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rest of Darkside as well.
    It was critical that she become Chimera. Her business idea, which wasn’t bad, could never be realized.
    They walked on, into the howling, whipping wind, the grains lifting into the air and stinging like minute shards of glass. He’d always imagined that too long in this wearing nothingness of the Scrape, and a person would erode into nothingness, too.
    The package had gotten heavier past the boundary of her dream. If the contents proved safe, they’d take it to the Agora where they could leave it in Chimera’s keeping until an exchange for Raymond Blackman could be arranged with Graeme.
    Steve crouched so that he could unpack on the ground whatever was wrapped so tightly, though gusts buffeted the package and grains got in his eyes. The paper around the object was a shiny gold, which he peeled away carefully to conserve for a second use. Beneath was a tighter, flesh-colored, rubbery thing. He attempted to pierce it with his fingers, but the lump wouldn’t tear. With both hands, he twisted and struck it against the sandy desert ground to break the mass open like a geode.
    But when the object finally gave, it unfolded like a thick, somewhat soft, multi-jointed contraption and grew in size to become a naked person. An old man, collapsed on the desert floor, shivering, hands raised as if to ward off a blow.
    “Um?” said Maisie.
    Steve knew exactly what she meant. “Yeah.”
     
    ***
     
    “Please, no!” the naked old man whimpered.   The dust storm howled around him.
    His existence boggled Maisie’s brain. She shook with alarm and shock. How’d he get in the package? Sure, she’d helped people cross from one dream to another before—it was a common request, which is what had given her the idea to start a business—but she’d never imagined that any of the packages she handled had contained an unwilling person.
    Dread pooled in her belly, making her nauseous. She should’ve been checking her packages. She should’ve considered the worst, especially toward the end, when she’d started feeling pressure from Graeme. And, thinking of where she was supposed to have delivered the old man, she grew more horrified still. The evil dream.
    Did the old man have information that Graeme’s boss needed? Why else—?
    The package’s captive was old and skinny and kind of stringy, his skin blotchy blue and red with fear. She wanted to create some clothes for him, but outside her own dreamspace, creation was very difficult to manage. The clothes wouldn’t stick very well.
    She’d wanted money to set herself up, and this frightened man was what her business really cost.
    “It’s okay,” Steve was saying to him, yelling over the storm. “We won’t hurt you.”
    But she had. Oh God, she had. She was going to throw up.
    Anger rushed over her as tears welled in her eyes, a sob clogging her throat. She was going to kill Graeme. She hadn’t felt truly capable of hurting anyone until this moment. But now, yeah, she could kill. Graeme was going to pay.
    “What’s your name?” Steve asked the old man.
    The old man made incomprehensible sounds of fear. Tears streaked his cheeks.
    What had she really been a part of? Had there been others?
    “We need to get him to the Agora,” Steve yelled.
    “Yes,” she said, but the word was soundlessly whipped into the wind, so she nodded to agree. Maybe the Agora had a purpose after all. Maybe she’d been wrong about everything.
    She and Steve each lifted the man under an arm to get him to stand. He weakly fought them, but it was his unsteady legs that were more difficult to manage. Once they had him up, they drove through the wind, Steve leading.
    Progress was slow and difficult, and Maisie had an itchy feeling on her neck, as if something was watching her, but she pushed forward with every ounce of energy she had. She had to get the old man to safety and comfort as quickly as possible.
    Steve, again, was on her wavelength, because he was moving fast.