Auberon knelt silently over Ezra’s still form. His face was illuminated with slivers of the morning sunlight that penetrated through the loosening seams of the tent. The mornings were growing ever hotter now, and it paid to wake early to avoid waking bathed in sweat from the heat.

Ezra was already asleep by the time he got back to Strathcona Park the night before. He didn’t want to wake the man, so he went to find Ziggy only to discover his tent was empty. It was unexpected, but Ziggy wasn’t exactly the most predictable of men. He briefly considered asking Granny for help, but the truth was he didn’t trust the old woman.

Something about her was off. Certainly she looked out for the residents of the park, but she looked at Auberon in ways that made him feel repulsed. Instead, he lay in his own tent thinking about everything that had happened to him since he’d arrived. His loss. His fears. His growing fondness of the Outworlders he’d met and what that meant.

But most importantly, he thought deep and hard about Sizilen Freia, and weighed whether or not all he’d come to like about Earth was important enough to him to turn his back on his own people. On his own world.

If Freia was a traitor, he knew he would have to kill her.

But if she was, like him, a prisoner of a world alien to her, what then? He could reach out to her. Let her know she wasn’t alone, and perhaps together they could find a way back.

Then Auberon would have to leave. And what then? He would never know what might have been with Lauren, the golden-haired girl who spoke with her hands. He would have to leave Ezra, Ziggy. He’d even started to grow fond of Bryan, the touched boy.

But if it meant getting home again, he would sacrifice those relationships. After all, they were fleeting. And for all their kindness, they were still Outworlders.

First, however, he needed to discover what the newspaper said about Sizilen Freia.

“Ezra?” he asked gently. He ventured a nudge against the sleeping man’s frame. He snored quietly, oblivious to Auberon’s prodding.

He nudged him again. “Ezra, wake up,” he said, this time a little louder.

Ezra’s eyes suddenly snapped open and looked directly at Auberon. For a moment, he smiled up at him, then wore a look of confusion.

“Jesus!” he yelled, scrambling back against the side of the tent. “Obie? What the hell?”

Auberon offered him the newspaper he’d taken home with him the night before. “This,” he said. “You read, yes?”

“I… read? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Last night, you sleep. Ziggy not here. Need help with reading.”

“Ziggy didn’t come back last night?”

Auberon wore a look of consternation. He was beginning to grow frustrated. Again, he pushed the newspaper toward Ezra. “Ziggy will live. Here. You read.”

Ezra looked up to Auberon and then to the newspaper. “What’s this about?” he asked.

“This girl,” he said, pointing toward the picture of Sizilen. “You read. Want to know.”

Ezra gingerly took the newspaper from Auberon, then blinked the sleep from his eyes. He squinted at the picture for a moment, then back to Auberon. “Isn’t this that girl they say is from the other side?”

“What does say?” Auberon asked.

Ezra read the newspaper silently for a moment. “It’s… it says Sizilen Oringard to attend clean oceans event in Vancouver,” he explained. He looked back up at Auberon. “What’s the big deal?”

Auberon knew from the amount of text under her picture there was more to it than that. He motioned for Ezra to continue.

Ezra sighed and continued to read. “Sizilen Oringard, the young woman the world has come to know as the visitor from another world, has reportedly been invited to the Current Crisis Gala in Vancouver this Saturday evening. In the several days since her first appearance with Alice South on TTV, she has become a global sensation, garnering worldwide attention for being both a representative of a distinctly alien nation known as Embrayya, and her role in the Annacis Egress which saw the death of over sixty civilians.”

“While some question the reasons for her to be invited to the prestigious event being held by the Clean Oceans Initiative, the labour of love by Turkish-Somalian philanthropist Ocean Aydin, the Public Affairs Office has declined to comment. However, considering Jessica Pike, the wife of Prime Minister Jonathan Pike is rumored to be in attendance, it lends credence to rumours that the two are becoming fast friends.” Ezra looked back up to Auberon. “It’s just some puff piece about her. What’s the big deal?”

“What does she say? About Embrayya? About other world?”

“You don’t really buy all that, do you?”

He pointed again to the newspaper.

With a sighed, Ezra continued. “Not much. Just that she’s been cooperating with Canadian military, trending on social media. Something about being a noblewoman or something. Making peace with–”

“Peace?” Auberon asked. “Embrayya at peace with Canada?”

“Well, no. Not yet,” Ezra looked back up to Auberon. “This is just all fluff, kid. You can’t really buy all that. Embrayya? Some other world? Listen, I know bullshit, and this–” he shook the paper. “--is bullshit.”

Auberon felt a stab of relief that Ezra was skeptical of the whole thing. But still, he needed more information. What had she told the Canadians of Embrayya? What was her goal? Why was she going by the name Oringard, and why did that name seem so familiar to him?

“Ezra. What is you know of Embrayya?” he asked.

“You mean other than the fact it’s a government PsyOp?” he asked.

Auberon only stared at him blankly.

“Fine,” Ezra relented. “Just what people have been talking about. Some giant tree grew out on Annacis Island. A bunch of people died. Attacked by dragons and giant wolves and dudes with swords. Then the military shut down the whole area.” He shrugged. “Then a few days ago, this Sizilen girl pops out of nowhere saying she’s from the world on the other side of that tree. Says she wants to make peace between our people.”

“Why? Why peace?” Auberon asked. It was that part he was having trouble with.

“I imagine the narrative is that so nobody else has to die,” he replied.

The faces of Rustam and Rost rushed into his memory. The sensation of Vetzsche’s snout nuzzling up against his shoulder joined them. He leaned back and sat cross-legged next to Ezra.

“What is… clean oceans?”

“I don’t know. Some stupid party rich people throw so they get to pretend they’re actually doing something to help people instead of actually helping people.”

“Where is?”

Ezra skimmed the article again. “Vancouver Convention Center. Tomorrow night.” He looked up at Auberon. “Obie, what’s this about?”

“Curious,” Auberon replied swiftly. “Of Embrayya. Of… Sizilen. She pretty.”

“Maybe, but not pretty enough to avoid arrest. You try to show up to this event, you’ll be waking up in a prison cell. If there’s one thing rich people don’t like, it’s a reminder that people like you and me exist. You show up there, it’ll be bad news. Trust me on that.” He looked back down to the picture of Sizilen. “It ain’t her you gotta worry about, Obie. It’s the G-men keeping an eye on them. I wouldn’t risk that.” He sighed. “Look, Obie. I ain’t saying you’re lying to me, but you’re acting real weird about all this–”

“Not your business,” Auberon replied. He shot Ezra a look of warning.

“All right, all right,” Ezra said. “Whatever. I’ll drop it. Now can we talk about Ziggy?”

“What about Ziggy?”

“You said he ain’t here. He didn’t come back last night?”

Auberon shrugged. “Not here when I sleep. Not here when I wake.”

Ezra wore a look of concern. “That ain’t normal for Zig,” he explained. “He doesn’t like to leave his stuff alone for that long. The last time he did–” Ezra trailed off. “He wasn’t well.”

“What not well?”

“He was on the dope back then.” Ezra opened the flap of his tent and stepped out into the sunlight as Auberon followed him. “Roman was sniffing around here yesterday. God I hope that shithead didn’t do anything stupid.”

“You think Roman hurt Ziggy?” Auberon asked.

Ezra hesitated for a moment before responding. “Nah. No. Roman’s an awful lot of talk, but even he isn’t that big a piece of shit. Zig probably had some stuff to do.” He walked over to Ziggy’s tent and opened the flap. “Yeah, his bag’s gone. He probably crashed with people last night. He’ll be along before it’s too late.

“Ah!” Auberon exclaimed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. “Here. Is money for Ziggy.”

Ezra took the money from Auberon. “Holy shit, Obie,” he said. He counted the bills. “You made this much already?”

“Is not enough, is it?” Auberon asked.

“No, but it’ll be enough to keep Roman off Zig’s case,” he said. He slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll pay Roman a visit today. There’s no point sending Zig. Roman’s a prick. You should come along,”

“Can’t,” Auberon explained. “Working.”

“They got you working all the time now? Jeez, Obie you keep working this hard you’ll have an apartment by the end of the month and a car before fall.” He laughed. “You don’t forget about us little people, you hear me?”

“Ezra is… friend,” Auberon admitted. “Obie not forget.”

“So I guess you’re working today, then?”

Auberon nodded. “Tearing down walls,” he said. He wore a wide smile. “Good fun.”

“Too physical for me, kid,” he said. “They broke my body long ago. But you go on.”

“Have some time,” Auberon said. “You want Tim Hortons?”

Ezra smiled. “Oh now you’re speaking my language. You buying?”

“Yep,” Auberon said. “I buy.”

As they left to get their morning coffee, Auberon’s thoughts went back to Sizilen Freia– Sizilen Oringard. Ezra was right. He shouldn’t risk tracking her down in a place where the richest people of this world were going to be congregating. It would be foolish.

But he now knew Sizilen was there with him. He would have to find a way to make contact with her. Preferably sooner than later. He needed to see her privately. First, that meant learning everything he could about her.