Going Blind

Emily picked up the doll, stroked the coarse hair, held the hard plastic hands. No image came to her. Was this what it was like to touch without sight? Was this what it was like to be normal?

"Emily?" asked Ms. Kraft as she walked through the nursery door.

Emily gave the doll a final hug and put it back in the toy chest. "I'm ready," said Emily. "Let's go."

Ms. Kraft shook her head and smiled. She bent her knees so she was even with Emily's face. "You don't have to go to the visit room today."

Strange. That's the only reason Ms. Kraft ever came. Why else would she come? Just to see her? Emily liked Ms. Kraft. She had a pretty outside and not too much ick inside. Emily sometimes wondered what it would be like to have her as a mother. Other times, she simply imagined walking out of the building holding someone's hand.

"No assignment?" asked Emily.

"I've come to say goodbye."

Emily's heart lurched, and she felt tears coming to her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I'm getting married," said Ms. Kraft. "I'm not going to work for the Force anymore."

Emily sniffled. "But I like you."

"Oh, honey," said Ms. Kraft, moving closer but not touching her. "I like you, too. I'm going to miss you. You're the best of Dr. Quill's Children."

Emily wanted to see the real Ms. Kraft, remember what she looked like the day she left. "Can I hold your hand? One last time."

Ms. Kraft hesitated, then put her hand in Emily's.

A garden. Red flowers and blue. A bright new flower, taller than the rest. And there, in a shadow, the ick. A black grasshopper gnawing on a rose petal. Liquid eyes. Watching.

Emily let go. "Goodbye, Ms. Kraft."

"Have a seat, Sergeant Diamo," said Capt. Papers were strewn all over his office, and the snow globe with the pastoral scene of Udeamas-5 was smashed to pieces in one corner. Capt looked liked he wanted to throw Diamo across the room like the snow globe.

Whew. Diamo had heard of Capt's temper tantrums, but he'd never seen the aftermath. Was it that Proluix incident?

Diamo sat in a chair across from Capt's desk. "You wanted to see me?"

Capt remained standing, grinding his fists into the desktop. "You initiated a stop and mop this morning?"

Damn. It was Proluix. What had Diamo done now? "That's right, sir."

"You follow protocol?"

"Yes, sir." No way Capt was going to bust Diamo's chops for that. Proluix had been by the book.

"I see." Capt sat but didn't look comfortable. "Before initiating the tractor ray, you pulled the driver's profile?"

"Yes, sir."

"The profile contained the name and address of the driver?"

Dumb question. It always did. Even the out-spacers could be traced back to their transport ships and docking stations. "Affirmative."

"And the name Gwendolyn Proluix didn't ring a bell with you?"

Diamo shook his head, but he thought he may have heard it someplace before.

"Twenty-three point nineteen sector Adam didn't ring a bell either?" asked Capt.

Diamo shifted in his seat. He felt a freight speeder hurling toward him but he had no way to avoid it. "Adam sector is the level-one government residence district. Something wrong, sir?"

"Something wrong!" Capt snapped, his voice quivering with rage. "The address is the Gov Mansion. You stopped Gov Proluix's daughter mid-jump, then transported her into a truth pod for a brain mop, where she started blabbing about her father's polly-sexual affair with his four personal aides. I just got my ass chewed by the Chief, who got his ass chewed by the Gov himself. Yeah, something's wrong."

Diamo'd be wasting his breath if he explained that the radiation profile of Gwen Prolouix's air boat matched a profile near two of the Little Women crime scenes. If Ms. Proluix would have answered his questions about her whereabouts on those two nights, just so he could nip that lead, everything would have been fine. But Proluix had to lip him, like it was beneath her to give him the answers he needed. Under protocol, Diamo could mop anyone who refused to cooperate in a murder investigation. Under the unwritten protocol, he could mop anyone that didn't have the Chief's direct access number.

"Sorry, Capt," said Diamo, trying to look abashed. "It won't happen again."

"You bet your balls it won't happen again! You're reassigned."

Diamo's chest constricted. Capt wouldn't do that to him, would he? "But what about the Little Woman Murders? I'm so close."

"You've had nine months. All you've come up with is a pissed off Gov."

Diamo bit his tongue. No one else on the Force was going to break this thing, and the killer could strike again any day. The idea of another one of those cute little girls getting murdered made Diamo want to puke. But what choice did he have? Diamo would have to work his way back into Capt's good graces and hope someone else fucked up worse than he did.

Capt took a breath. "Listen, Diamo, you probably shouldn't have this case in the first place. Nobody'd blame you if these dead girls reminded you too much of--"

"I'm fine, Capt."

"You should consider--"

"I'm fine!" It came out louder than Diamo intended. He cleared this throat. "What's the new assignment?"

Capt smiled, an evil smile. "Bios division. G.M.C.I."

Bios? Most of the staff down there were techies. And G.M.C.I.?

Genetically Modified Crime Investigation. But nobody called it that anymore. "Quill's Crazies?"

Capt's smiled widened. "Considering how much your Da liked Quill, I thought you'd be great for the job."

"Babysitting?" Hell, no! No way was Diamo going to do that! He had a murderer to take down.

Diamo looked through the one-way sound/light shield at the gaggle of kids in the nursery. Most were between two and five, but one was much older than the rest. She was wraithlike: pale skin, small frame, and angelic face, with a crown of blazing gold hair in need of brushing. Diamo thought she was around ten, even though she was playing with a doll. Hadn't Madison outgrown dolls by ten? Diamo shook his head. He wouldn't think about Madison.

A tech named Sandy Current sat next to Diamo, telling him everything he needed to know for his new job using a check list she'd brought up on her cortex comp.

"Who's the ghost?" Diamo interrupted Sandy's diatribe.

Sandy looked up from her data screen, then glanced where Diamo was pointing. "Emily Batch Three. She's eleven, the only batch threer left."

"What happened to the rest?"

"M.I.B. Maturity Inducted Blackout. The children reach a point where they stop seeing. The odds of it happening increase as the child matures."

He turned to her, open-mouthed. "All the children go blind?"

Sandy shook her head. "You haven't been listening. They can still see with their eyes, they just can't see inside of other people's minds anymore."

See in people's minds? He should have been listening. All this stuff was pretty nuts. "You mean these kids can look at you and figure out what you ate for breakfast, or who you wish you could screw?"

Sandy sighed, sounding frustrated. "They don't read minds like a book, more like a painting or a holovision clip. When Dr. Quill created them, he'd hoped for a human lie detector, but it didn't quite turn out as planned. The kids don't get specific facts, but they do get the mind's image."

Diamo shook his head and grinned. Quill. Diamo remembered growing up around the old doc, and even then he couldn't seem to get anything right. The semi-sentient bullet program and been an unmitigated disaster; and the K-9 mind link had created a squad of barking patrolman. Still, Diamo's da had loved the old doc, kept authorizing the funding for the projects. I guess this was Quill's legacy, thought Diamo. Fitting. "I've never heard of a case being solved because of a mind image—whatever that is."

Sandy thrust her elbows back and her chin forward, making her look a bit like a chicken. "Sergeant Diamo!" she snapped. One pissed-off chicken. "If you came down here just to lip the Project, then you can just...just..."

"Suck on a particle compressor?" Diamo suggested.

"Good enough." Sandy crossed her arms and stared at the floor.

Diamo held up his hands. "I wasn't trying to lip anyone. Hell, I always kinda liked the old—er, Dr. Quill."

She crinkled her brows. "You knew him?"

"When I was a kid." Diamo didn't feel like going any farther down that road with Sandy. Some of those visits had been out-and-out weird. "Why don't we get to work? Just tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Diamo's cortex comp got a download request from Sandy's. He signaled acceptance.

"I'm uploading a manual for you to read. Tomorrow I thought we could go over it, maybe do some practice rounds before the real thing. Then I can--"

Manuals? Practice rounds? Who does she think I am? "I don't have time for all that stuff." The faster he did whatever the hell he was supposed to do, the faster he could get back into the Capt's happy place and back to some real work.

Sandy peered at him, looking chicken-like again. "You have no idea what you're getting into, do you?"

He shrugged. "Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Sandy laughed.

The children looked up when the new man came in the nursery. He looked nothing like Ms. Kraft, and he smelled a lot worse. Emily wondered what he did that made him smell like sweat, processed nu-meat tubes, and coffee.

"Be sure and hold her hand," said Sandy from outside the nursery. "She likes that."

The man nodded and waved, then strode toward Emily. His scent got stronger as he approached, but Emily decided it wasn't so bad.

"Emily?" His voice was gruff, but it seemed like he was trying to make it less so. His face looked strange with a smile on it.

"Um huh," she said.

"I'm Sergeant Diamo. We'll be working together for a while."

This was the new Ms. Kraft? But he was so different, not like any of the others. "Are you sure?" asked Emily.

Diamo smirked, which looked more natural than the smile. "Yup. What Capt says, goes."

"Who's Capt?" asked Emily.

"He's...never mind. Come on, let's get to work." He held out his thick, rough hand. Emily stared at it, wide-eyed.

"What's a matter?" He chuckled. "Never held a guy's hand before?"

Emily was amazed. Diamo didn't seem nervous, just impatient. The others had waited so they could get more comfortable, she supposed. Then, when the time finally came, they acted like she was about to strip their clothes off and look at them naked. But it was nothing like that—it was much worse. Nobody wanted to feel like they'd been turned inside out, like they were exposing the parts of themselves that no one was ever meant to see. When it was over, some people had become nauseous, some had wept, some screamed. None could look her in the eye.

She reached out. Diamo didn't flinch.

A dark night, stars high above. No sound. Scary things waited in the dark, but she couldn't see. Wait —- a rumbling in the distance. Yes, and a light. At first a pinprick and then getting bigger, getting louder. Rumbling, chugging. A machine. What was it? Not a spaceship. One of those old fashioned ships. What were they called? Yes, a train. Plunging through the darkness, getting brighter until whiteness was everywhere. Clean and pure. And flower petals floating through the air. Music and happiness. The scary things were hiding, afraid of the warm, soft light.

Diamo dropped Emily's hand as if it was charged with electricity. What the hell had she done to him? A strange picture, like a vivid holovision clip, had flashed before him. Diamo looked down at the girl, who was staring back at him expectantly. She'd known she was doing something.

"Thank you," said Emily.

"What did you...?" Diamo turned and saw Sandy in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk plastered on her face. She'd known this would happen, damn it. She was waiting for it. Well, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Diamo took a breath. "Well, Emily, we'd better get to work." He almost touched her on the shoulder to lead her out of the room, but then thought better of it.

Sandy eyed them as the left the room, the smirk never leaving her face.

He led Emily into the hallway, out of Sandy's sight. "Let's go over your assignment," Diamo tried to sound like he knew what he was talking about.

"Why? Is it something new?"

"No, no. Just tell me about the usual. You know, what you're supposed to do."

Emily looked at him and narrowed her eyes. "You don't know what I do."

"That's not exactly--" began Diamo.

"Don't bother lying. Remember, I've seen you. The inside you."

Emily stared at him, and he knew with utter certainty it was true. She had pulled away his skin and dug in. It was very unsettling. No one had ever known him like this, not even Lynda--God rest her soul.

"Aren't you going to ask me the question?" asked Emily.

"What question?"

"What my helpers always ask the first time I look at them — what did I see?"

Diamo shook his head. "Maybe some other time."

Emily sat in the visit room with Diamo next to her. She smiled. What a kind, strange man Diamo was. He hadn't acted sick or embarrassed. He hadn't even asked the question. The first one ever! Why not? Did he not even care what she saw? No, it was more than that. The connection with Diamo had felt different from the start.

Speer, the big black cop in the silver-grey uniform brought in the visitor, an old man with a with short white whiskers covering his gaunt, narrow face. He glanced about the room nervously, first at Diamo then her. His pale lips twitched. "Ha!" he said. "A little girl."

"Sit down," Speer said in that voice he had that left no choice but to obey.

The man sat in the cold metal chair across the small table from Emily and Dimao. Speer nodded at her, left the room, and shut the door. She knew he was keeping an eye on them through the s/l shield. Two or three times, a visitor had tried to hurt her, but Speer had burst in like a bull, hitting the visitor and making that hollow sound Emily hated but could never forget. She felt even safer than usual now. Diamo would protect her, too. In his own way, Diamo was more dangerous than Speer.

Emily lay her hand on the table. "Take my hand," she said to the visitor. The old sweat odor of the man's unwashed body hit her. The rancid scent was something she often experienced, but could never get used to.

"Why?" asked the visitor with a catch in his voice.

Emily smiled sweetly. "I won't hurt you. Promise." That lie always worked. He didn't believe a little girl like her could hurt him, especially just by holding his hand.

The visitor lowered his trembling, dirt encrusted hand into hers.

Purple twilight and a deep blue sea. A battered wooden dock with a moored rowboat. Waves lapping, seagulls screeching, a foghorn in the distance. There were creatures under the sea—big ones, but old and tired.

The visitor pulled his hand away. He face was ashen and his breath labored. He held his hands to his stomach and kept his eyes to the floor. "No," he murmured. Speer came in and practically had to carry the guy from the room.

"He's dying," said Diamo.

Diamo couldn't sleep. Another body had been discovered, a 14-year-old with auburn hair and a beautiful smile. She'd been carved up like a Halloween simu-pumpkin just outside the grav-ski expo at the Commerce Bubble. Capt, of course, had been on the holovision news, vowing that the perp would be brought to justice. Yeah, thought Diamo, so long as nobody's toes get stepped on along the way.

At three a.m., Diamo called Carson on the scramble.

"Carson," answered a tired voice.

"It's Diamo."

"Hey, man. One day gone and I already miss your ugly ass."

Diamo cracked a grin despite himself. Carson had a way with words. "Listen, bro," said Diamo, "That girl who was murdered this evening. Have you run the transport profiles for the Commerce Bubble?"

Carson grunted. "Capt made it pretty clear you were off the case."

"I'm asking a favor."

"Shit, Diamo. The Capt is all over this. If he finds out—"

"Come on! It's three a.m. Capt's long gone along with the rest of the staff. You're the only one who cares enough to work this through the night. Capt will never find out."

"Maybe Capt is right on this one."

Diamo clenched his fist. He couldn't believe an old friend like Carson would side with Capt. "What makes you say that?"

Carson hesitated. "Seeing all those dead girls—hell, it would be hard on any father who'd lost a daughter."

Capt had implied the same thing, but he couldn't know. Carson couldn't know. Nobody could know what it had been like for Diamo to lose everything in one horrible moment. Did the loss of Lynda and Madison affect his investigation into the murders? Of course. It affected everything. But that didn't mean letting the bastard who was killing those girls buzz the airways.

"Please," said Diamo. "Just help me out here."

Carson paused. "Well, you're SOL anyhow. Nobody's done a profile. You know how many air boats buzz the Bubble? That profile list will be a mile long."

"Fine," said Diamo. "I don't need the whole profile. Just run this list." Diamo uploaded a list of ten plates to Carson's cortex comp.

Carson came back on the scramble a few minutes later. "Paydirt. The gold Triumphant was at the Bubble about an hour before the murder. Where'd you get those plate numbers, anyway?"

Diamo chucked, not about to admit they were vehicles associated with the Gov. "I'll tell you all about it if this pans out."

Diamo's heart was racing. His theory on the Little Women Murders had to be correct, but how would he get the proof he needed? He sure as hell couldn't do a stop and mop on the Gov himself. And if Capt caught Diamo with his nose anywhere near the case, he'd probably lose his badge.

"I need to talk to you," said Sandy when Diamo poked his head into the G.M.C.I. office the next morning. She had a bit of that pissed-off chicken look again, but her red hair was down around her shoulders instead of pulled up in a fierce bun, which softened the look.

Diamo smiled. "And good morning to you, too."

Sandy looked flustered. "Uh...good morning. I need to, that is, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Diamo eased onto a stool next to her. "Sure. What's up?"

"The report you filed last night on Emily's visitor. I don't understand."

Diamo shrugged. "I thought it was pretty straightforward."

"Emily told you the visitor was going to die?" Sandy stared at Diamo like he was a rat in a lab.

"Yeah," he said. But then he thought about it more. Had she told him? He's seen the flash of an image, an old boat bobbing in ocean waves under a twilight sky.

"You're sure?" asked Sandy.

"Look, what's the problem? Did I do something wrong?"

"Yes." Sandy frowned, than looked through the s/l shield at the children in the room beyond. "Well, I can't be sure. In the past, Emily only reported images, what she's seen when she touched a visitor. The images are vivid, with lots of detail. But she's never..." Her voice trailed off.

"Never what?" asked Diamo.

"She'd never said what the images mean."

Diamo had been sure the old man would die, but he couldn't say why. "So maybe I made a mistake."

Sandy smiled, not even a mocking smile. "No mistake." She uploaded a 1-page document to Diamo's cortex comp. "I just got this report from the cell block. Mr. Wymoth—Emily's visitor—died last night."

Diamo felt a chill. He stood, a little wobbly. "Well, looks like it all worked out. Emily did her job." Hopefully, Sandy bought the bravado that Diamo didn't actually feel. What the hell was going on?

Sandy stood, too. "Oh, no you don't!" Her voice was raw, agitated. "Tell me what happened yesterday."

"I don't see what the big deal—"

"Then let me spell it out for you. I've got reports—thousands of reports—from these kids going back years. All of them—all of them, read like art students reporting on a trip to the museum. I've studied them, tried to find patterns, tried to see what purpose they had, and I've never found anything. Nobody who has worked down here has. And now you walk in and claim Emily can predict when a man will die? I want to know what you did."

Diamo frowned and lowered his brow. "Wait a sec. You're telling me that all anyone has done around here is written down descriptions of pictures? That didn't accomplish anything. Why didn't the Force just scrap the program?"

Sandy laughed, nearly hysterical. "I don't believe it. You don't know! How is that possible? This program is funded by a trust your father and Dr. Quill created. The program doesn't survive because it works, the program survives because the funding can't be used for anything else under the terms of the trust."

A trust? Nobody had ever told him about that. No wonder his Da's estate had been so bare. Some money to support mom, maybe a little left over for Diamo when dear old mom passed. But Da's salary as Chief of the Force wasn't half-bad, much more than the pittance Diamo pulled in as a detective. Diamo shook his head. He didn't have time for that now—he had a murderer to catch. The sooner he finished his assignments with Emily, the sooner he could get back to doing some real work.

Emily was excited. Diamo was so different from everyone else. Both yesterday and today, she didn't have to describe the mind image—Diamo just knew. More importantly, he told her was the image meant, and when he told her, she knew he was right. The teen visitor had been dealing tripwire, but only because his mother forced him. The female visitor they brought in didn't belong there—she wasn't the person the Force thought she was.

It felt like she was actually accomplishing something, but it troubled her that Diamo didn't feel the same. He'd seemed distracted, like he wanted to be someplace else. Would he leave her soon, just as all the rest had? The thought made her want to cry. Sometimes she felt so alone. No one had ever asked her about her deepest wish. No one had taken her hand and looked into her mind. But she knew what the image would show. I want a Da. I want a Ma. But that had never happened to one of Quill's Children. Why should she believe it would ever happen to her?

Diamo's day with Emily hadn't been half bad. She was a good kid, a real good kid. Working with her would have been kind of fun if Diamo hadn't been so preoccupied. When he got back to his apartment, he knew he should get right to work on the murders, but he was exhausted. He'd failed to sleep the night before. Maybe a little nap, then he'd get on the job.

Da held his hand as Diamo walked into Quill's office. It reminded Diamo of his Da's study. A big desk, a bunch of old-fashioned books on shelves against the walls, some art. The only thing that was different was the doctor's examination table in the corner, which is where Da led him. Diamo climbed up and sat on the crinkly paper sheet.

He screamed.

Diamo was still screaming when the scrambler signaled him, bringing him fully awake. No surprise that working with Quill's crazies had brought back that old nightmare again. He answered the scrambler.

"Diamo here."

"I thought I told you to stay away from the Little Women case."

Shit. It was Capt, and he was barking mad.

"Hell, I'm babysitting, like you asked."

"Bullshit. You uploaded something to Carson last night."

"Oh, that." Diamo tried to sound casual. How the hell had Capt known? Was he tracing Diamo's cortex comp? Diamo couldn't believe Capt would go that far, but what other explanation was there? Carson would never rat him out. "That was just a plate list I forgot to leave in the file. I remembered in the middle of the night, and Carson was kind enough to let me upload it to him."

Capt grunted, and Diamo sighed in relief. Apparently, his story had matched Carson's well enough.

"I'm watching you. Don't do anything stupid." Man, Capt still sounded stressed and exhausted.

Then the idea hit Diamo--the kind of twinge that came to him once in a while that he could never explain, the kind that often led Diamo to cracking a case. "Hey, Capt? I still feel bad about the stop and mop thing. What if I met with the Gov and give him a personal apology?"

After a long silence, the Capt said: "You serious?"

"Sure. The least I can do."

"This better not be some bullshit plan to--"

"Geez, Capt. Can't a man apologize anymore? I suppose you don't want me to..."

"Might not be a bad idea. I'll see if I can arrange it. I'll call you tomorrow." Capt sounded puzzled but relieved.

Diamo smiled. Either this plan would work, or he'd just signed his own pink slip.

The next morning, Diamo cleaned up and went straight to the nursery. The meeting with the Gov was set for nine thirty. Diamo was to arrive in his dress blues, and not a minute late.

"Diamo," said Sandy. "The report you filed yesterday--"

"Sorry," said Diamo. "No time to talk. I'm here for Emily."

Sandy frowned. "Her assignment isn't even here yet."

"Cancel. We're going in the field."

For a second, Diamo thought Sandy was going to lose it completely. Her face went red, she leapt up from her chair, and pulled her elbows back. She'd lost that chicken look. Now she looked more like a rabid fox. "Have you lost your mind? Emily doesn't go in the field. None of Quill's Children ever have! I won't allow it."

"Come on, Sandy. A little fresh air will be good for her."

"No." She glared at him. "Make one move toward Emily and I'm calling Capt."

Damn. This was going to be harder than he thought. "Okay. You're right. I understand." He turned, shrugged. "I thought she might want to meet the Gov."

"The Gov?" Sandy looked shocked.

"I know. Stupid idea. Sorry."

Sandy bit her bottom lip. "Well, I have to admit, it sounds like it could be good for her—and good for us. And she'd be perfectly safe. Who's more well protected than the Gov?"

"You really think it's a good idea?"

Sandy smiled and nodded.

Emily sat next to Diamo in the most beautiful room she'd ever seen. It had cushy chairs around the edges, thick blue carpet, and a fancy desk with a smiling lady behind it. Emily couldn't believe her luck. Her first time out of the Bios building, and, even better, she was on a secret mission. Diamo had explained it to her on the way over. She'd promised to do exactly as he said. Maybe if she did it just right, he'd let her go in the field again. It was much more interesting that sitting in that dank visiting room.

The smiling lady behind the desk said, "Sergeant Diamo? The Gov will see you and your daughter now."

Emily shivered with pleasure. She'd never been referred to as a "daughter" before, and it felt wonderful, even if she was just pretending.

The smiling lady led them to a pair of heavy wooden doors, inlaid with golden scrolls. One of the doors swung wide, and Emily and Diamo walked inside.

The office was even more beautiful than the waiting area. The floor was polished white marble, so shiny that Emily could see her reflection walking with Diamo toward the huge desk in the center of the room. The walls were lined with rich, velvety wallpaper and beautiful dark wood, rising in intricately carved columns that went from floor to ceiling. Huge portraits of old men and women hung on the walls. They didn't look like anyone Emily had ever seen before—too clean, too wise, too perfect. Red leather chairs with tall backs were stationed in front of the desk.

The man behind the desk stood. He frowned as they approached, but said nothing. In some ways, he looked nearly as perfect as the old people in the portraits, but one look at his eyes made Emily sure he was the ugliest thing in the world. And, for the first time in her life, she didn't want to use her sight. She had no desire to see what lay behind those ugly eyes. She glanced at Diamo, whose face gave nothing away. Could she stop him? Whisper in his ear that she couldn't go through with it? No, she wouldn't let Diamo down.

When they were in front of the desk, Diamo said, "Good morning, Gov. I'm Mike Diamo." He held out his hand.

The Gov hesitated, the reached across the desk and shook it.

The moment was coming. Those eyes turned toward Emily. She forced herself not to run.

"And this is my daughter, Emily," said Diamo.

Just as Diamo had told her to do, she held out her hand. The Gov looked at her, amusement streaking across his face. He reached out.

She was in the Gov's office. The one with the marble floor and painted walls. Everything was clean, quiet—and utterly wrong. She couldn't sense the ick, the monsters in the dark, anywhere. Could this possibly be the first person she encountered who didn't have any? Once again, she felt like she wanted to run. She didn't want to be here. Then she saw a crack in the corner of the image, as if the image had been hastily painted over something else, but didn't take. The crack got wider, longer. Then the whole image crumbled before her, revealing a portrait of horror. Rivers of molten blood flooded the periphery of her vision. Girls' mangled bodies were strewn like fallen leaves across a scorched, barren landscape. In the distance a tiny house settled on the shore of one of the molten rivers. And, in front of her, bounding toward her like a rabid hyena, was the ick. Worse than ick, really. A huge, black monster with bloody fangs and claws. It sensed her. It was furious that she had discovered its secret. It wanted to consume her, destroy her. With the flash of angry orange eyes, the beast attacked. Emily screamed, and the world went dark.

Emily screamed, then collapsed, falling to marble floor with a thud.

"What did she do to me?" asked the Gov. He had vomited all over his desk, but now his face was red with anger, his strange eyes panicked.

"She's fainted," said Diamo, furious at himself. What had he done to her? He'd glimpsed the horror she'd seen. No girl should have to see that. No wonder she'd fainted; she'd be lucky if she wasn't scarred for life. As he had hoped, she'd uncovered the key to bringing down the Gov, but had it been worth it?

The Gov's security men, in tailored suits and earpieces, burst into the office, guns drawn. Diamo bent over, picked up Emily, who had not moved. "My daughter fainted," he said to the security men. To Diamo's relief, the men parted as he carried her past. The Gov suspected something, but what could he say? A little girl had screamed and fainted. He'd thrown up for no apparent reason? How could a little girl have harmed the Gov?

"Sergeant!" said the Gov. "I demand an explanation!"

But by then Diamo was out of the office. The Gov was going down. It would be a huge case, one that would make Diamo's career. Perhaps that old nightmare had been a real memory, and Diamo would be the greatest crime fighter this side of the galaxy. Quill had created many children, but Diamo was Quill's prodigy.

Emily opened her eyes. She lay in a bed that was not her own. The small bedroom was simple and unadorned. Diamo stood over her, smiling.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"My place," said Diamo.

"Wha-what happened?"

Diamo's smile grew wider. "You did it, kid. What you saw in the Gov solved the Little Women Murders. I had the Force check the Gov's vacation cabin on Udeamas-5. They found pictures of all the bodies, hair cuttings, even...Well, you don't need to know all the gruesome details."

"So we're safe?" she asked.

Diamo nodded. "The Gov's in a suspension pod, awaiting trial." He reached down and took her hand. "You're safe."

The shock of it made her heart race. When she took Diamo's hand she saw nothing. She felt the warmth of Diamo's hand, smelled his coffee breath, and saw only his face, looking at her as if he loved her.

"I'm blind!" Tears welled up in her eyes. She'd never discovered what happened to the other Batch Three children who'd left after they'd been blinded. What would become of her?

Diamo cleared this throat. "I kind of thought as much. You saw more than any kid should ever see. The sight...I think it's a delicate thing."

"But what's going to happen to me?"

Diamo sighed. He seemed a little nervous. What could make him nervous? He'd stopped the bad man. "If it's okay with you, I thought maybe you'd stay with me."

Her tears of worry turned to tears of joy. She closed her eyes to try to stop them.