Entangled Excerpt

7/28/2019 Entangled Excerpt

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Copyright 2013 by Amy Rose Capetta

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selections rom this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Miin Harcourt

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Houghton Miin is an imprint o

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The text o this book is set in ITC Slimbach.

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PuRe stAte A qam ym ha cao

b dcrbd a a mxr of ay ohr

C H A P T E R 1

Saturday night, and Cade was headed to the one place on An-

dana that she didnt hate. The one place where she could be

around other humans and almost stand it.

First she had to put on the right armor: black skirt, black

gloves. Spiked her lashes with a bit o black market mascara,

checked the eect in a broken-tipped triangle o mirror. Added

two matching oil slicks o eyeliner. Grabbed her guitar.

Slapped and echoed up the metal ladder, out o her glori-

fed cement bunker, into the empty-stomach rattle o the des-

ert.

Her ootprints crumbled in the sand as soon as she shited

her weight. Each breath was dust and dust and air in that

order. Each breath made her lungs curl into fsts, ready to

fght their way back to some blinked-out mother planet aplace she would never see because it didnt exist.

Cade swung her guitar case over the line that meant the


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end o the Andanan deserts and the beginning o Voidvil. It

was a real line dunes on one side, and, on the other, build-

ings that shot like dark fngers out o the sand.Cade didnt love the deserts o Andana. But she wanted

to peel o her own skin and give it a frm shake when she

thought about living in Voidvil. It was a human town really

a human trap a place where people piled on top o each

other deep and high in apartment towers crusted with the

black o fre escapes.

On the bubbled-tar sidewalks at the edge o town, men and

women stared at Cade and her guitar case. Smiles crawled

onto their aces. The closer she got to the center o town, the

louder the voices grew, the closer skins got to each other, got

to her, sweating to close the in-between inch. The lips here

smiled too, but the eyes were empty, glassed-and-gone with

spacesick.

Cade didnt have spacesick.

She had something worse than that.

Her destination sat deep in the ground, a blister under nine

stories o pressing, smelling, never-stopping human. Cade

dropped down a corkscrew o stairs into the wet-stone smell

o Club V.

The room wasnt much when she looked at it. A small

stage, set back and painted the shiny black o an insect shell.

The space was good or a crowd, but hal-crammed with a

glass bar that Cade wasnt old enough to drink at. Four lawsgoverned the humans on Andana and this, o course, was one


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o them. Not that she cared. She wasnt there to uzz hersel.

Or ade out. Or meet people, even.

Or meet people, ever.Youre late, said the owner, a nonhuman who liked to tell

humans that his name was Mr. Smithjoneswhite. He held a

drink, something amberish on the rocks, with one o his long

arms. He had six o them, and two legs, spanning out rom

a central nervous system that was actually central. He could

regrow a limb i he had to, in a process that was flled with

pus and ascination. Handy in bar fghts, too.

Youre late, he said again, and Cade wondered i he was

trying to start a bar fght, right now, with her.

I dont go on or two hours.

Be on stage, he said. On time. His accent was thick,

like he was slurping the words o a plate. Cade could speak

passable Andanan, but he insisted on English. Didnt want her

mangling the mother tongue.

Its the setup, he said, waving one limb at the stage. Isnt

it? Its taking you too long. Too much time staring at yoursel

in the mirror. It was a low and unoriginal punch. Humans

were the only species that used mirrors. Other species knew

what they looked like without a bit o glass-and-backing, or

had gone past a looks-based understanding o each other.

Too good to make a bit o talk with me, little girl? Mr.

Smithjoneswhite asked, rattling his slow-melt ice at her.

Cade put her tongue between her teeth, to keep herselrom grinding them to white dust.


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Just make sure I get paid.

She shouldnt have come back without seeing the money

rom last week. O the our laws that Cade and all the hu-mans on Andana had to live with, the frst one declared that

they werent cleared or work. Too weak. Not built or the cli-

mate here, and defnitely not built or space. So they bartered

and black-marketed. It was clear that Cade had a talent, so o

course someone like Mr. Smithjoneswhite was willing to step

in, fll out the ofcial orms, shue a ew coins into her hand

at the end o the night. But last week had been two sets, three

encores, shameless cheering, no coin. And she slithered back.

It was a sour move, because it showed Mr. Smithjoneswhite

how much she needed this place, needed it more than the

money.

Ill see you get paid, he said. From the drink sales to-

night.

Cade looked up into his ace a blur o eatures, like it had

been stamped by someone with a shaky wrist. Right, she

said. For both weeks.

He tipped the end o his two upper limbs, his version o a

nod. Cade swept past, and kept up the stomping and scowl-

ing. But or the frst time in seven days, she elt something

other than pissed o.

Because Cade was at the club or the same reason as every

other Saturday. She would wait out the amateur screechgasm

o the opening acts, bits o oam tucked into her ears as in-surance against awulness. She would take the stage, set up

her amps and pedals, and give a tender squeeze to the pegs


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on the neck o her impossible, unscratched, cherry red guitar.

The color o a ruit no one had eaten in centuries, and still, it

looked delicious.Plug in.

Turn the volume up. up. up.

Drown the unbelievable noise that crashed through her

head.

The Noise was the barrier, the thing that kept Cade rom living

with other humans. They made so much scurrying, screech-

ing, nattering sound, and when that hit the Noise, pressure

changed, and she was sure her brain would start leaking out

through her nose.

Cade kicked the metal skeleton o a chair to an isolated

backstage spot and sank her head between her hands.

She knew there must have been a time beore the Noise,

but it was roped o, along with a ew glaring, all-white memo-

ries o her most primitive years. People in white. White rooms.

White lights, clean and sharp as a seven-blade knie. Cade

wanted to look at those memories but she didnt have clear-

ance, even inside her own head. She was stuck with the years

o less-than-lie that had passed since shed been dropped at

the Parentless Center on Andana.

And she was stuck with the Noise. It wasnt a clear stream

o words or music or even random screeches o sound. It was

those things and more unclear, unwashed, unbearable.There were dierent strands o it. Frequencies. Sometimes she

could pick them out, sometimes she had to cave and crumble.


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Cade was a smashed radio, all the stations o the universe

pouring in.

The opening acts Andanans on sand-skin drums, aband with our lead singers, a lone man on a battered trum-

pet came and went. Cade set up the stage in record time,

eeling the shit o muscles under skin. She never needed help

with even the heaviest o her amps, and she never elt tired,

and she never got sick. Two girls even younger than Cade,

dressed in some kind o plastic strings and spacetrash, stood

at the corner o the stage and whisper-shouted about it a

avorite snatch o gossip at Club V.

Shes not human, not all human.

Some Hatchum in her bloodline, you think?

She doesnt have the double pupils. Or the orbital. Any-

way, they dont snug humans.

Something snugged something to make her.

Yeah, but what?

Cade made a note: Play an ear-obliterating chord in their

aces.

She stood in the center o the stage and held Cherry-

Red just held her, the weight welcome and sinking. The di-

erent colors o the lights warmed into her. Blue on her right

side, red on her let, a whole row o colors pressed up hot,

breaking over her back. It was enough to convince her that all

lights should have color. Not the dark nothing o space, or the

bright nothing o the desert sun.Cade fddled with the strings until her fngertips were sat-

isfed. I they ft just right, she could play harder and aster


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than anyone in Voidvil. And when she did that, the Noise

retreated i only a little bit. Last Saturday night, shed been

onstage and she was sure that or a moment shed elt theNoise icker. When she tried to play the same song at home,

re-create the conditions, the static in her head had blasted on.

But another icker? That was something to look orward to.

The crowd was bigger than last week, splitting the seams o

the room. People spilled over the borders o each other arms

overlapping, backs pressed to chests. The crowd was a crea-

ture o its own, with a long tail stretched up the stairs. And

when Cade raised her pick, not even in a brass way, the crea-

ture went quiet, and held its breath.

Cade bit into the frst chord.

The song chose itsel. A wild, cat-scratch number that

yowled when she added distortion. Within a ew minutes, it

gave way to something else driving, drumming, a pop o

knuckles against steel. Cade never planned sets. That made it

easier or her to sneak up on the Noise, overwhelm it. But it

gave her no ground tonight. When she dialed volumes up, the

Noise dialed itsel up. When she strung notes into melodies,

the Noise melted into chaos.

Cade looked up rom the snarl o her fngers on rets and

distracted hersel with the crowd.

The ones closest to the stage had spacesick. They loved

to dance, a spastic dance that involved hal-snugging your

neighbor in public. The spacesicks that touched each otherthe most, without even seeming to notice it, were the arthest

gone. Cade wondered how long it had taken how many


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months, years, o exposure to the dead black o space to

make them like that. She looked over their heads, into the sae

middle.But she snagged on someone in the second row, a man

wearing a lab coat. Human, rom the looks o him. O course,

humans werent cleared or labwork on Andana. The mans

eyes clear, no glass scanned her up and down.

Cade slammed into another song. Verse-chorus-verse. Com-

ort ood. It was the kind o tune that raised its middle fnger

to the Noise, slapped order thick and sweet on top o chaos.

But then she got to the bridge and Cade was sour at getting

over bridges. She couldnt see the other side, never reached

the shore. When the bridge crumbled, the Noise was waiting.

Cade grabbed the audience and dragged it down with her.

She flled them with strange intervals, waves o eedback,

tones that picked out other tones so high they could only be

elt in the drone o the air, so low they oamed up through the

oorboards. She gave people the Noise, thick as black market

coee. Unfltered.

And she got loud. So loud that there was no room in her

head, her body, the club, the planet, all o space.

Shed reached the part o the set when the crowd had the

annoying tendency to all in love with her. She could see it

happening. Hands went loose, bodies ell into the troughs

ater notes, crashed into the new ones. Talk died out and

cheers evolved, strange and throaty. Some o the glass wentout o the spacesicks eyes, but Cade didnt trust it to stay

gone the longer a person had the sickness, the thicker and


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more constant the flm. The people in the ront row glassed

over one by one, then reached up weedy arms to touch her.

Mr. Smithjoneswhite didnt care as long as no one rushed thestage.

Cade knew this had nothing to do with her. People didnt

want her. They wanted the music, this string o notes that

kept them beating in time with something other than them-

selves, in touch with something more than themselves. Cade

wanted that, too. It was the only thing she and these slummers

had in common.

The last chorus trickled out, weak. Cade wanted to play

harder, aster, louder but she would get one note away rom

hitting a stride and he would be there again, looking up at her,

pale and patient. Lab coat.

Cade wondered i he was just another one o her looped-

out admirers. But he didnt have the look. He was calm and at

least halway to old with eyes that rarely seemed to blink.

Like they had to be reminded to do it, or appearances.

He stared on and on, his eyes insisting on some kind o

connection. But Cade was connected to no one, and the ew

people who had pretended to care about her were useless. At

best. Cade sliced one o her meanest looks at lab coat, one

o her very best back-offs. Then she stared at the bar, at the

stairs, at the walls, but the white o his coat was always there,

catching the corner o her eye.

Cade stirred things up again, built a new and terrible song.The song to demolish all songs, to smash the Noise, to put an

end to the horrible world in her head. She crested to the top


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o it, reached her fngers or the next note, elt the strings close

around the trenches she dug, over and over, into her skin.

And then.Dark. Quiet.Hush.

The Noise blinked o.


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QuAntuM unCeRtAintY PRinCiPle

sa ha h mor carfy o propry ha

b mard, h pob bcom o

kow ay ohr propry

C H A P T E R 2

Cade pummeled through song ater song.

The Noise might have ickered last week, but this was ull

shutdown. Cade had trouble hearing notes over the wash o

silence in her head. She needed to get clear and fgure this

out.

She made it to the end o her set, prodded by a splinter

o hate or Mr. Smithjoneswhite. Then she ran o the stage

and pinballed down a short black hall. The balance in her

head was wrong, or gone. It elt like walking on a string over

a deep ravine. With each step, she slipped, was deeper into

the mist or made o it. Cade was alone in her hollowed-out

head.

She worked past the snake o the bathroom line to the roomat the end o the hall where perormers could trash whatever

they needed to trash, ade out, snug ans. Cade went on last,


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which meant she had the place to hersel. She plunked down

in ront o the mirror. A whole sheet o it, only cobwebbed at

the corners with cracks. I must have done it, she thought. Actually done it. Played so

loud that I scared off the Noise.

She examined her head rom twelve dierent angles. Tried

to see past the sinkholes o knotted dark hair and the second

skin o makeup, through her olive eyes, through their black

pits, into the welcome new void.

I wonder how long itll last.

And then.

At least I can still think in here. Thats something.

Behind her, a voice slivered through the cracks around the

door.

Cade?

No knock. Usually her ans knocked and when she opened

the door i she opened the door they smiled up at her,

little puddles o apology, like their hands just couldnt help

themselves. She either ashed her nastiest smile or her seven-

blade knie.

Cade?

She didnt have time to waste on this. She had a head to

spread out in. Get comortable.

What? she cried, toward the hall.

Cade?

She would stop this thing in utero. She put on her tough girlace, a third skin that clapped on tight over the makeup. Flung

open the door.


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The white outline o a man ashed against the dark hall.

Lab coat. O course.

He looked older than shed thought, his hair a muddle ogray and black. His wrinkles seemed to not ade, or shit as

he moved his ace, but blink. Like wiggles o static.

You elt it, didnt you, he said. Just now. The shit.

Cade took a tiny step, like a caught breath, backwards. This

old spacecadet must have been talking about some important

event in the relationship hed invented or them in his head.

She thought o his showy, obvious spot in the second row.

Best to be careul. Cade crossed her arms, pursed her mouth

so tight the lipstick pebbled.

Shit?

I need you to listen to me, the old man said. Urgent

words, but his voice was even.

Sure, Cade said. But her eyes said,No. Get off. Step back.

I know things about you.

He reached out one wrinkle-spurting fnger, and Cade

crumpled away rom it. But he didnt touch her. He didnt

even try. Just hovered near her temple a straight line rom

his cracked old fngernail into her brain.

The shit, he said. Its dierent now, Cadence. Cant you

eel it?

He waited or her to respond, but Cade was stunned to a

ull stop.

What did you call me? she asked.Cadence.

She let the old man in.


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He stood in the armpit o shadow just behind the door, ac-

ing the sheet o mirror. Cade weighed her options keep him,

waste him, send him on his nerve-shattering way.Who are you? she asked.

I have both a name and a number, he said. The number

is or paperwork and ormalities. You can call me Mr. Niven.

How do you know whats happening to me? she asked.

No, wait. First o all, how do you know

Your name. Cadence. Born June third, 3112. He was us-

ing the Earth calendar. Defnitely human. But the rote way he

reported things eeding them out like strings o acts elt

strange.

I know your name because I know you, he said. I know

you because I was there on the night you were born, and or

the frst eight hundred and twenty-nine days o your lie. This

period and duration o acquaintance makes us old riends,

Cadence.

I dont have riends, she said. New, old, or otherwise.

But she was still hung up on those three letters, tacked

to the end o her name. The nudge rom bare-bones Cade

to the sweet, curving eshiness o Cadence. There had been

times bottomless nights in the bunker when shed been

sure she made the name up, just to prettiy hersel, or pretend

she had a past that she didnt.

But she did. And here it was. Babbling at her.

You werent born on Andana, Mr. Niven said. You wereborn on Firstbloom.


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That was a mobile lab station. One o the ew that had

been set up in space, o course, since no planet would host

a troop o human scientists. Rotating crews, so no one stayedlong enough to turn spacesick.

Firstbloom. Cade had heard o it, sure, but it had just been

a word. Not the place where she was born.

No parents, Mr. Niven said. You were bred and raised

or Project QE. He kept slinging acts, and Cade took them

like punches.

No parents. No parents? But shed never had parents, so

what did it matter i they were just globs o genetic material

or esh-and-blood? And this way shed never have to waste

one more thought on how they died, or i they had just let

her, or i they had loved her. It was better this way. Cade had

seen enough tubies to know that they turned out fne, and

sometimes much better than their parented counterparts.

When she reached the other hal o what Mr. Niven had

said, though, it brought her brain up short.

Project what?

Project QE. Shorthand, o course. For Quantum

Entanglement.

Each new unknown was a serious blow to the side o

the head. Cade sat down slumped there, a heap o slit-up

clothes and chipped nail polish and toughness melting o her

in sheets.

What is that? Her words came out small. What is quan-tum entanglement?


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It will be easier i I show you. Mr. Niven reached or the

top button o his shirt without so much as glancing down.

Cades hand swerved three times. Once to fsh out herknie, twice to unsnap it, three times to deal out the short,

at blade that worked best on humans. She slid the tip o

the knie through the stale air o the dressing room toward

Mr. Nivens chin which didnt so much as bob. Cade never

should have let him in that room. Her wrist itched to undo the

mistake.

But Mr. Niven had a ew buttons popped now, and what

Cade saw against his pale, almost transparent skin stopped

her. A hole in the gulch at the center o his collarbone. Or

not a hole. It glinted. A dark circle o glass embedded in the

skin. He closed his eyes and the hole ooded with light, and

the light streamed together, ocused itsel on the grime-white

wall, and burst into a picture.

Mr. Niven was a projector. Cade wondered i it was an up-

grade that came standard with being a scientist.

The picture took a minute to set and harden. White walls.

White light. A room ull o babies.

Cade dropped the knie and didnt even know it until she

heard the clatter.

Am I one o those . . . ?

Shh, Mr. Niven said, the sound ull o crackle, like it was

being heated on a burner. We are about to begin.

Hello, a voice boomed out o Mr. Nivens mouth. Not hisvoice. Hearty, cheerul. It even changed the shape o his lips,


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stretched them wide around the warm sounds. Welcome to

Project QE. A ew shots o babies crawling at each other,

blinking their damp eyes, crabbing their little hands. Youmight wonder why youre looking at a room ull o inants.

Here was the childhood Cade almost-remembered. She

didnt know whether to touch the makeshit screen with sot

fngertips or run as ast as she could back to her bunker.

These children have been split into pairs based on care-

ul breeding and selection, the voice boomed. Final tests

and preparations are being carried out, and soon this batch

o standard human children will undergo the process o quan-

tum entanglement.

Youve said that twice now, Cade muttered, but what

does it

A ash o white, so hot Cade had to throw a hand to her

eyes. Something had been spliced out. The picture icked

back on two babies sharing the rame. Swaddled in spotless

white diapers. Out o the two, it was simple enough to fnd

hersel. A swirl o black hair, light-brown skin, green-black

eyes. The other was pale as a cloud and twice as at, in a sot-

olded, babyish way.

Here we have Cadence and Xan.

Xan.

The name clinked, like Cade was a metal bank and the

name Xan was the frst coin shed ever dropped into it.

Xan.That name meant something. More than that. It was worth


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something. But Cade would have to come back to it later to

fgure out what, because the great big mouthy voice boomed

on.These two are optimally suited or entanglement. Our

greatest hope lies with them.

Another white-hot ash. Another splice.

The two babies sprawled in a new room, whiter, i possible,

than the last one. Cadence and Xan took well to the process.

Ater a brie period o conusion and rest, the two began to

bond at an intense level long thought inaccessible to the hu-

man species.

Cade elt the prickle o something in her chest. Pride. Not

that she had earned it. All she had done was be a baby, bred

or a certain purpose. It was the same eeling she had to dis-

miss all the time, when she smashed through a new song or

splayed her fngers into an unreachable chord. She wasnt a

good musician. It was just a response to the Noise, a necessary

knee jerk. And those babies were just bundles o instinct and

genes.

Cadence and Xan are a wonderul pair, the not-Niven

said. Perectly entangled.

Entangled? Cade asked. Again.

Shh, Mr. Niven said, and he was just his old man sel or

a moment, thin-lipped and scolding.

Cade was one curled knuckle away rom sending him to

the oor. But Mr. Niven had answers, and Cade was only start-ing to slam together the questions. So she let him stay on his

eet. For now.


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The picture on the wall changed to a diagram o bouncing

circles, chalk-white on black. When we entangle two particles

on a quantum level, they are no longer bound to the physicsthat restrict human action. Two circles owed together, down

a narrow stream, and parted, now picked out in blue to show

they were dierent than the rest.

Entangled particles react to each other, balance each

other, and transmit impulses aster than the speed o light.

One circle spun clockwise. Less than a blink later, the other

circle spun, counter. Entanglement is an ancient act, known

to humans or over a millennium, but applications have been

limited. Certainly, prior to these trials, no one has attempted

to entangle two humans on the quantum level.

Back to babies. They were older now Cade could tell by

the ull heads o hair, the sprouting bottom teeth. It hurt to

look at that little girl and see how dierent she was rom the

mostly grown version. How happy.

Baby Cadence smiled and Xan puckered his ace into a

rown. Baby Cadence laughed, and Xan shredded the air with

a wail.

Their moods are attuned when in proximity. But they can

transmit even more antastic streams o inormation. Whats

more, they exhibit none o the human tendencies toward

spacesick. While the spacesick detach rom themselves, the

entangled remain grounded in the strength o their connec-

tion with each other. The state is permanent, unaected bycell turnover, due to our unique method o bonding particle

interactions with the Higgs Field prior to entanglement.


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We at Firstbloom can now say it is possible to keep the

human mind sae rom space. We can do more than struggle,

more than survive. Our hope is that Cadence and Xan willshow us how.

The picture aded to white, and soon there was only the

wall.

Mr. Niven coughed, chasing o the other voice that had

been making use o his throat. He didnt budge rom his spot

behind the door. It was Cade who made the move, closer,

needing to know more.

Xan, she said, and the name clinked inside her head

again. Why dont I know anything about him? Ive never seen

him. Never heard his name.

Xan was not as strong as you were, Mr. Niven said. The

entanglement process is complicated, difcult. Xan has been

asleep or fteen years.

You mean . . . in a coma? A rare word on Andana. Most

o those who lost consciousness were let to die.

Yes.

Cade tried to dial the picture o baby Xan orward, and

came up with a pale, sot-aced teenager with water-blue eyes

and loops o brown hair. She thought o him waking up on

Firstbloom. Into the white o it, the nonsmell o it, the blank

but riendly rooms. Hearing the voices o the scientists who

had dreamed him up sot at frst, blurred, but then gaining

edges. Welcoming him to the world with noise.And then Cade understood something.

The Noise. It had blinked o, but only because this boy,


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somewhere else in the universe, had woken up. Xan had been

in a coma blank, static-flled, stuck between stations, or

fteen years.Cade had been tuned into him.

There was only one thing she could understand now, only

one thing that made sense. So, she said, smoothing down

the threads o her skirt, patting the nests in her hair, doing a

spit-sour job o grooming hersel. When do I meet him?

Xan is gone.

The word made no sense. Gone?

Firstbloom was raided two days ater he frst showed signs

o consciousness.

The icker.

The icker while Cade was onstage last week. It had been

real. Xan had woken up or just a second as she hammered

out notes, and now he was up or good.

He wakes up or the frst time since he was a drooling

baby, Cade said, and you let the place get raided?

Xan was taken. Mr. Niven didnt seem too worked up

about it. He recited the words with the same thin-soup non-

thrill that he said everything else.

Cade curled that last knuckle.

Humans will be much stronger i entanglement proves

possible, Mr. Niven said. Not every species in the universe

would like to see that. Project QE has enemies, Cadence. You

have enemies.She got the distinct eeling that Mr. Niven wasnt going to

help her fght those enemies. It made her want to get up in his


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wrinkle-scaped ace. Tear his lab coat into a thousand white

pieces.

So Im supposed to sit around waiting or some hostilenonhumans to swarm all over me?Attack?

Mr. Niven reached into his pocket. No, he said. You are

not supposed to fght. You are supposed to fnd Xan.

What!

She rushed him now, and his hand ew out o his pocket,

arms high and sudden-white as solar ares.

No contact, he said. No contact. No contact.

He bleated it until she backed o.

You werent here to tell me what I should be doing or the

last fteen years, Cade said. Isnt this in your job descrip-

tion? You bred us and raised us and entangled us arent you

the ones who keep us sae?

The scientists o Firstbloom would like nothing more than

to recover Xan and run Project QE to completion.

Youd like nothing more than to make me do it foryou.

Why should I do that? Cade kicked a allen chair, and the

echo o the metal shivered up her leg. Heres another ques-

tion, while were at it. Why wasntIrecovered? Ive been on

this boiling excuse or a planet, and this whole time Xan was

on Firstbloom . . .

It was never our intention to keep the entangled on First-

bloom. Mr. Niven kept up the pace o the excuses, but his

voice thinned out even more, like a tape at the end o its loop.We needed to see how you would are in a natural environ-

ment. Weve kept a close watch all these years, Cadence. How


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do you think I located you? He put his hand to the let o his

undone buttons, over his heart. You are our most treasured

experiment. We would never let harm come to you.The pride Cade had elt at being a good little entangled girl

was gone, washed o on a stomach-sick tide.

Your most treasured experiment?

Cade pointed a harsh fnger at Niven. I dont owe you.

Her voice trembled like a shadow on a hot day. Find him

yoursel. And when you do, you can reunite us. No . . . better

. . . you sweep me o this sand-nugget and get us both back

to Firstbloom, or a planet where humans are cleared or work.

You scientist types must have some intense clearance. I mean,

look at what youre getting away with. Running experiments

on babies.

Cade picked up Cherry-Red. It was time to drain out. You

let me know when you fnd him, she said. When you do,

bring him to me. I want to meet this Xan.

Mr. Niven stood frm in ront o the door. It looked like he

would take his encore, whether she applauded or not.

Thats impossible, he said with one o his too-rare blinks.

The scientists cannot fnd Xan. The scientists were killed in

the raid.

Youre standing right in ront o me. So at least one o you

made it.

No, Mr. Niven said. I was not so ortunate.

The wrinkles on his ace trembled and then vanished.Mr. Niven was thin, then thinner, transparent. He ickered,

same as the light rom a distant star. Then he snued out.

Documents

Entangled Excerpt