We filter out into the dawning sunlight, all of us, me first with the dragon, with Hope, and I know we've all rested but weariness still sits on my bones, swinging its legs, and I also know it would take a lot more than one night to really recover from all I've seen and done, absorb all the lessons.

But there isn't time, and I can't foresee when there might be, and so it's better for me to push it aside, push on through, I've done all I can, I still will. It's good, that determination, it feels good, like sure one night of rest wasn't nearly enough but it wasn't nothing either, not even close. It's good, and it's needed, because

I know a place

and that image flits through my head now, and beside me Hope cranes her neck to look at me. This will be dangerous, she sends. For all of us.

For you too? I do know she's not invincible, you don't end up as the last of the dragons if you come from immortal stock. And I know that using her for her intended purposes will never be without risk—and I kind of hate that idea, of "using her" but of course we all have our uses, have to think that way sometimes especially in a hopeless war of generations like this one. But—

Operator Kella is correct, also Operator Kella is sending. There's a touch of gentle amusement there. DRAGON unit does not take offense at purpose-of-construction. Said before: risk not possible to eliminate only manage. She pauses, stands up on her hind legs to look out over the gathering crowd. Should continue conversation while travelling toward objective. After Kella-speech.

Um. I stand on tiptoes myself, looking over as much of the crowd as I can. I'm a tall woman, but some of the men in the crowd are taller, and Hope stands much higher stretched upward like she is. Um. Kella-speech?

She comes back down onto all fours and nods, once. Of course Kella-speech, Operator Kella has given them before. About to go into danger, about to travel while hoping for non-detection by fey forces, people have decided to follow despite opposition from previous leadership, speech must be given, must occur.

I take in a deep breath. Everyone is looking at me, at the dragon standing beside me. The little council coterie is knotted-up as usual, the ringleader with her arms crossed, jaw set.

Hope's wing brushes against the side of my knee, surprisingly warm even through the thick fabric of my patched-over pants. Kella. You can do this. Breathe. Embrace the right-now of need.

I breathe, and I feel the weight of the moment and I do my best to brush it aside even though it's too heavy, push past, face the crowd and open my mouth, hoping my words won't carry too far beyond this street, this ruined front garden with its green tangling up from the ground to slowly consume the past. No choice, no space inside left large enough to address more than a handful of people at once, and there's no time for piecemeal communications.

"You all know where we're going," I say, surprised and also still worried at how well my voice carries, "and you've all had a night to sleep on your decision to go with us. You know the dangers, but maybe not all the possible rewards for the risk. There's good reason the fey were desperate enough to resort to Othermancy when they attacked the facility all those centuries ago. They're mostly the same reasons we need to go there now."

"The place is still Torn!" someone shouts from the crowd; I'm not looking that direction and I don't recognize the voice. It doesn't really matter.

"It is," I reply, and I'm proud of how much calm I manage to keep buckled round my words. "And that's part of what dragons are for. That's part of why they were created. Maybe the biggest reason."

Operator Kella is correct, Hope says. Her voice makes nearly every member of the crowd start, that deep powerful inhuman sound, coming from a mirror-scaled creature that hasn't even opened her mouth. Elimination of Otherwhere-derived entities top priority due to inherent protections of dampening field, also Tear-patch capabilities. Repair of reality-fabric once secondary function, other devices in use for this purpose during war. Believe none survive. Magic and DRAGON unit only remaining tools for closures.

"So why haven't the fey fixed it already? Cleaned up after themselves?" That voice, I know, even if I don't see the person speak. It's the woman from the council, someone whose name I really should have figured out by now, but, you know, priorities and attacks and desperate escapes.

Whatever. She's a self-important power hungry ass who probably already knows the answer, I don't have time for her bullshit, and I let all this seep into my answer. "Clean up for themselves? Why would they? Their forces already paid the prices for their Othermancer's mistakes centuries ago. Leaving the Extrusions there to kill anything that gets too close is easier than guarding it themselves. More effective too."

Certainly more frightening, I think/send, only half-aware of it. Hope nudges my knee, sending over a rush of reassuring warmth, then rears up before speaking again.

DRAGON unit will deal with Extrusions and repair utilized Tears. This will be done quickly. Human tribe-members will be needed for afterward clean-up, all Otherwhere material dangerous even when broken down by fire, not true ash, must be carefully dispersed to winds, will fade back into quantum foam when not at critical mass.

Silence at that. Hope cocks her head, comes back down onto her front claws. Understand this is not glamorous job. Still must be done, still dangerous, still heroic. Also some smaller/less dangerous almost-organisms may be in area, must be dealt with, improvised hand weapons should suffice.

I think they're just confused as to what "quantum foam" and "critical mass" might mean, and concerned they might be important, I tell her. Isn't there any way to...I don't know, sort of push the concepts into their heads, like you do with me?

No, she replies. Reasons complicated. Long explanation, not for present. Out loud, she says, Apologies, DRAGON unit still making adjustments for language/culture, much change over many centuries. More practical explanation: After burning of Extrusions, remains must be scattered, hazardous when gathered in quantity, should fade from this world if properly dispersed. Care must be taken.

Murmurs from the crowd. I hesitate a moment. I'm going to be with Hope, won't be there to organize clean-up. Maybe throw a concession to the council woman, ask if she'll do it? Gain an ally?

No. Maybe once I would have done that. I don't want this responsibility. I want peace, humans have enough problems that come from outside without generating our own. And here that would be the easy way out, I know that now, maybe I've always known it, Gods know I've read enough history I should be able to distill some lessons. Maybe it's just about finally steeling myself to do it.

"Paunea," I say. "Would you please organize the cleanup? I'll need to stay with the dragon." After her help in the tunnels, I figure she'll be a good choice. This causes murmurs from the little knot-of-opposition, and it looks like they're about to attempt some serious shit-stirring. So I keep going.

"And speaking of the dragon," I say, "I've...no, we've...decided on a name for her. Hope. I'm no poet, and I guess it's not exactly a subtle thing. But I also think it's a true one."

Hope bows her head, sort of opens her wings in a strangely elegant gesture, like a sort of draconic curtsy.

"Hope!" someone yells, and then several more, and then what seems like most of the crowd, utterly washing over whatever that the little council-coterie was hoping to start. "Welcome to the fight!" someone else hollers, and Hope spreads her wings completely, and I hold up my hands.

"Thank you!" I say. Then again, because not everyone has heard me. "Thank you! We've made enough noise and been in one place for long enough, it's time to go."

And I walk of without waiting for a response, Hope walking beside me. They'll follow, or they won't. Maybe it would be luck if some of them stayed behind, ones who aren't sure, ones who are afraid, ones who worry about their place and power being usurped. But those first two are unfair, I know that, only a fool is ever completely sure, and everyone is afraid. And the last one...I don't know. Could make trouble if they come, maybe make more if they stay behind.

I tell Hope about my worries as we walk.

Leading is hard, she tells me. Always it has been, never had any easy answers, only easy answers come from fools/people wanting to fool others. Not going to have any all-good options, only some that are better, less bad. Will be here to help. Good that Operator Kella not overconfident, also warn that overthinking possible, often not-perfect action done now infinitely better than optimal thing done too late. Must do best accept consequences move forward, not easy but still necessary and also, most important, can be done. Can be done. YOU are capable of doing it. Have seen, very sure of this.

Thank you, Hope, I reply. I'll think on that. And I do, for the rest of the long walk. The sun goes from early morning warmth at our backs to bright noontime light overhead to early afternoon in our eyes. I am grateful for my ancient pair of sunglasses, something I wear only when I really need them, because although they're not really machines, they're still Butlerian artifacts and could easily be confiscated by an overzealous fey patrol.

Now, though, if we run into a patrol we're going to have much bigger problems than borderline contraband. And so will they.

But we don't. No sign of the fey at all in this part of the city, which isn't a surprise, because the buildings surrounding us as we walk aren't really, and haven't been for a long time. Aren't really buildings, I mean, although you can see a small piece of wall or a section of collapsed roof here and there. This was an military-industrial zone. When the war was lost, nothing at all was spared, little for even the most determined of scavvers to find under the rubble.

Except for the facility. I don't know if it ever had a name. It must have, right? From everything I've read, the military always has a name for things, even if it's squirreled away somewhere deep within a carefully-secured databank. Now we just call it "the facility," not even really a title, wouldn't spell it out with capital letters, because it doesn't need a name like that. Not a lot of "facilities" around anymore, after all, and if you do need to distinguish some other ruined compound that could be called a "facility" you just say, "You know. The facility, the one that's Torn," and you'll be understood.

And now here it is, too soon and not soon enough all at once, I'm tired of thinking and tired of walking and tired most of all from the anticipation but we can see it up ahead, and people gasp and I have to clench my jaw to keep from saying anything because yes, that has to be it, and there they are, moving around the perimeter, there's the strange sickening shimmer over the whole place as it comes into view past the rise in the road.

There they are, pushing themselves out as far as they...can? dare? want to? from the rents in the fabric of our world that they drag around with them, like a snail whose shell mostly exists somewhere else, Otherwhere, only they're not snails, nothing like them really as they're not soft and their slime drips and sizzles and disappears and Gods only know what in those masses of long hundred-jointed limb-things and mandibles and pulsing flesh might pass for eyes or eyestalks and I look away because my eyes aren't doing my mind any favors, we all know not to stare too long at an Extrusion even if it seems like a relatively harmless one.

Everyone draws back behind me, and Hope pulls me forward with her, sans touch, just the gravity of necessity and whatever strange mental space we share.

and now I'm running behind her, and she's close to one of them, so close as it pulls itself toward us, latching onto the ground, pulling reality itself along, how much of it is still back behind there?

and she says Target? and inside I scream at the thing coming toward us and she sends along something like a nod and now it's all fire and tangling limbs, but the fire comes first so that the limbs have no real strength and the thing is being torn apart, pushed back, pushed inward and now there's just the Tear, like a slightly diagonal downward slash in the air, pulled slim without anything forcing its way through

and closing up as the dragon draws one white-burning claw down from start to finish of the Tear, and that's it, closed, stitched-up somehow though it still hangs ragged in the air, and she breathes on it, no fire this time, something else like a warm red mist that slowly drains its color into that ragged slash, making it shrink, making it lessen to just a hint of afterimage

and I want to stand and gape but we're running again, again to do it again

again

again

and by the end I'm tired, so tired, leaning on her, because my mind has been with hers, helping direct, and it's so much, too much to take in although I must, but it's also a relief because it's done

done

and I'm aware of the small clean-up crews working in our wake, aware of teenagers beating otherworldly vermin to death with sticks and staves and gardening tools

Rest now, I tell Hope. Rest again, just for a moment. She doesn't disagree, I get the feeling she would be panting, if she breathed. And I still am, panting I mean.

Rest a moment, she sends back. Still much to do, danger not past. But yes. Rest a moment.

I sit down, heavy on the cracked and barren asphalt of the facility compound, letting the air pound in an out of my lungs, slower, slower, closing my eyes just a moment, opening them to see Hope looking out over the buildings of the place, mostly intact.

It will take time for them to notice, she sends. A few weeks, perhaps, before it affects the calculations of their sages and wizards, is seen by any Othermancers they may still possess. But they will notice. We must prepare, and we must decide.

Decide what?

She snakes her head around to look me in the face with those white-fire eyes. Many, many things. Rest, Kella. That is the task at hand, a moment of rest.

I close my eyes again, nodding. A moment of rest. It comes, it passes, and I open my eyes again, get up on my feet.

"Okay," I say aloud. "Let's have a look inside."