"Wait," said the little girl, the illusory aspect of Lord Vhoor.

The man in blue eyed her, hand still raised.

The girl's head tilted as she appraised me. "Wasn't this one the invulnerable one?"

"Yes, Lord Vhoor."

"How was I able to hurt it, then?" The little girl sounded miffed, as if she had been denied ice cream.

"I ... do not know, Lord Vhoor."

The little girl crouched close to my face. Up close, her eyes seemed flat, like plastic balls painted blue. "You," she said to me. "You cannot see me, can you?"

I lay defeated. The parts of my body that I could feel were weak and getting weaker. Profoundly, deep in my bones, some of which were broken, I knew the truth. I was dying. I answered her plainly. "No. Not anymore."

"Mmm." The child-mannequin hovered by my face. Softly, in her little girl voice, she said. "You are dying, human. You cannot stop it?"

"I am dying." The three words rang in my ears. The bald truth, but a sad truth. I would very much have liked not to be dying. "The virus wore off."

"Huh." The breathy sound gusted, and my hair rippled in a sulfurous wind.

Then the little girl left my field of vision. I heard her voice. "The attack is called off. I have been stupid. Kezzias! Spread the word. The attack is called off."

"What? Why?" Kezzias's bland illusion voice said.

"There is no need. The virus is temporary. Temporary! Why did we never think of that possibility? We need merely to wait it out. Go, Kezzias, go!"

I paid little attention to all that. Tears streamed from my face as the ruin of Father Brent filled my vision. I pressed my hands to the pavement to attempt to crawl. My body from hips downward dragged, and I couldn't feel anything down there. I found just enough strength in my arms to inch my way across four or five feet of lumpy asphalt. Behind me trailed a stripe of wet red. After this desperate eternity, I reached to lay a hand on Father Brent's head.

Through my tears, I whispered to myself, "Okay, come on. I've got enough angel left in me to do this."

I entered the meditative state easily, and the dispassionate wave of calm washed over me.

I reached for that sense of rightness.

And it did not exist.

I said, "Dad? Mom?"

No answer.

Photropolis?

No such place. No such vision. No fountains of glory. No starry scaffolds of wonder.

I was alone.

Alone among the dead, the smell of burnt chemicals in my nose. I shifted my hand to Father Brent's neck. I'd seen people do that on TV, looking for a pulse. But on TV, the body wasn't ripped open like Father Brent's. Another hundred eternities passed. I heard only chilly breezes and the river's flow. The truth settled on me like a quilt filled with lead. Father Brent had passed on.

Half voluntarily, half not, my body rolled over to face the sky.

A bright star floated there, hanging in the fading twilight. I didn't know its name, but the sight brought me some measure of peace and acceptance.

I closed my eyes.

We, none of us, are equipped to die. We just don't have a toolkit for it. Not a single college course is entitled "How to die." I knew I didn't want to, that's all. I think a pang of envy hit me then, along with a stab of anger. Other people get to live on, but I had to die.

A radiance impinged on my eyelids, and I recognized the color, even though it was filtered through my own thin flesh. With a sense of dread, I pried them open. I knew that color. I knew her beautiful blue-white color and I did not want Trixie to find me like this.

But, next moment, there she was, screaming my name and pawing at my chest. Sometimes, I hear people say that dying is easy. They are wrong. Dying is the purest, most diabolical torture ever invented when you know you are ripping the heart out of your own sister.

"Shh!" I whispered. "Trixie, shh!"

"Rik! You're alive!" Wetness sprinkled my face. Trixie's tears.

"Trixie, listen. You can be an astronaut. Nothing can stop a girl like you. Nothing."

Her dark head blocked the starlight. My eyelids felt heavy. I hadn't the strength left to keep them up.

"No! Rik! Don't talk like that! Stay with me! Rik! Rik!"

Gradually, her voice faded out. I was sorry. It hurt to go, but I had no choice. Drawn inexorably through the bed of nails, I went, torn.