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Crap. Why do I always have to be the one to die? It wasn’t really true, of course. All of them died from time to time, sometimes easy and sometimes not. But it did seem that Carmody “C-Mod” Wong got most of the worst deaths. This one seemed particularly galling. He’d been walking on the surface of XBR-50, keeping well away from most of the sources of danger when some underground dwelling critter grabbed him by the leg, injected a toxin and was now gnawing his immobilized body to death from the legs up. Naomi Stryker had been the first one to die on XBR-50. She was the new guy on the team and they’d sent her down first to see how hospitable the planet was. She’d lasted two hours before succumbing to an allergen from a flowering plant, giving the planet a +3 baseline on the Newell Hazard Scale. Now that he was down, Carmody figured they were up to a +5. But did the captain have to wait until he was completely eaten? “Surveyor Wong—it looks like this final process might take a while. Are you ready to come home?” The voice in his other ears sounded distant and it took Carmody a moment to swallow and make his other mouth move. “Ready.” “Prepare to eject ... in three ... two ... one ...” Carmody Wong’s consciousness transferred from his secondary head down on the planet to his primary back on the starship in orbit. It took about twenty seconds for the upload to finish and reintegrate with his primary—he’d be long gone when the ejection charge in the secondary’s helmet exploded. “Take a deep breath, C-Mod,” the medtech said. “That’s good. Take another for good measure. I’m taking off the blinders.” Carmody’s body lay recumbent on an even pressure Zen chair. His eyes had been covered while his secondary was down on the planet and his body supported by millions of tiny pads which electroneutralized the nerves they aligned to—conflicting sensory information was distracting to surveyors while they were operating in their secondary bodies. Rows of silvery traces were painted on his skin, providing the wiring for both sensors and the muscle relaxers. “Hi,” Lilia Weatherstone said, looking down at Carmody. “Welcome back to the living.” “Thanks, Captain,” he managed to say. Luis Stevens, the medtech, used a spray bottle to moisten Carmody’s mouth. “I suppose we’re up to a +5 now.” “Actually it’s a +7,” Lilia said. “While your secondary was being consumed, we examined the data from its suit, which your critter had removed using quite nimble fingerlike projections. And the shoulder camera clearly showed your left foot wrapped up in a rope snare.” Carmody was surprised. “A tool-making critter? Wow. That’s going to screw up the colonial deployment, but you’re going to get a handful of good papers out of this.” “We are,” Lilia said. “And yes, it looks like there’s a lot we have to learn before the big ships get here.” “How soon before I can go back down?” Carmody asked.  Lilia looked at Luis, who shrugged. “Your next secondary will be ready in about two days. We can push it faster, of course. But Psych is going to have to sign off on you. You’ve had a Level 3 traumatic event.” “Hey, it wasn’t so bad,” Carmody said, even as he remembered feeling the sharp teeth pulling the flesh from his right leg, before the critter’s toxins began to dull the pain. “It’s too early for the nightmares,” Lilia said with a smile. “Besides, you should know the protocols by now.” “Ready to sit up?” Luis asked. When Carmody nodded, the medtech slipped an arm around his shoulder and helped him as the Zen chair slid to its upright position. “So now what are you going to do?” Carmody asked, looking around. The Zen chair next to his was prepped and ready for activation—they only did that just before a mission. And beyond the glass barrier Control was manned and running a drop simulation. “What else can I do? I’m going to send in a Hunter,” Lilia said. “Whatever this creature is, we need to snatch a sample and have it analyzed. It’s Frank’s turn in the Zen chair.” 
Frank Diola had spent seventeen years in the InterSpace Army—the last eight as a Surveyor Hunter. He held a military rank, but no one referred to it within the team and Frank was happy to just be the team’s senior Hunter. “That’s the weirdest thing,” Carmody noted from his nearby chair as he watched Frank dress and equip his own anesthetized secondary. “You don’t mind working on your own secondary? It gives me the creeps to see mine.” “Only way to guarantee that everything is in the right place,” Frank said, filling the pockets, “and facing the right way. I never have to think about where the compass is or a knife—it’s just there.” “Yeah, sure. I rig my own utility vest, but on me. That’s like your own body.” “Right now this is just meat. It’s not me until I integrate and take my nap in the Zen chair. And even then, it isn’t really me. Because I’ll be right here on this ship just like you were when your critter was chomping on your leg. Besides, if you don’t bring it up—I don’t think about it.” “Uh, sorry.” Frank looked up and displayed a toothy grin. “Just jerking your chain, C-Mod. You of all people should know that having a secondary is the best damned thing to happen to space exploration—and fighting—since the invention of everything. ’Cause you can afford to sit here safely and be squeamish.” “Can’t argue with that.” “Plus you can’t distract me. I rigged up these bins weeks ago. When they’re empty, I’ll know I have every piece of gear I’ll need down there.” With that, Frank picked up his multi-rifle, cleared the chamber and snapped on four magazines. “You going to put a self-destruct safety charge on that?” Carmody asked. “I don’t really want to face an InterSpace Army MR-55 the next time I drop.” All hint of a smile disappeared from the Hunter’s face. “Yeah,” Frank said in a dry voice half a register deeper in tone. He walked to the equipment wall, punched in a code for the small vault and withdrew a radio-controlled explosive block. Snapping it onto the multi-rifle, he checked to make sure it integrated into the comm suite. “I don’t either.”
They’d all been through this routine so many times that Jean Dell’abrio could run through her checklist by heart, looking not so much for answers as any deviations or hesitations. “How many missions have you run, C-Mod?” “Twenty-seven.” “How many times have you died?” “Twenty-seven.” “How many times have you experienced the death of your secondary?” “Six.” “Were you alive upon ejection on this mission?” “Uh, technically yes.” Jean looked up. “Technically?” “Well, I was being eaten and I was paralyzed. Unless these critters leave a lot of half-finished meals around, this wasn’t going to have a pretty ending.” She was ready to get annoyed now. “Don’t get smart with me.” “Never, Jean.” “How do you feel?” Carmody nodded. “I feel pretty good. Hungry.” “That’s normal. You’d been prepped for long-term low activity while your secondary prowled around on XBR-50 and your mission got cut short. But we have to wait for all the drop chemicals to clear your system before you can eat. Sorry.” “I’ll live.”
They still didn’t have a clear view of their critter, but from the image of a wide mouth filled with long pointy teeth, someone tagged them with the nickname Gnashers. Frank Diola’s drop pod was already down in the same zone Carmody had been in. Meanwhile Naomi was set to return to the area where she died, wearing a full biofilter mask. They needed someone down there to analyze a sample of the plant which had done her in last time. Doing all the work through disposable secondaries meant no hazardous material was ever brought back to the ship. “How ya doing, Naomi?” Carmody asked, running the extra board to try to keep her calm. It wasn’t easy to be sent down to investigate your own remains. Or at least those of a previous secondary. “This is odd,” she said. “I remember this glade and that tree stump—the coordinates are right. This should be the place. And some of the underbrush is broken and flattened here—but there’s no Naomi Stryker lying here.” Carmody looked over at Lilia, who was supervising Frank’s run. “Do you copy that, Captain?” She didn’t answer him directly. “Hunter Diola, I need you to locate Surveyor Wong’s remains ASAP.” “Roger that,” Frank replied. “But let me finish my primary mission.” “You have one of the creatures?” “Got one in my sights,” Frank reported. “Selecting stun bolt.” “Proceed.” Lilia looked over his shoulder via his camera feed. She could just make out the shadowy figure through the leaves. “Parker,” she said to the technician, “zoom in on central target.” Carmody was wondering why she didn’t just access the MR-55’s gun sight, when the image on the screen suddenly canted downward. Then Frank’s secondary crashed to the leafy mould and its biometric telemetry flatlined. Three seconds later the safety charge on the multi-rifle blew and then the ejection charge went—all automatically. “Damn!” he swore. “Talk to me, people,” Lilia said, her face set in neutral stiffness. “What the hell just happened?” “Rear view camera,” the technician Parker explained, setting up the other video image. “Something with a long shaft thrown with considerable force.” But Carmody wasn’t listening anymore. He was at Frank’s side, trying to get him to regain consciousness even before the med tech came over to recheck the biometric displays of both primary and secondary. “Frank?” Luis reached over and touched the man’s arm. “Can you wake up now?” “Anything?” Lilia asked. “Not yet.” “What’s happening, Control?” Naomi asked from XBR-50. “Frank’s down,” Lilia said. “Run a wide-band sensor sweep and activate your defensive systems.” The captain had no idea if a neural scrambler would have any effect on a Gnasher, but there wasn’t anything else she could tell Naomi. “What’s wrong with Frank?” Carmody asked, his concern for a fellow traveler mounting. “Why isn’t he waking up?” “He’s had a Level 8 event. It was a nasty death—they used a spear. Penetrated his armored vest or else there was equipment failure. It shouldn’t have been able to do either,” Lilia said. “We still don’t know details.” “A spear?” Carmody was incredulous. “But that makes this at least a +9 planet. And you’ve already sent Naomi down.” “I know,” Lilia said. “We’re going to send another Hunter down to guard her.” Naomi ... Carmody went back to the extra board. One look at the telemetry told him she’d figured out pretty quick what was going on. “Naomi, calm down. Help is on the way.” “I’m ... scared.” Lilia came over. “Surveyor Stryker—be advised that Hunter Garcia is inbound to your position. ETA seven minutes.” That wasn’t strictly true—it’d be a few minutes before Sean Garcia was ready to be dropped. Naomi Stryker, lying on her Zen chair, stirred. Her lips moved slightly in sympathy with the voice coming from her secondary over the datalink. “It’s too late, Control.” “All visual feeds,” Lilia ordered. “Wide field.” The images tiled across six wall screens. Three Gnashers stood behind her and one in front. They were bipedal, upright and held long spears in one of their several arms. But what was truly disturbing lay in the left corner of the rearward view. A fifth Gnasher had an arm stretched around her head and the mouth locked onto her neck. Was it feeding? Carmody wondered. In sympathy his leg ached. “Control ...” Naomi’s voice sounded almost dreamlike. “Do not bother to send this Hunter Garcia. It cannot change what will happen here today.” Lilia looked at Carmody, who shook his head. She leaned over the console and keyed a microphone. “This is Control,” the captain said. “Who am I talking to?” “I am representing the Chief of the People of the Order.” “How did they learn English, Stryker?” To their surprise, Naomi responded in a more normal tone of voice. “They are into sensory parasitism—or at least that’s the term which they feel corresponds in my mind. Hunter Diola’s secondary provided a partial memory download before it was destroyed. One of them has attached itself to the back of my skull.” “Prepare to eject.” “My helmet is gone, Control.” The simple sentence chilled the staff in Control. In one moment, they’d lost the Surveyor’s advantage. “You must send Surveyor Carmody down,” Naomi said. “We’re still working on his next secondary.” “No—they require his primary.” Carmody turned towards Lilia, who shook her head before responding. “Surveyor Stryker—that is against protocols. We don’t send primaries down on Survey missions.” “Carmody Wong was set upon by the child of the Chief—as near as I can understand the relationships,” Naomi said, sounding somewhat confused. Her voice floated like she was drugged—given what happened before, it seemed entirely possible. “The child was hunting for its first ceremonial kill. And you spoiled it. The child was unable to absorb the essence of Carmody Wong.” Covering the microphone, Carmody spoke softly. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.” Lilia ignored him. “We’re sorry, but that’s not our procedure.” “Your interference is not our problem,” Naomi said, drifting more towards her attacker’s point of view. “Your procedures are not our problem. Your violation of our sacred hunt—this is a very great problem. For you. It shall be rectified.” Rectified? Naomi never talks like that. “Oh my God,” Carmody said, suddenly standing up and pointing at the telemetry board. “If Naomi’s helmet is off—why is she still linked?” The medtech moved quickly towards the prone girl. “There’s still a signal, but if it’s not coming from our equipment down there—” Lilia’s cold look nearly frightened Carmody. “Terminate the connection with Surveyor Stryker,” she ordered. “Remove her communication helmet immediately.” “But the secondary—” Luis began to argue. “... isn’t dead yet,” Lilia finished. “I know. But I don’t want Naomi to deal with these aliens any further. She’s too inexperienced for one thing.” The medtech took a deep breath, then began to disconnect the wiring from the metal tracings laid out on her skin. “Pull the plug,” Lilia said. “Quickly.” “I have to neutralize the whole body sensory net first,” Luis said, trying to work fast. “There is a procedure.” “Do it now!” “Almost ... there,” Luis said, severing the last connection, then injecting a fast acting anesthesia and pulling the helmet from Naomi’s real head. “Can you still eject her?” Carmody asked. “No,” Lilia said. “I’ve tried—the ejection sequence has been compromised. Without her helmet, there’s no explosive charge.” “Isn’t that a bit of an oversight?” Lilia glared at him. “In the first place, she’s not a Hunter. Secondly, she shouldn’t be without her helmet.” “I guess these aliens didn’t read our procedures manual.” “No,” Lilia said bitterly, “they most certainly have not.” “Stryker to Control.” Lilia turned first towards Naomi’s prone body, but the woman was still sedated. Her secondary’s voice came from the radio console. “Captain, they know you’ve broken the connection to my primary. They’re still demanding that Carmody’s primary be sent down to the planet. And, uh, Captain? They’re talking about a demonstration of their power.” “Their power?” Lilia softly repeated. Parker sat up at his console. “Captain! Sensors have just picked up a launch from the surface. We have a missile launch.” Missiles? Carmody couldn’t believe it. “These creatures are technological? How could that not have been detected from orbit?” “You must agree to send Carmody Wong’s primary to the surface,” Naomi said, “Or you shall all die.” “Jam them.” “Not responding,” Parker said. “If anything, they’re trying to lock onto our jamming beam.” “Counterattack.” “I’m not getting a confirmed missile lock.” “The warhead is nuclear,” Naomi said. “We are quite serious. Carmody Wong’s primary, or you shall all die.” “Tracking computer says three minutes to impact.” There wasn’t enough time to make a proper decision, Lilia realized. Only to react. This was not how she’d been taught to command, certainly not in a First Contact situation. The closest thing this event resembled was a terrorist negotiation—and Captain Weatherstone had procedures for that. “We agree to surrender Carmody Wong’s primary,” she said. “I will contact you in one hour. Parker—break signal lock with Surveyor Stryker.”
“So now what?” Carmody asked. “I mean, I don’t get a say in this?” “No,” Lilia said. “You knew when you signed up that there could the chance of real danger—real death. The aliens are threatening my ship.” “Hell, they’re threatening all of us.” “Exactly,” Lilia replied. “And that means I get to make the life-and-death decisions for you and the sixty-one other people aboard. Real world, whether you like it or not.” “But Captain—” “What I need,” she said thoughtfully, “is another option.”
There wasn’t much time. His latest secondary looked fine to Carmody, but knew it was still a day away from being in peak condition. First Luis needed Carmody to lie down while they made a quick link to the new secondary, establishing the baseline transfer. It took most of five minutes, but since they had to momentarily anesthetize him, Carmody never felt a thing. Then it was on to getting geared up for the mission. Carmody didn’t like the thought of having a bomb strapped to his belly. But that was the fastest option anyone could come up with. While Carmody finished dressing, Luis worked in the lab to set silvery tracings on Carmody’s secondary for the sensory feedback—the ones on his primary would be useless down on XBR-50. “I don’t know why you’re even bothering,” Carmody said. “They’re going to take my helmet off anyway and destroy the link. You know that.” “I’m trying to preserve something of Carmody Wong,” Lilia explained. “This is the best solution.” “How’s Naomi doing?” Carmody asked, looking over to where she still lay on her Zen chair. “Not great,” Lilia said. “But Luis says he thinks she’ll recover.” “Sending my real self down there is crap,” Carmody said. “Blowing myself up is pretty bad, too.” “You’re job isn’t just to blow yourself up,” Lilia said. “Yeah, it’s to blow up the Chief. Or at least the Chief’s son.” “No, though I’ll take them as collateral damage as well,” Lilia said. “Your job is to blow up Naomi’s secondary. As long as she’s alive, they have an involuntary source on human technology and psychology—unacceptable in a war.” “Oh.” Carmody was stunned by this suggestion. “I guess when you put it that way—” “There’s no way I’m leaving any human beings behind on this mission,” Lilia said. “These ... People of the Order represent the greatest threat humanity has ever faced.” “Great,” Carmody said. “We’re in the middle of a major historical moment and I’ve just been promoted to bomb.”
The procedure seemed all backwards. Carmody rested for a moment while Luis fiddled with the connections and got the secondary on the Zen chair linked. “You feeling all right?” Luis asked. “I’ve got a bad stomachache,” Carmody admitted. Normally he didn’t have jitters before a drop, but then secondaries weren’t fed lunch beforehand. “What a surprise—who would have ever though a condemned man could so regret his last meal?” “You’re all tuned in, C-Mod,” Luis said. “And I am sorry.” “Yeah. You and me both.” There remained little time for any goodbyes. The Chief, through Naomi’s voice on the planet, was getting impatient. “That’s it then,” Carmody sighed as he backed into the drop pod. “It should’ve been my mission,” Sean Garcia said, tightening the straps holding Carmody in place. “It’s my job to protect you guys.” “Not written that way today,” Carmody told the Hunter. “Don’t worry about it. We’re way outside the procedures manual.” “This time,” Sean said. “We’ll write a new manual after this.” “Take care, my friend.” “Adios, amigo,” Carmody replied. Then the hatch cover slid in place and he was surrounded in a dark cocoon of thick padding and suspension straps. “Moving pod into launch tray,” Sean’s voice came over the headset. “Descent is slated to take eight minutes.” “Roger that.” “Surveyor Wong,” Lilia’s voice came in strong. “Prepare for launch, in five ... four ... three ...” Carmody sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled as the drop pod shot out of the bottom of the ship. The trajectory was designed to take advantage of the minimal amount of maneuvering fuel—the pod’s rockets were mainly there to keep the attitude straight and bring him to rest for a soft landing. The pod’s transit through the thin upper atmosphere was never smooth. Buffeted by every slight variation, Carmody no longer bothered trying to see out the port during the hypersonic glowing plasma phase. Eventually, when the movement died down he’d take more interest in the ride. For now, he only wanted to survive the intense friction heat. XBR-50 had been so lovely to look at—a green, verdant jungle world. They’d seen no clearings for civilization, no industrial pollutants, none of things easily detectable from orbit over a human world. This was a planet of great mysteries and Carmody was sorry he’d likely not be around to see all their questions answered. And then the rockets took hold and he was down. Carmody immediately blew the hatch, unstrapped and tried to put some distance between himself and the drop pod. After a minute’s fast pace, he slowed and began to more carefully pick his way through the heavy growth of this forest. “Surveyor Wong—we have you less than twenty meters from Surveyor Stryker. Please approach the target area with caution.” “Tell me something I don’t know Control. But I still can’t see anything ... wait a second.” The dense underbrush seemed thinner up ahead. There was supposed to be a clearing. Carmody hoped this was it. “We have a visual of a Surveyor’s uniform.” Clearly they could see better upstairs than he could on the ground. Perhaps, he thought, the next generation of explorers could be robotic. Less stress on the living. “Nice to know that, Control. All that investment in video cams must be paying off.” He almost walked forward through the nearest gap in the plants, but then realized one of those things was standing not more than five meters away. Carmody froze. “You should step into the clearing.” It was Naomi’s voice, sounding rigid and cold. “Step into the clearing NOW.” Carmody didn’t think the situation was going to get any better, so reluctantly he walked forward. “And you might as well remove your helmet,” Naomi said, more normal this time. “They know all about the ejection procedure.” “Well,” Carmody said, looking over the five aliens standing and staring at him, plus the one standing behind Naomi. “Now what? I guess normal First Contact procedure is out the window.” Naomi stiffened as the Chief’s mouth attached to the base of her neck seemed to dig in deeper. “Nice try, Carmody,” she said in a shaky voice. “But that chest pack isn’t standard. I’ve seen those flat packages before, so they know you’re carrying additional explosives. Take them off. They’re not kidding, Carmody. They’ll kill all of us on the ship.” He’d almost expected something like this. Everything the captain tried had been thwarted by the Gnashers, this Order, whatever they were. Unsnapping two catches, the explosive belt around his midsection came off easily. One of the aliens grabbed hold of the belt and sprinted at impossibly high speed into the greenery. “You might as well remove your backpack, jacket and shirt.” “My what?” “The Chief demands to see the silver tracings on your arms.” Clearly these Gnashers understood too well what they’d learned from Naomi. The tracings would prove he was a primary. Except, of course, there was a secondary up on the ship with newly applied tracings the aliens didn’t know about. But Carmody did as he was told, showing off the metal traces on his arms, before reaching up to remove his helmet. “This is Surveyor Carmody Wong, signing off as ordered,” he managed to say. Then he lifted the helmet from his head, severing the datalink with the secondary aboard ship. For the first time in his life, Carmody was truly alone on a planet—and doomed.
Even before Carmody could open the eyes of his doppelgänger back on the ship, he could hear Lilia barking out the orders. “Drop canisters 20 and 21—maximum velocity. Break orbit—maximum acceleration. Charge all main weapons batteries.” “Aye-aye, Captain.” “Helm answering.” “Two minutes to grounding on those canisters.” Two minutes? Carmody was confused. That wasn’t a normal drop pod procedure—they had a way to get the drop to go faster? Then he realized they weren’t trying to cushion a fragile human inside. “Now blow that charge inside Carmody.” He couldn’t quite talk yet, but if he could, it surely would be the question, What charge? And yet the simplicity of what they’d done was so crystal apparent. “You let them find the belt,” Carmody managed to say. “Hey, take it easy C-Mod,” Luis said, coming over to moisten Carmody’s mouth and check his vitals. “Of course,” Lilia said. “And given their track record, I thought they might strip you down. So I had Luis and Sean implant sufficient explosives to do the job.” She paused, staring at an update screen. “From the camera harness, it looks like your charge also took out Naomi’s secondary, the alien chief and his son.” “Couldn’t have happened to any nicer aliens—sorry Naomi.” “It’s okay, C-Mod.” Carmody glanced up as Naomi stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” he asked. She nodded. “So, Luis, how long can I expect to live inside a secondary?” Carmody tried to keep the query upbeat and casual. Secondaries normally had a life span of only about two weeks after activation. “I wouldn’t know,” said the medtech. “You’re not inside a secondary right now.” “I’m ... not?” “No,” Lilia said coming over. “Procedure says we do not send primaries down to planets on hazardous missions. That’s what secondaries are for.” “But the Chief—” “The Chief only needed to believe we’d sent the primary down.” Carmody looked at the silvery traces on his arms. “But you just set these on my arms—” “No, that was on the real secondary. We just performed a little sleight of hand with your bodies, that’s all.” “When?” “During the test link.” “Captain ... I’m, uh,” Carmody stammered. “Dumbfounded. Thank you.” “Anyway,” Lilia went on, “we have to stop the colony ships from reaching this star system. There’s no telling what else these aliens can do. We’re up to a +13 Newell rating now and that means I have an obligation to call in the exterminators.” “No negotiation?” “None whatsoever.” One other thing bothered Carmody. “Captain, how do we really know they’re just a +13? These aliens have screwed us at every turn. Cannibals who live in holes in the ground and oh-by-the-way have nuclear weapons?” “Technically they’re not cannibals.” “That’s besides the point,” Carmody said, still concerned. “What if they’re starfaring and they come after us?” “Well, you’re right. But I don’t know how to defeat a +13 by myself. I only have to be able to run away from them.” “Captain, we’ve got three birds in the air—all targeting this ship. Four minutes.” “It’s all for nothing then,” Carmody said sadly. “No time to get away.” “Nonsense,” Lilia said. “Tactical—take out those missiles. Full power on the lasers. And do a deep scan. I don’t want to run into any other ships or missiles out here in space.” “Aye-aye, Captain. Setting up fire mission ... targeting ... firing. Targets destroyed—one, two, three.” “You could do that?” “We always could.” Lilia allowed herself a sly smile. “Surveyors aren’t privy to all our capabilities. What you don’t know, you cannot reveal to our enemies.” “Then we were never really in any danger.” “Oh, we were in danger. And still could be. But I think if they stay at a +13, we can handle them. At the very least, we caught them off guard.” “We’ve won?” Naomi asked, just now realizing what Captain Weatherstone was saying. “Yes,” Lilia said. “I think you can say that we won. For today at least.” Carmody frowned. “If I’m not supposed to know about—” “Effective immediately, Surveyor Wong, you are retired,” Lilia said. “That goes for all our Surveyors and Hunters.” “That’s not fair.” “The space service will compensate you very generously and your pension will be fully vested.” “This isn’t about money, captain. It’s about the search.” “There’ll be a job for you, I assure you. The service isn’t going to let a man of your experience—” “It’s not that,” he said, not quite able to answer her. “You don’t get to die any more, Carmody,” Lilia said. “Except for that one last time which happens to all of us.” Carmody thought about it for a minute. “I guess I can live with that,” he said.
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