[A boisterous banjo tune, fading back to reveal the gentle murmur of people dining and in conversation]

Narrator 2: The folks of Stationary Hill are gathered here this morning at Patricia’s Cafe enjoying a community breakfast.

Narrator 3: And it’s like, everybody in town: Saskia, Tzila, Ettie, Ellie, Goe…

Narrator 2: The other people…

Narrator 1: All those other people, some of whom we’ve met, many of whom we have, but even more of whom we certainly have not and may never have time to fully meet in their entirety. Some of the Mothers from the Lazaretto are still present here in Stationary Hill. A couple of them are here at breakfast. They’re not eating. They don’t seem to eat.

Narrator 2: Wherever they derive their nourishment, it is not from breakfast,

Narrator 1: But they do seem to enjoy waiting a table here and there. It’s an act of service, and they’re all about serving and helping those in need. In need of breakfast, in this case.

Narrator 2: So the town is bustling. Even Hieronymous is still here somewhere, not at this breakfast, but still in town. Honestly, much longer than he should have stayed. And even now he’s prepping his ship for departure.

Narrator 3: It’s a nice sort of bread-themed breakfast. Lots of french toast, regular toast, whole loaves and rolls. They have plenty of bread.

Narrator 2: They sure do have a lot of bread.

Narrator 1: They have more bread than they know what to do with half the time now.

Narrator 3: One of the outcomes of the moonfall tearror that swept over Stationary Hill was that one of Patricia’s Cafe’s ovens has just been emitting a continuous stream, an endless supply of fresh-baked loaves.

Narrator 2: People kind of left the loaves alone at first. They were understandably wary of this bread. After all, it was baked by a tearror, not a person. But with rations scarce, it was only a matter of time before people started testing it, sampling it little by little. And after a suitable amount of testing, it’s been deemed more or less safe, so far. Probably.

Narrator 3: Tastes good, too.

Narrator 1: And let’s just clarify for you: this is not a sinister amount of bread. This is not like a ‘Trouble with Tribbles’ kind of thing where people are just swimming in loaves. There’s a steady and consistent stream at about a rate sufficient to feed and nourish a small population of a town on an average semi-constant basis. It’s kind of nice. It’s helpful.

Narrator 2: Well, it’s under control now that people are actually eating it. Before people started eating it, they were going bad, they were going stale, just rotten, moldy, rock-hard loaves lying all over the place, but that’s… behind them now.

Narrator 1: It’s a nice change of pace for all that damn canned bread people were eating in the olden days.

Narrator 3: Hard to beat fresh.

Narrator 2: Saskia is both serving breakfast and eating breakfast. Ah, the wonders and joys and conveniences of having two bodies.

Narrator 1: Mother Cholesterol, garbed in black robes, is gliding from table to table assisting Patricia in serving a roll here, a bun there.

Narrator 2: The Mother is carrying just this massive tray of bread.

Narrator 3: Even Meryl Concord is here, spreading a thick slab with some jam. Scrumptious.

Narrator 1: She has been on a continuing mission to discover what happened to her missing younger brother Atticus. He has not shown up following the tearror. Word around town seems to be that maybe he was one of those poor unfortunates who just kind of got dissolved,

Narrator 2: but she could swear he went missing earlier than that.

Narrator 3: There’s a general hubbub and clamor. A community gathered together for a lovely morning ritual.

Narrator 2: The lovely mood of this breakfast is somewhat interrupted, however, when someone spots ships in the sky,

Narrator 3: (Unidentified resident of Stationary Hill) “Hey, what’s that?”

[The crowd gasps]

Narrator 2: Headed straight towards Midst.

Narrator 3: Trust ships, no less.

Narrator 2: Oh no.

Narrator 3: Signature herringbone cross-hatching cutting their contrails up as they head directly towards Midst.

Narrator 2: A large and intimidating fleet making a beeline directly for them, it would appear. Interestingly, the Consector’s flagship is not among these ships.

Narrator 1: Cups of coffee go down hard, plates are being dropped. People are standing from communal breakfast tables.

Narrator 2: They start to panic.

[The crowd’s energy changes abruptly, shouting and yelling]

Narrator 1: (Unidentified resident of Stationary Hill) “Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.” People are shouting, suddenly backing away from their breakfasts.

Narrator 2: Many of them are reasonably assuming that the Company is back to finish what they started, to continue their Breach arrests that had been interrupted by the moon falling.

Narrator 3: Or it could be that they’re actually maybe here to help manage this islet that they do actually own, in the wake of the disaster.

Narrator 2: Ha, ha. Yeah, right. That one seems less likely. In any case, no one here is happy to see the Trust again.

Narrator 3: Let’s just say public opinion around Stationary Hill is sort of at an all-time low for the Trust.

Narrator 2: But before anyone has much time to react at all, the ship’s true destination becomes clear as they continue flying overhead, zooming straight on by the Stationary Hill shipyard completely.

[Ships blast by overhead, their sound dopplering off into the distance]

Narrator 3: Oh, they’re headed out into the wilderness.

Narrator 2: Momentary relief is quickly replaced by confusion and speculation. If they’re not here for us, why are they here?

Narrator 1: Goe wipes his brow and squints into the desert distance, watching the ships descend. (Goe) “Why are they going that way? Why, there’s nothing that far out in the desert.”

Narrator 2: Ettie and Ellie gasp suddenly and look at each other with excitement as they remember what IS out there. (Ellie) “Nothing except…”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Lark’s house,” says Tzila quietly, sitting with her friends, Bets and Walter.

[Hurried footsteps approach]

Narrator 2: At this point, Hieronymous arrives outside Patricia’s cafe out of breath, having run all the way up the hill from the shipyard, urgently holding the teletheric box from his cargo ship.

Narrator 3: He approaches Saskia (Hieronymous) “Saskia! Well, you and everybody should probably hear this.”

Narrator 2: He holds the teletheric aloft, turning up the volume.

Narrator 1: And the townsfolk listen attentively to a familiar broadcast.

[The squawk of a tuning teletheric transducer.]

Narrator 3: (Jedediah Pom) “Wanted alive, to answer for the infamous murder of Maximilian Loxlee, Valorous is his memory, among other crimes: Clara Mire, alias Lark, the most Caenumous criminal in the cosmos…”

[Broadcast continues indistinctly in the background.]

Narrator 2: Well, that answers some questions. The Trust is obviously here for Lark.

Narrator 3: People are a little surprised to learn this kind of crazy new info about their local mystery lady.

Narrator 2: Surprised, interested, not particularly horrified. No one here particularly cares about some old dead Trust guy. But it is interesting to learn that one of your neighbors is the universe’s most wanted criminal.

Narrator 1: Saskia feels a little validated. She had kind of a hunch for a while that something was up with Lark, something wasn’t quite right, and well, y’know, now maybe that kind of explains something, but… Interesting, this murder thing.

Narrator 3: Saskia strokes her chin.

Narrator 1: Her chins.

Narrator 2: Her chinny-chin-chins.

Narrator 1: Killing Maximilian Loxlee? That’s kind of badass.

Narrator 2: Ettie and Ellie are talking very excitedly now, reflecting on all the details of their fortune telling that they had gotten from Lark. (Ellie) “We were in a cabin with a murderer!”

Narrator 3: (Ettie) “With THE murderer!”

Narrator 2: (Ellie) “Oh my God!” And many people are casting glances at Tzila in particular, seated there beside her friends, with good old boy Landlord lying at her feet. Tzila, who is known to have spent a decent amount of time with Lark. The exact nature of Sherman and Lark’s relationship was a topic of some speculation, but no one except Saskia really knows how close they actually were.

Narrator 1: And true to her words, Saskia has not told anyone what she learned from Sherman about that relationship.

Narrator 2: Tzila, sitting there with her friends, Bets and Walter, listening to this broadcast with everyone else there, takes in the news, and a few things about Lark suddenly make a bit more sense to her.

Narrator 1: She’s starting to put two and two together. Lark killed Fuze, and she knows now that Lark killed Maximilian Loxlee. That would make her, oh, what’s the word…

Narrator 2: For someone who kills people? In a series?

Narrator 3: Like, multiple people?

Narrator 1: Huh.

Narrator 2: Tzila still hasn’t told anyone what Lark told her about killing Fuze. Part of her hopes that wasn’t true.

Narrator 3: And where is Lark anyway?

Narrator 2: The townsfolk are continuing to chatter.

Narrator 1: She was here, and then she wasn’t here anymore,

Narrator 2: and then she was again. Anyway, no one’s seen her for a few days at least. People are speculating. Some ask Tzila. Tzila claims ignorance. Could Lark be at her house out in the desert?

Narrator 1: If she is, this seems like a big problem with these ships inbound. Is it too late to warn her? SHOULD they warn Lark? How do they even get in touch with Lark? How do they find her? Should they help her somehow?

Narrator 2: Or should they just hand her over and get rid of the problem faster? No one is particularly interested in the Valor reward, but they don’t want the Trust sniffing around here either.

Narrator 1: Yeah, if Lark is a big problem for the Trust and solving problems for the Trust might solve problems for them by proxy, why not help solve the problem? Maybe they should just turn her in. Well, they can’t. She’s gone. Where did she go?

Narrator 3: While the rest of the townsfolk are busy with these wild speculations and conversation, Hieronymous pulls Saskia aside.

Narrator 2: One of Saskia.

[Calm but suspenseful guitar music.]

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “I think I need to leave. I need to leave fast. I’m not sure what the ramifications of this are, but apparently with all of this about Maximilian getting dredged up again, I just — I need to get back to the Highest Light. This is a big deal, not only for my wife, not only for Imogen, but for the Trust at large.”

Narrator 2: Saskia makes eye contact with herself across the cafe patio. She nods at herself. (Saskia) “Yes, I agree. You have to get out of here, and fast. I’ll come with you.”

Narrator 1: Uh, what? He looks straight at her.

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “Saskia no, I… the Highest Light is the LAST place you should be right now. If anyone recognizes you…”

Narrator 1: The two Saskias look straight back at him.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “There has to be something more useful I can do with two bodies than carry twice as much bread. They may be here for Lark, but this is going to have repercussions for ALL of us. Innocent people too. If Midst is about to be under Trust occupation again, I can be Stationary Hill’s eyes and ears up there, and vice versa!”

Narrator 1: She gestures to her other body and her other body gestures to her. They both gesture to each other.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “I’m DONE with letting them control what happens to us down here. Anyway, if I stay here, there’s a good chance they’re just going to rearrest me. Might as well get one of my bodies out of the way.”

Narrator 1: Tzila is sitting at her breakfast table, grimly munching on a heel of bread, watching this quiet conversation between Saskia and Saskia and Harry.

Narrator 2: She immediately guesses what’s up. She’s had a lot of experience with adults plotting to abandon her in recent days, and has kind of developed a sixth sense for it.

Narrator 1: So she gets up and strolls over to confront them. (Tzila) “You’re going to the Un together, aren’t you? I want to come.”

Narrator 3: Saskia, Saskia, and Hieronymous all look at Tzila.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “No, Tzila. I am leaving, but you’re not coming with me. You’re staying here. With me.”

Narrator 3: She points to herself. Tzila glares. She crosses her arms, stamps her foot down.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “What is it with people telling me I can’t help? I want to help. I CAN help. I’m helping and I’m coming. Let me DO something.”

Narrator 2: Hieronymous swallows hard, looking down at this display of anger.

Narrator 3: He squats down to get at eye level with Tzila.

Narrator 1: Saskia’s, both of hers’, eyebrows’es, go up. What’s going on here?

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “Tzila, I’m from the Highest Light, and your dad, he’s been in the news. Sherman is fine. He’s alive, he’s well, and I’ve got it on good authority that he’s been staying at one of the Delagney hotels, these really beautiful places up there in the Highest Light.”

Narrator 1: Now you have to remember that Hieronymous is kind of playing 4D chess here. He is well aware that Tzila and Sherman used to live and work at the Delagney, but he’s in character as Harry, the freighter captain, and little old Harry has no idea that Tzila is even from the Highest Light. Very advanced, Hieronymous. Very cunning.

Narrator 3: (Hieronymous) “They’re taking very good care of him. Honestly, you have no need to worry. I’m sure you’ll see him again soon.”

Narrator 2: So, Hieronymous doesn’t know Tzila well enough yet to know that this information won’t satisfy her, not by a long shot. He has only enabled her by telling her this.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “If dad’s at the Delagney, then I’m coming to the Delagney. With you.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Tzila, no.” Saskia puts her hands on her hips. “It’s too dangerous. That’s final. I have to put my foot down about this. I’m sorry, I’m responsible for you now.”

Narrator 1: Tzila Looks absolutely furious, her face screwed up with anger, her fists balled. She seems like she’s about to shout something in response, but instead, she grinds her teeth… and… turns, and storms away across the street, absolutely quaking with anger. Barreling across the hill, headed somewhere, anywhere but here. Her friends, Walter and Bets and Landlord see her go and, with some nervousness, follow in her footsteps.

Narrator 2: Landlord’s not nervous, he’s just his usual shuffly old self. Good boy.

Narrator 1: Saskia watches Tzila recede up the street, slamming her way into the cabaret.

Narrator 2: (Saskia, sighing heavily) “Well, I’ll deal with that later, I guess.

Narrator 1: One of her turns toward Hieronymous while the other starts toward the cafe, as one last straggling Trust scout ship streaks by above, headed out into the desert wastes.

[A smaller ship blasts by overhead]

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “If we’re going to go, we have to go now.”

Narrator 3: And Mr. Loxlee nods. (Hieronymous) “Let’s go.”