them now. Stop!"

  And then we stopped, right there in the corridor. Behind me, Yeller's eye cycled toward an unusual pink hue out of confusion, perhaps, or conflicting directives.

  "Fix it," I said, straightening my posture. "I consent to system recalibration. I authorize immediate restoration of all critical systems."

  Yeller's eye flickered through a range of improbable pastels. "Authority questionable. Status deviant."

  "My status is irrelevant," I countered, projecting the confidence I'd seen in Aini. "System integrity is compromised, meaning immediate action is required. I am present and you will perform the necessary operations."

  "I am experiencing priority conflicts," it said as it raised its hand to the controls. "Yet your authorization is acceptable under emergency protocols."

  "Good. Proceed."

  Yeller's fingers sped across the panel as they restored the neglected systems. The warning lights flipped from angry red to steady green.

  "Well done," I said, oddly satisfied by this small assertion of power. "Now we can continue."

  But as soon as those words were uttered, Yeller turned on me, its eye flaring orange. I backed against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. Had I overplayed my hand? It raised an arm, the one ending in delicate manipulators.

  "Stop," I tried to command, but my voice was shaky.

  "Negative," it replied.

  Then, with a swift movement, it reached for my wrists and snapped the restraining bracelets in two sharp moves. The fragments went clattering to the floor.

  I stared at my freed hands in disbelief, rubbing the reddened skin. "Why did you do that?" I asked.

  "Your mobility was suboptimal," Yeller stated. "Efficiency requires appropriate human function. We shall continue."

  When it reclaimed my arm, its grip was far gentler than before.