Her dreams were fitful and convoluted, a labyrinth of clockwork trees overgrown in strangely soft green tendrils. She flew above Old Earth, its patches of mist giving way to deep purple bogs, the movement of its shadows like ripples on the surface of unknown waters. And the dome. Who lived in the dome? Then she was back at the founder’s ball and the duke was offering her that gutless smile. “I reassure you that Old Earth remains uninhabitable at this time,” he said. “But the dome—” “Questions such as yours are the questions of a concerned citizen,” he droned on, ignoring her, “and concerned citizens are what make Icarus the grandest city of New Earth!” “Get up, you.” Legacy cracked an eyelid, and a fog of sentries sharpened into view. Each held a stun gun—dazzler muskets—identical to the models which had initially incapacitated Trimpot and her. “It’s time to go.”
