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Tribes in the northern mountain ridge, the white floodlights were off in the Dome; leaving only the low, red floorlights to guide their way, and making the Dome windows transparent to the Outside. Second, in order to slow the drip of blood, Natasha had tilted her head way back, causing her to look not at the double doors to which she was headed, but at the first row of honeycomb windows just above the Dome’s circular base.
    She and Teacher Robyn were about twenty paces from the Department of Health when Natasha saw them: three ghostly faces peering through the glass, two men and a woman, their pale heads floating like impossible little moons, swags of dirty fabric wrapped around their necks, and their eyes fixed directly on her. Natasha screamed. She screamed and threw her weight back, making Teacher Robyn trip to her knees and cry out in surprise. Blood poured over Natasha’s lips and hotly to the bib of her nightgown. The faces disappeared but she screamed and thrashed to get away, back to the elephant, and eventually it took three full-grown Gamma men to restrain her.
    In the following days, certain Betas and Gammas had given Natasha many logical explanations for the faces: that she, Natasha, had been semiconscious, still dreaming; that holding her head back too far had overstrained her windpipe, reducing the flow of oxygen into her bloodstream and making her brain go just a little foggy. They sat her down in the Archives and showed her surveillance images of the green inner lawn on that night. Nothing. No one. But Natasha would not change her story, and her elders went from being sympathetic to being annoyed. They suspended her for three days from her Epsilon group on account of her promoting illogic, and her teachers told her how disappointed they were until Natasha’s anger had transformed to a dull ache in her chest.
    Eight years later, when Natasha applied to work in the Office of Mercy, her past came back to haunt her. The Department of Government had held her application five days past the usual timeline, despite Natasha’s ranking third in her class and scoring a 97 percent on the Office of Mercy entrance exam. She could not be sure, but she believed that Jeffrey had vouched for her. He had visited their Epsilon group a few times as a volunteer teacher, and he had always paid a little extra attention to her. Not overtly, nothing that the other children would notice, but in the way he stood still and listened to her when she gave an answer and how once, when she was very little, he had put his hand on top of her head and kept it there, as if to say,
Out of all the sixty-two Epsilons, you are special.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The metallic clang of a chair leg striking the cubicle announced the arrival of Natasha’s fellow Epsilon team member—twelve minutes late for his afternoonshift. As a conciliatory gesture, he had brought Natasha a mug of coffee, which he set down beside the feeler-cube in which Natasha’s fingers danced, controlling the computer.
    â€œYou should see it out there in the Dome,” Eric said, looping his audioset around his neck and rolling back in his chair. “The Alphas finally posted the sweep. Everyone’s cheering around the maincomputer. Hey, you weren’t in the Office for it, were you?”
    â€œNope,” said Natasha, taking a break to sip the hot coffee. “Wave One Defense in the Dome. Jeffrey did the sweep himself.”
    â€œWell, that’s still better than me. I was on ammo support with your roommate.”
    â€œWe’re back to tracking Pines, did you check your instructions yet?”
    â€œI am right now. Mother, I was hoping to monitor the Crane sweep site.”
    â€œClaudia’s team got the assignment, I think,” said Natasha, savoring a few more sips, then setting the mug aside. “But Arthur says it’s clean. There’s nothing to see.”
    â€œExactly,” said Eric,