Jeff assembles instructions, bit by bit. A spark of light, perhaps there, perhaps imagined. Just behind molded eyelids. He studies them, fixated, the heavy goggles on maximum magnification. One last tweak to the subroutine.

Jeff consults his intergalactic compendium. No entry for “elenzhorn”, not in twenty-six dialects. He shuts the menu, giving up, turning to the Rhuvian gentleman on his right. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Jeff shrugs. No idea what she meant by “red running”, nor the “third axe at the eleventh”. His hands were stained, sure, but not by blood. If even experts could identify no source, how’d they expect him to know? A week lost to fog and dark, and nothing now but waiting. Jeff keeps his eyes on the clock.

Jeff hugs the inside curve, pushing power from life support to thrusters. Seventh lap is the signal — red flares on the barrier. Guns for it, IMPACT — shatters through, screaming up the hidden ramp, a loop — GRAVITY INVERTED — and BLASTS onto the final tier. He punches the afterburner.

Jeff passes under the arch. One hundred amber orbs illuminate the garden, aloft on silver wings, adrift amongst the shrubbery. He knows where to find her — the hollow stump, a turn, a winding path. Moonlit moss on an old stone well. She is waiting.

Jeff collapses into the snowbank. The earth quakes, rattling his frame, echoing thunder in his ears. The great sphere, hurtling down the hillside, gleaming white and picking up speed. Pine trees flattened before it. This was going to hurt.

Jeff swings from the chandelier. Drops — too soon — crashes hard on a table, flipping it, launching wine glasses. Ruffians dart between patrons, rapiers at the ready. Jeff hurls a throwing star; precision hit! The man goes down, a blade lodged over his heart. Right in the embroidered ‘R’.

Jeff watches, motionless. The needle pierces just above the restraint. Daffodils, flying on their cinnamon wings, circulate the sky. An idea of love explodes, ricocheting off the ceiling fan, filling the room. A cloud of haze descends upon him, freeing the white in his eyes, singing softly the color of danger. The man in the white coat smiles.

Jeff douses the light. Feels the water rushing in, filling, rising to his shoulders, his neck. It carries him up, up and over, around — in an instant all is liquid. Faint luminance. Ahead, foggy streams from an unknown source, somewhere above. He shuts his eyes. Drifts into darkness.