Starting that morning, James began training them the only way he knew how. He followed the strict discipline and structure that the Academy had instilled in him, half hoping that they would get disillusioned after the novelty wore off. Chawr and Maanx were attentive and enthusiastic students, though. The three of them spent the afternoon running through several basic exercises as he gauged their skills.

Right away, he noticed Maanx was a natural. The lad was not only physically talented, he was quick in his head as well as on his feet. He was also curious, often asking the right questions, which escaped Chawr's grasp. Now James realized that Maanx's position as a commander of the Flatirons wasn't just due to nepotism. The kid might have the personality of a troll, but he had abilities. If he had joined the Academy at an earlier age, he could have made a fine chronman.

They worked straight through dinner, and by the time they finished, all three were drenched in sweat. James felt wiped out as he toweled himself off. He nodded to his new students as they cooled down with the stretching exercises he showed them. He had been in so much pain from the withdrawal and so stationary in this room that he had forgotten how good it felt to move again. Moving around with the alcohol purged from his body felt strange, and all the sensations and reactions that had once been familiar now felt foreign. One would think his abilities would have sharpened, but if anything, they were much worse than before. James tried to tell himself that his diminishing reflexes were just the result of his acclimating to life without the drink constantly in his veins.

"Can we do this tomorrow morning?" Maanx asked eagerly.

"I have to help with the farm," Chawr said. "Can we start earlier?"

James made a face. "Let's see how you guys feel in the morning. There's no need to rush things."

He watched as the two bowed and walked into the next room, chatting pleasantly. He figured those two had never shared a word between them before. A smile appeared on his face as he made his way to bed. He hurt all over as he crawled his way into the sheets. Today had been a good day.

"Day's not over yet," Smitt said, appearing next to him on the chair.

"Go away," James said, lying on his back and closing his eyes. "I'm not talking to you."

"You can't ignore me forever," Smitt said. "In fact, I think it's time we figure this out."

"You're not real, just a hallucination from lag sickness and drink."

"You only think that, my friend. You've quit time traveling and drinking. Why am I still here?"

James turned over and drifted off to sleep with Smitt's words bouncing around in his head. Why was Smitt still there? The hallucinations of Grace, Sasha, and the Nazi soldier had all faded. He had seen them only in brief glimpses here and there, and usually as barely more than anything other than shadows in the background. This was his psyche telling him something, but what? Sleep draped over him quickly, and for a few beautiful seconds, everything was black and serene.

James opened his eyes and found himself sitting at the Tilted Orbit back at Himalia Station. Smitt was sitting next to him, pouring them both a shot of whiskey. He slid one over to James, and grinned. "See, I did warn you. You can't ignore me forever."

FORTY-FIVE.

CLOSURE.

James stared down at the brown liquid sloshing around the glass cup. Half of it had spilled onto the counter when Smitt slid it over. He immediately felt the alcohol's pull on his body, as if it were a miniature black hole sucking him in. He caught himself staring even as he tried to look away.

"Why are you doing this? I'm trying to be clean."

Smitt acted surprised. "Oh, so now you're talking to me."

James's arms trembled and he willed them to stay flat on the counter. He couldn't pick up the glass. If he did, all his suffering and sacrifice would be for nothing. "Get that thing out of my sight. Please."

Smitt chuckled, took the glass, and gulped it down. "Too bad. That was a twenty-first-century double-barrel Luxe Empire special. Your favorite."

"What is Luxe whiskey doing in a dump like this?" James's breathing became labored and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Why indeed, James."

This had to be a dream. A bottle of Luxe whiskey would cost more than this bar was worth. He turned from the counter and studied the rest of the Tilted Orbit. Now that he looked more closely, everything felt off about the whole place. Yet it wasn't like the vivid dreams he often suffered through where he couldn't tell reality from constructs in his head.

The bar, while loud, felt dead, flat. The patrons were darkened, as if shadows that had come to life. They all sat alone or in small groups with their heads down. He couldn't see anyone's eyes, nor could he hear voices speaking above the chatter. Where was the noise coming from?

"The real question is," Smitt said, pouring more of the precious Luxe-era whiskey into the glass, "if you know this is a dream, and now know this wondrous Luxe whiskey in front of you isn't real, would it hurt to have a sip? Is it cheating still?"

James looked down at the brown aromatic liquid calling to him. Beads of sweat dribbled down the side of his face. He gulped and stared. It didn't matter. His mind was as sick as his body. Just because this was a dream didn't make it any different, make him want the whiskey any less. He backhanded the glass, spilling its precious contents onto the counter. He jumped off the stool and stormed out of the bar. James kept walking until he was fifty meters outside the entrance. He hunched over and threw up.

Smitt materialized next to him, patting him on his back. "Well done."

"That was cruel," James choked, spitting out whatever was left in his mouth.

"You needed to realize what this is," Smitt said, pointing at their surroundings. "How what's happening here can affect you just as much as when you're awake."

"So that was a test?" James scowled. "Asshole."

"Oh, lighten up, James." Smitt shrugged. "Besides, I'm just a construct of your imagination, so technically, you're the asshole."

"No one ever argued against that."

"Come on," Smitt said cheerfully, pulling him up by the elbow and pointing straight at the wall.

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were standing in front of Earth Central. It had been nearly a year since James had seen the behemoth facility, and he was struck by how different it looked from what he remembered. Director Young had always prided himself on keeping ChronoCom's primary facility in relatively good shape. This was unlike him. Like everything else in this dream, Earth Central looked drab, dark, and dirty, as if they were in the future and Chicago, which wasn't very clean to begin with, had finally succumbed to Earth Plague.

"Why are we here?" he asked.

"I want to show you something."

The two continued down the once-familiar hallways. James had spent much of his Tier-2 and Tier-4 days at Earth Central. He recalled the first time he had stepped foot here, after his first transfer to Earth. Back then, he was still innocent and believed in the agency, believed in its noble goals. He remembered how he stood in awe of the facility, and how after spending most of his life on space stations and in underground colonies, he had reveled in Earth's openness. That was a long time ago. He was quite the idiot back then.

Now, as they walked through the main halls of the agency, past the Watcher's Board, which kept count of all agency personnel, through the ship hangar, and past his old quarters, the memories rushed back to him. Everything was a lie. This agency had long been corrupted, tainted by the influences of the megacorporations and their greed.

They entered the Hops, where the handlers babysat their chronmen. James saw another Smitt working furiously at one of the stations, sweat pouring down his face. His face was bloated and his clothing unkempt. Well, more unkempt and wrinkled than usual. He appeared skittish, continually looking over his shoulder. James looked to his left at the Smitt he had walked here with. They were definitely the same person, but not. The Smitt working at the console looked like he had gained fifteen kilos and hadn't slept in six months. James turned to the Smitt standing next to him. "Is this the future, because that you over there looks like shit."

Smitt rolled his eyes. "How can it be the future when I'm already dead?"

"Then what's wrong with that you over there?"

"This is the past after you defected from the agency."

James made a face. "Damn, Smitt, you gained a lot of weight while I was gone."

"No, dummy. That's your psyche imagining that I fell apart without you here."

"Well, did you?"

Smitt frowned and then shrugged good-naturedly. "I honestly don't know, because you don't know."

"I'm going to assume yes because he looks awful. Why are we here anyway?"

Smitt pointed at the door as a squad of monitors walked in. "Just watch."

The monitors made a beeline to the Smitt at the console and surrounded him. A second later, the unhealthy-looking Smitt made a move as if to flee the room and was roughly taken down to the floor. James averted his eyes as one of the monitors put a knee on Smitt's back and cuffed him. The two monitors pulled him to his feet, and one of them punched him in the stomach, doubling him over. Then they dragged him out of the room.

"Is that what happened?" James said softly. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"That's what you think happened," the Smitt standing next to him clarified. "But then, you think the worst about everything. Personally, I think I was arrested all dignified-like."

The two of them left the room and followed the monitors, though James already knew where they were heading. He knew what happened next.

"Do we need to see this?" he said softly.

"It's your dream," Smitt said. "You can stop it anytime. Maybe this is what you need right now."

James tried to change the scenario, change the story, or just teleport somewhere else. He concentrated and tried to will Elise here. To have Smitt and Elise meet would warm his heart. That could never happen in real life, but in his dreams, it would mean so much to him. Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried to control his dream and have that scene unfold, he stayed following twenty steps behind the two guards carrying a half-conscious Smitt to interrogation. Part of him wanted to jump those assholes and bust his friend out. However, the more pragmatic part of him knew that it would be a pointless exercise. It was more important for him to see what happened next.

They walked into a bare room with three metal walls and the fourth a reflective mirror. Only a table and chair served as its furnishings. This was the ChronoCom interrogation room. A huge ugly man, face crooked and scarred, wearing a Valta uniform, looked up cruelly at Smitt and licked his lips. "Tie him up."

"Who is that supposed to be?" Smitt asked.

"That Kuo asshole who killed you," said James.

"You know Kuo's a woman. Levin's told you several times."

"Oh, yeah." For some reason, James often forgot that fact. To be honest, he had heard this story a half-dozen times now from Levin, but he couldn't ever seem to remember any of the details. Now, however, he would have to live them. The giant ugly man morphed into a giant ugly woman, though not much else about her body changed.

Smitt gave James a sheepish look. "I guess accuracy isn't important."

James held up a hand and pointed at the imaginary Kuo. "I never met her before, so I guess she could look like that."

The Smitt tied to the chair whimpered as the imaginary Kuo cracked her knuckles. Immediately, James wished he knew how to change her so that she was small and harmless. He didn't, and winced as she raised an arm and struck his best friend in the face. Blood splattered against the wall.

"Where is James Griffin-Mars?" she asked in a low voice.

A white glow appeared around her body as she began to torture him, burning his hair and skin, even as she pummeled him. James felt his stomach knot up; he was torn between stopping this brutality and needing to know why he was witnessing this. He bit his lips and clenched his fists as Kuo picked up a scalpel and cut into Smitt. He felt sick as she burned Smitt's body with her exo, broke his fingers with a chisel, and electrocuted him until he went limp. Still, James couldn't move to stop her or look away.

He didn't know how long he witnessed this atrocity, and he wept as he stayed rooted in place, never having felt so helpless in his life. He turned to the Smitt next to him, but his guide was no longer there. Instead, he saw the Smitt he remembered walk up to the other Smitt and their two bodies merged.

Kuo cupped Smitt's chin in her hand. "This is your last chance, handler. Why are you protecting him?"

"James is my friend, that's why." Smitt looked straight at James. "He has more important things to do right now."

Everything turned red. For a second, James glanced in the mirror and saw Levin's face staring back at him, and then he charged Kuo. The glow of the exo burst around him until it filled the entire room. Everything became blindingly orange and then white.

James leaped out of bed. He willed his exo to expand to its fullest and tried to create a dozen coils. Nothing happened. It took a moment to realize that his chest was heaving, his face wet with exertion. It took him a few more seconds to get his bearings and realize that he was back in his room. James dropped to his knees and stared at the quiet emptiness. Somewhere, deep within the recess of his head, he could still hear Smitt's screams.

Behind him, someone spoke. "I think I was completely justified in losing my shit back there."

James looked behind him and saw Smitt sitting in the chair on the balcony, looking out into the heavy gray mist. One leg was propped up on the railing, and he held something in his hand. James wiped his face, now shiny with tears, and decided to join him.

He walked onto the balcony and leaned on the railing. He thought better of it when the rusted black metal shifted under his weight. He looked down and to his right as Smitt took another sip from what looked like a tin of beer.

"Is that what really happened?" he asked.

Smitt shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"No. I guess not." The two stayed silent for few minutes longer. James watched the roiling fog float on the wind as if it were alive. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"That's the wrong takeaway, my friend."

James squeezed his eyes shut. "I know, but I am anyway. I'll get that monster if it's the last thing I do."

Smitt took a sip from his tin. "Again, wrong takeaway. While I appreciate the gesture, I couldn't care less about revenge."

James tried to recall the already-fading dream. He relived the rage that coursed through his body as he stood helplessly and watched the torture unfold. "I have something better to do."

His best friend nodded. "Worry about the big picture and the people you love who are still alive. Focus on them. The rest is irrelevant. Let me go."

James looked at the tin of beer in Smitt's hand. "Is that what I think it is?"

Smitt held it up. "The same discount sludge from the Fresh Fish back when we were initiates. Barely drinkable, but does the job. Here, you want some?"

James did. He would always want some. However, for the first time that he could remember, while awake, that is, he had more pressing desires. "No thanks."

Smitt grinned. "That's my boy."

There was a knock on the door. James looked back across his residence and then back down at Smitt. His best friend had disappeared. He looked up at the sky. "Be well, Smitt. I never got you to Europa, but I'll do you one better here on Earth."

James checked the time and then went to answer the door. His eyes widened. Maanx and Chawr were here for their early-morning training. What surprised him, though, were the twenty other guardians and fights standing behind them, including all the flyguards.

"You said I could invite others," said Maanx.

James buried the smile creeping up his face. His masters at the Academy rarely smiled. He walked into the middle of the waiting crowd. They all looked at him expectantly, hesitantly. Some of them bowed. Others saluted. More simply averted their gazes. No one knew what to expect. Neither did he, to be honest. James scanned the crowd and spoke in a clear voice. "From now on, you scrubs address me as Master, got it?" He was met with silence. "Do you understand?" he barked in a louder voice.

"Yes, Master!" the chorus replied.

James nodded. "Let's get started. I want four lines..."

FORTY-SIX.