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That gives me full authority to choose the strike team.”
    Ruiner whispered to his team. Oriana looked to Pasha, who looked to Antosha.
    “We’ve had no training,” Pasha said, “and while we’d serve you and the chancellor with pride, we’d be at a disadvantage—”
    “Don’t you see?” Mintel said. “Even the neophyte can detect your folly.”
    The look Antosha gave Mintel silenced him and chilled Oriana’s nerves, but when Antosha turned to Pasha, he smiled. “You’ll shadow with Dahlia and learn the ways of a striker.” He approached Oriana. “And you, diligent and dedicated Madam Champion, will shadow Mintel to learn the ways of a strategist and uncover Dr. Shrader’s secrets.”
    “But I was the top overall performer in the Harpoons,” Oriana said, “and I was made to be an aera.”
    Antosha bowed to her. “You were made to run reconnaissance for this mission and to learn all that Dr. Shrader knows.”
    “I’m curious,” Mintel said, “for sure you must have a part for Dahlia and me in this mission. You can’t expect us to train our replacements—”
    “Oh, but I can, and I do.” Antosha glared at Mintel and Dahlia. To Ruiner, he added, “Oriana and Pasha will shadow your aera and your strategist, and you should sleep easy knowing that their skill in training the neophytes will ensure your survival, Before Reassortment.”

ZPF Impulse Wave: Cornelius Selendia
    Island of Reverie
     
    Northeast
     
    0 meters deep
     
    Connor’s line shimmied as the trout tugged. The sun’s rays burned the morning dew. He listened to the teal’s tweets. He breathed the pristine air mixed with burning cedar and pine. His older brother Hans dropped another log on the fire and embers sparked. Connor felt the heat. A pinecone shivered and fell into the river.
    Ripples in the water rolled from the pinecone. Connor backed away. The water rose and rushed along the shore. It toppled him and Hans and extinguished the fire and uprooted the trees. Connor clung to a branch. The water gushed over and around him and filled his lungs. A wave smashed him and brought with it bubbles and light.
    He opened his eyes and gagged. Wherever he was, it was dark. Silence replaced the sounds of crickets and birds and water. He scrabbled around the coarse ground. Something stung his hand, and he clutched his fingers. He licked his forefinger and tasted something bitter, something like metal.
    I’m alive , he thought, but where? And why can’t I see, why can’t I hear?
    He blinked and blinked until his vision improved. He saw splashes of light over water, over stone. A whiff of cool, salty air grazed him. He crawled between the sharpest stone points that had slit his hand.
    Leaning against a jagged rim, he saw shadows against the stone and figures in the water far, far below, the heads and bodies and tails of underwater fish. He felt nauseated. He sniffled, rubbed his forehead, and leaned farther over the edge.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
    Connor flipped over. He sat upon one of millions of islands, as tall as towers, endless rows and rows of them! Bright electric light flashed between the islands, as if timed, or as if part of something alive. Far away to his left, a woman lay curled up, asleep. To his right, a man lay with his hands under his head. The man who spoke knelt on the closest island to him, some twenty meters away.
    Lord Nero Silvana.
    Bandages covered his cheeks and nose, his left eye was bruised shut, and a chunk of his mohawk was missing.
    Connor’s heart thumped in his chest as he looked out and saw Douglas, Marian, Nicolas, Sander, Charlene, and so many other BP residents he knew from Blackeye Cavern—the BP’s eastern stronghold—all in gray tunics that matched his own. They all wore Converse Collars. Connor raised his hand to his neck and found one of his own.
    “We’re in Farino Prison,” Nero said, his hands cupped around his mouth to send his voice far.
    A gust sailed through Connor’s