I leave Finn, Clara, and Hakeem 2.0 in a by-the-hour sex motel at the edge of town. Used to strange combinations, I know that a robot, an enhanced super-soldier, a cat, and a man dressed like he is flying the prototype for the world's first plane will not look out of place.
Before I leave, Hakeem 2.0 looks at me. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I shake my head in that nondescript way that could mean yes or even no. It's a cross between a bob and a nod but it's noncommittal as hell because that's how I feel.
Snaking through the streets of Amaltheia, I have half an eye forward and one backward. I'm afraid that Cantos Neufchatel will try to reclaim me, but I'm also not sure if he will even notice the empty case. He will probably miss the cat before he realizes that we are gone. Even after spending all of this time away, it doesn't feel like I've been gone for very long. I walk past the remains of Garbage City and see that construction has already begun on Forsyth Gardens II— 500 units more efficiently designed, and with more security features to survive any unfortunate attacks. The image on the building site changes to show underground tunnels, self-catering kitchens, and small rooms with little privacy. The walls look like they are made of the same plastic as my old jail cell: clear and transparent. The idea of privacy is not even considered. After all, if you've done something terrible and have made a deal with the government, what do you have to hide? Or, do you deserve to hide? Courtesy of Neufchatel Industries—your partner in safety and progressive rehabilitation.
Even after all this time, my body always knows that way. I find myself as a simple passenger of my feet as they trace out that path. No matter how many times I tell myself I'm done with Fred, my body knows that he's always there. As I walk towards the door, I wonder where Fred's sexuality has taken him now. Is he still gay? Back to straight? Or maybe he adjusted his dial so many times that it doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he ripped it clean off after Hakeem's cheating. Or maybe it was just a bad day. Nobody really knows. I didn't want to ask.
As I turn the corner, I hear it—familiar and feral—that giggle, that laugh, filling the air and multiplying. I keep going. There he is, standing on a trunk, still wearing the suit I saw him in, shredded and matted with dirt.
"Hey, hey...I know you. I know who you are." Mal pulls at my sleeve as I walk by. I keep going.
"Don't be so cold, friend," He tugs trying to hold me back.
I pull my arm away. The new Gatherers are all standing around where the old Gatherers had been. They look like shadows of people I once knew. One woman has the blurred, faded lines of Rosamund Silverspider.
"What Mal?" I stop, looking at this group of shadows, half-people back on Thebaine and whatever else they could suck out of medical waste bins.
"Hi." And then an explosion of uncontrollable laughter arises. "I just wanted to say Hi. Hi Nerissa. Hey everyone. It's Nerissa." Mal proudly shifts around, that manic energy radiating from all around him.
"Hi," I say with teeth snared shut.
"Everyone, this is my friend, Nerissa. She says Hi." He then collapses into giggles.
Mal doesn't let go. Instead, he pulls me close and I feel his chemical-tinged breath, hot on my face. "I know where you are supposed to be. And it's not here. If they come looking for you...I might tell them. I might not. I don't know. Maybe they will give me a hat if I tell. Maybe they won't. I hope they do. I love hats. We will see."
I look at him. Pathetic, like the dictator they find in a hole after his empire collapses, Mal is just back to where he was before. All of his power, all of those followers, doesn't matter.
"Okay," I look him right in the eye. "Do what you got to do."
I pull myself free and continue down the street.