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warned her of the fierce battle ahead. Fran knew her body struggled to purge foreign materials, but the Bots put up a good fight. They had found a comfy home in her body and fought hard to maintain squatter’s rights.
    As she lamented, a pair of suede booties similar to her own shuffled into view and toed the pot away from her bed. She rolled her eyes upward, and a blur of gray and black took shape until she recognized the dark beard and soft layer of hair that now covered his head. She lifted a weak hand.
    “Chan.” She gave him a shaky smile, but her voice came out like a croak.
    “Wolf.” Chan shook his head. “You look awful.”
    “No kidding.” She eased back onto her bed, and the movement sent a lightning bolt through her skull. She winced and closed her eyes.
    “Not sure how you survived this, Chan.”
    “Me neither,” he said. Chan began hacking and doubled over with the effort. Finally, on a wheezy breath, he added, “I’m not real sure of anything up to a few days ago.”
    Fran peeked through squinted lids. “Are you really back?” She worried she might still be dreaming. Chan knelt by the bedside, his face inches from her own.
    “You’re … better,” Fran said. “Right?”
    “Didn’t even know I’d left, Wolf.” 
    She pictured Chan a lifetime ago in the tunnel, squatting close-by, his face reflecting the light from his Reader. The same Reader he left behind to save her. Even in the darkest place, they’d shared a few moments of fun. He’d kept her alive, and now here he was greeting her in death.
    The banging of a door sent a wave of pain through Fran’s entire core. Chan lifted his gaze, and his smile grew wider.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Ema.”
    “Up and about already are you, Charles?” Ema’s voice trilled out with a song.
    “Checking in on my old protégé,” he said. “And you know us Rebels, we run on our own time.”
    “More like your circadian rhythms are forever altered by years living in darkness,” Ema said. She dropped the linens on the bed as soon as she realized Fran was awake. “How are you feeling?” she asked, taking Fran’s pulse with one hand while feeling her forehead with the other.
    Fran closed her eyes and licked her dry lips. “I could use some water.”
    Chan stepped out of the way, and Ema moved in. Using a cool, moist cloth, she wiped Fran’s aching forehead, eyes, and lips, and Fran breathed in a refreshing, minty scent that seemed to call from somewhere in the depths of her dreams.
    “Let’s have a look, then.”
    Ema opened Fran’s eyes, and Fran sucked in her breath as a light stabbed at her pupils.
    “I know, I know,” Ema said, and she wiped the moist cloth over Fran’s sticky eyes again.
    As Ema pulled away the linens and fresh air touched Fran’s fiery skin, she had a vague memory of this same scenario also playing out in her dreams. Although the coolness of Ema’s hands felt good, her probing elicited a new round of nausea. Saliva gathered in the corners of her mouth, and Fran swallowed back the urge to heave. Ema’s hands moved to Fran’s wrist as she softly counted the pulsations, and then she pressed her cheek onto Fran’s forehead.
    Ema smelled like apples and outside air. Fran breathed deeply and peeked out through squinted lids.
    “You’re doing very well, Fran. I can feel that the swelling in your liver and spleen is reduced and can see that your sclera cleared considerably. Your pulse is still rapid, so we need to get more fluids in you. We’ll load you up with water throughout the day, and by nightfall you should be ready for the last treatment.”
    “Another treatment?” Fran clamped her eyes. “My head’s going to explode.”
    “One more.” Ema held Fran’s head so she could swallow from the bowl of bitters she’d brewed. “I’ll have Tanya bring you water and ginger tea for your nausea.”
    Ema patted Fran’s shoulder. “You’re doing terrific. In another few days, you’ll be chasing bear cubs through