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was able to sustain it much longer than I’d foreseen. But you…” He settled his elbows on his chair, making his shoulders into points. “You, Waverly, show promise.”
    Waverly’s mouth went dry, and she picked up her teacup to wet her tongue.
    “I saw the way you seized control of the room during services before you made your escape. That speech you made? You turned the tables on Anne in about four minutes, do you realize that?” He laughed gleefully. “She’s had to defend herself ever since. You have made things difficult, but that was a master stroke.”
    “All I did was tell your crew how she’d attacked the Empyrean, how she was lying to them about it.”
    “I wonder if you’d indulge me, young lady?”
    “What do I have that you could possibly want?” Waverly said, pulling her cardigan closer around her.
    He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “I want what everyone wants: peace.”
    “Seems to me everyone wants power,” Waverly shot back.
    He tossed his head back. At first Waverly thought he was choking, but his eyes sparkled, and she realized that he was laughing—a desiccated rasp tore out of him. “Quite right! Quite right!” he said, clapping.
    “What do you want from me ?” she asked, trying not to show her apprehension.
    His eyes glistened like beads pushed into cracked clay. Slowly he pushed his chair away from his desk, picked up a cane, and began to walk around the desk toward her. She drew away from him.
    “Saint Anne has been discredited. Surely you must comprehend the position that puts her in, not to mention the rest of the crew. And the church elders.”
    “What position is that?”
    “We’re vulnerable now. To chaos. To unpredictability.”
    “So?”
    “Predictability is what ensures the continuance of civilized behavior. Un predictability is the enemy of progress. Of productivity. Of wealth.”
    Waverly didn’t know what he was getting at, but something about him was strangely fascinating. He looked utterly at home in this dark room, surrounded by what must be a priceless library. Behind him hung a gloomy landscape painting, nineteenth century, Waverly guessed, showing rolling hills under a cloudy sky.
    “I think you might be the key we’re looking for to make the future more … sustainable,” Dr. Carver was saying.
    “Who’s we?”
    “The church elders. They’d be known as the Central Council on the Empyrean.”
    “Are you one of them?”
    “I am.” He nodded humbly.
    “What do you want with me?”
    “Haven’t I made myself clear?” the man said, amused. “We want you to help us destroy Anne Mather.”
    The room suddenly felt very still, very quiet. “What?” she whispered.
    He laughed at the look of astonishment on her face. “As one of few genetic sources for our first generation of babies, Waverly, not to mention your performance on the day of your escape, you have a certain moral authority. I want to use this authority and grant you a forum to tell your story. Expose Anne Mather’s lies.”
    She stared at him. “She’d kill me.”
    “She might try,” he conceded.
    “Why would I risk that?” Waverly asked.
    “Name your price,” he said evenly.
    Waverly rubbed at her temple with cold fingers. The thought of putting herself in more danger exhausted her. She wanted to fade away, become part of the background, live a small life, help her mother get well …
    “Jared called you Dr. Carver. What kind of doctor are you?”
    “I am a neurologist, among other things.”
    “Can you tell me what’s been done to my mother?”
    He tilted his head in question.
    “She’s acting drugged, or brain damaged or something.”
    “Is her speech impaired?”
    “No.”
    “Is she dizzy? Having trouble walking? Does her face look strange? Droopy?”
    “No.”
    “It doesn’t sound like a stroke, though I can’t rule it out without an examination.”
    “Could you come see her?” Waverly asked eagerly.
    “I’m retired,” he said. “You should