[A soft knock on a wooden door.]

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Tzila? Tzila?” [Another knock.] There’s only silence on the other side of the door. (Saskia) “Tzila, I know you’re upset, but we need to talk.”

Narrator 3: It’s been three days since Saskia and Hieronymous left Midst for the Highest Light without Tzila, and the Saskia here on Midst hasn’t seen Tzila since she stormed off and angrily shut herself into her new room at the Cabaret.

Narrator 2: Saskia glances out a nearby Cabaret window, warily eyeing a small cadre of Trust Company patrolling Main Street outside, presumably still poking around for Lark, who they’ve been unable to locate on Midst so far. They’ve warned people that the consequences for hiding or protecting her would be… “significant.”

Narrator 1: For now, the Trust Company has set up an uneasy stakeout around Stationary Hill. No one, including them, seems entirely clear on what their next move is however, other than to keep watch in case Lark shows up at some point. She’s definitely not here, it would seem.

Narrator 2: Other than that, the Company doesn’t really seem too interested in bothering the Stationarians. No Breach related inquiries have been made, to everyone’s surprise

Narrator 3: —and wary suspicion.

Narrator 2: Honestly, the Company seems kind of creeped out by the whole town, disinclined to poke around in its tearror-transformed corners.

Narrator 1: It’s pretty weird having them back in town again, even though they pose very little problem. It’s frustrating, and Saskia takes out her frustration about the Trust’s presence on Tzila’s bedroom door, knocking again.

[Knocking again, firmer.]

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Tzila. Come on. This is getting ridiculous.”

Narrator 3: Saskia has been dropping meals off outside of this door, collecting the dishes that appear there, and has tried repeatedly to have a conversation with the angry preteen. Nothing but muffled monosyllabic answers have come from inside.

Narrator 2: The occasional angry drawing slipped under the door,

Narrator 1: Or brief sightings of Tzila for the past couple of nights, wrapped in a blanket, charging furiously back and forth from the bathroom, interacting with no one.

Narrator 2: Teenagers.

Narrator 3: Landlord, of course, has been faithfully stationed outside of the room, eyeing Saskia morosely, thumping his tail on the floor whenever she walks by, in what seems like a guilty way, but he’s a dog. [Dog panting.] 

Narrator 1: He’s a SORT of a dog.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Landlord, move.” Saskia scoots the hound out of the way gently with her foot, even though he kind of stubbornly ragdolls himself, so it’s difficult to move him. (Saskia) “Tzila, sorry, I’m going to come in now. I’ve tried to give you your space, but enough is enough. I’m responsible for you.”

Narrator 3: And Saskia uses her Cabaret master key to open the door.

Narrator 1: “No, don’t come in—!”

Narrator 2: Panicked kerfuffle as the doors opened.

Narrator 3: Saskia opens the door to see “Tzila” frantically trying to wrap herself in a blanket. But oh wait, hang on… oh, nevermind. It’s not Tzila!

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Bets?!” Saskia exclaims.

Narrator 1: (Bets) “Hi, Ms. Del Norma.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “The whole time?!”

Narrator 1: (Bets) “No, it’s actually been Walter and me trading off.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Bets. If Tzila isn’t here, where is she?”

Narrator 1: (Bets) “So… don’t be mad…”

Narrator 3: Smash cut to the other Saskia in the Highest Light. [A bocular horse “awoogas” and quietly chuffs.] She and Hieronymous are in a bocular horse together, avoiding the public eye while traveling across town.

Narrator 2: Saskia abruptly sits up in her seat and begins diligently scanning the street outside, looking for something. (Saskia) “I’m not mad,” she says aloud, to no one in particular, certainly not to Hieronymous. (Saskia) “Honestly, I’m kinda impressed.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous looks at her funny. (Hieronymous) “Huh?”

Narrator 2: Saskia laughs, a bit embarrassed. (Saskia) “We have a little bit of a problem.”

Narrator 3: Smash cut, again!

[City clangor, indistinct crowd voices.]

Narrator 2: Hurrying around a corner in a totally different district of the Highest Light, dagnabbit, it’s Tzila.

Narrator 1: Tzila’s always been a keen observer and a fast learner, and she certainly has observed and learned a thing or two from Lark in recent weeks about how to quickly and effectively stow away aboard…various things.

Narrator 2: Mail cars, ships, y’know. It’s been handy. Exciting. Her adrenaline is high.

Narrator 3: Tzila pauses to take stock of the glassy, fashionable tower of the Delagney Hotel, now gleaming in all its glory before her.

Narrator 2: It’s a rainy morning.

Narrator 1: The vibe around town is foggy and ominous, and adding to that menacing feel are all these dang wanted posters all over town. These wanted posters… for Lark. Tzila eyes one here on a street corner now. [sigh] Lark, Lark, Lark. Tzila can’t help but be reminded of the things Lark yelled at her on Midst. Didn’t have quite the intended effect — all it did was serve to rile her up and get her to come back to town. And here we are, after all.

Narrator 2: Can’t tell this girl what to do.

Narrator 3: Additionally, all of this news about Tripotentiary Weepe is blasted all over the place as well.

Narrator 2: Glorious propaganda posters, murals being freshly painted as Tzila watches.

Narrator 3: Blurgh, weird.

Narrator 2: Even in the flattering, stylized way they’re illustrating him, Weepe looks… bad. Not the way he looked on Midst. Different bad. New bad. Ugh, what the fuck?

Narrator 3: Do people here LIKE him? He’s like a horrible, diseased alien. It’s VERY weird.

Narrator 1: Very unsettling to see THAT face painted so large on the side of skyscrapers. Ugh.

Narrator 2: Many things seem weird, in fact. There’s a lot going on in the city right now. It’s not how she remembers it. Tzila is aware that whatever she’s going to do, she must act fast, since she doesn’t have an abacus, is very much in Breach, and will quickly attract notice.

Narrator 1: Well, first things first. Into the Delagney Hotel.

Narrator 2: Tzila enters the stylish palm court lobby and starts looking around for someone that might be safe to talk to.

Narrator 1: Maybe an old coworker of her dad’s from back when he used to work here? Somebody at the front desk possibly?

Narrator 3: But is it safe to ask about Sherman, or identify herself as his daughter? Should she just go upstairs on her own and start snooping around, see what she can find?

Narrator 1: While she’s standing here inert and uncertain, speculating on her next move, she is pounced upon by a friendly and well-meaning Delagney Hotel notary.

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Hello there, young lady. Can I be of assistance?”

Narrator 2: The notary is pointedly looking around for Tzila’s abacus.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Oh no, that’s, uh, I’m—”

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Now, hang on a minute, aren’t you… Sherman’s little girl? Tzila?”

Narrator 2: Oh crap. Oh fuck. Tzila is struggling to keep a lid on her alarm. Maybe it’s time to get the fuck out of here? Crap. How does she distract this guy? Hang on. He looks familiar. Tzila vaguely remembers now. This is a lobby notary who was working here back when her dad did. Not anyone close to them, but someone they would say hi to and make small talk with on their way in and out of the hotel.

Narrator 3: (Notary) “It was so nice having Sherman here recently. It felt a little bit like the old days, when you both lived here in the Highest Light.”

Narrator 2: Recently? With dismay, Tzila is starting to piece together context clues. Her dad isn’t staying here anymore? It sounds like he’s not here now.

Narrator 3: The notary smiles widely. (Notary) “It is so wonderful to see families recover from, uh…”

Narrator 2: He struggles to find a word other than “Breach.”

Narrator 3: (Notary) “I’m so happy to see that you’re both on the right track again. But I see you’ve misplaced your abacus?”

Narrator 1: Tzila plays it totally cool. (Tzila) “Yes, uh, misplaced. Mmhm.”

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Well, no problem, let me print you a new one.”

Narrator 2: He immediately starts tapping away on a handheld teletheric device and leading Tzila over to the bank machine on the side of the lobby.

Narrator 1: Where he prints up a shiny new abacus for her.

Narrator 2: Before she can object.

Narrator 3: And even as it’s still stringing up inside of the machine, she notices: it’s Valorous.

Narrator 2: This totally surprises her. This changes EVERYTHING about how she was planning to conduct herself today.

Narrator 1: Before her eyes, the abacus in the machine is spooling out, covered exclusively and solely in white Valor beads.

Narrator 2: What the hell? How is this even possible? She wants to ask, but she’d better not. She doesn’t want to let on just how little she knows about the situation.

Narrator 1: Clearly something weird is going on here. Again. Still

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Now, this is at least an approximation of your Valor currently. With everything going on and the way it is right now, we’re on a little bit of a Valor freeze, but we still can’t go running around without our abacuses, now can we?”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Oh, no, sorry, thanks.” She accepts the abacus from him, draping it on over her neck and shoulders.

Narrator 2: Then, struck by a very clever idea,

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Hey, could I get a copy of my receipt, please?”

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Oh gosh, of course. Not a problem, give me just a sec.”

Narrator 2: And the notary hands it over to Tzila: a receipt including information such as the address of the primary account holder and legal guardian.

Narrator 1: Sherman Guthrie.

Narrator 3: Nice.

Narrator 2: Jackpot.

Narrator 3: (Notary) “Now, I thought I had heard that the Prime Consec— ummm, I should say the FORMER Prime Consector — had the whole Company on the lookout for you after the Midst disaster. Couldn’t find you among the other evacuees here in the city. Where did they end up rescuing you?”

Narrator 1: Tzila’s hackles go up a little bit at this, but she takes a calming breath and smoothly replies, (Tzila) “Oh, there were a bunch of different ships that escaped from Midst, I was just on one of those. And it’s a good thing they found me! I’m happy to be back, safe and sound, here I am!” She indicates herself, totally intact, sparkling in her new gleaming abacus.

Narrator 2: Her grin is pretty convincing. Seems to set the notary at ease.

Narrator 3: (Notary) “That’s fabulous. Is there anything else I can help you with today, Tzila?”

Narrator 2: Oh god, gotta get out of here.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Mmmmm, nope, I think that’s it, thanks for saying hi. Have a Valorous day!”

Narrator 2: Ooh, that’s laying it on a little thick, isn’t it? But the notary seems to swallow it, and… well, damn.

Narrator 3: Tzila makes her way back across the palm court and out into the front steps of the Delagney Hotel,

Narrator 1: Where she seems to be more or less in the clear. She looks around. Nobody seems to be following her. No one is watching. The notary has disappeared back within to go about his business. Has she done it? She looks at the receipt in her hand. She has her dad’s current address.

Narrator 3: She’s got an account FULL of Valor.

Narrator 2: Nice! Take that, Lark and Saskia. THIS is what we were trying to do the whole goddamn time! Oh my god, grownups!

Narrator 1: Stepping back out into the arcade, beyond the entry to the Delagney, Tzila places her hands on her hips and takes stock of the local environs.

Narrator 3: The city stretches out vastly before her, the outside of its enclosed glass surfaces awash with a drumming of rain. A glimmering metropolis full of sights and sounds and smells and—

Narrator 2: Her dad, she has to go find her dad.

Narrator 1: No longer so concerned about her dad’s immediate physical danger or overall survival — apparently he’s doing okay — she’s now moreso worried about the larger mystery going on here, such as how did her dad get so… Valorous all of a sudden?

Narrator 2: And if he’s no longer being held by the Company, why hasn’t he come home? Or what if he’s on his way home right now?

Narrator 3: Oh no, she’s gonna be grounded for a traversal!

Narrator 2: And… WEEPE in charge of the Trust?? That is SO weird!

Narrator 1: Okay, one thing at a time, Tzila, she tells herself. Deep breath.

Narrator 2: She examines the account holder address on the receipt, determines that it’s all the heckin’ way across town, and figures she needs to take the Highest Light Rail to get there.

Narrator 3: So, the Highest Light. We’ve been here before, but now we’re seeing the city from the street level. And it’s important to understand that the Highest Light is an entirely indoor city. It’s like a luxurious atrium that stretches off for miles with doorways and elevators leading off to apartments and hotels and grocery stores. Whole neighborhoods, not just shops.

Narrator 2: Like a compact downtown metropolis, but entirely inside, mall-like.

Narrator 1: Connected halls and passages and glassy sky bridges lead between discrete neighborhoods, and high above it all, still within the enclosure of the city, are cool train rails.

Narrator 2: Tzila makes her way to the nearest transit platform, just taking it all in. What a sublime utopian metropolis! You know, except for all the parts that are not utopian at all.

Narrator 1: Next to Tzila’s foot, a sudden mound of soft mulched sidewalk erupts as a drill rat burrows out of a curb, grabs a greasy food wrapper, and dives back in.

[A critter squawks and rustles around before disappearing.]

Narrator 3: [Sigh.] Some things never change.

Narrator 1: It’s good to be home, away from home. It’s not your home anymore.

Narrator 2: She smells yummy fried dough from a nearby awning. Her instinctive reaction is to stoically ignore the temptation. “We have fried dough at home.” But then she remembers Valor isn’t actually a problem.

Narrator 3: A moment later, she’s going to town on a delicious fried treat covered in sugared petals, oozing with icing.

Narrator 1: She waits for the train on the platform.

Narrator 2: The huge shining facade of the Central Vault can be seen over in the direction of the glitzy central area of the Highest Light, on its very own floating shelf of mica, connected to the neighboring areas by sky bridges.

Narrator 1: A group of uniformed school kids around her own age are also waiting to board the train.

Narrator 3: Oh! Tzila realizes, it is about that time of day when kids would be getting up, going to the Highest Light Rail, and making their way to school.

Narrator 2: Like she used to.

Narrator 1: The train arrives, gliding smoothly into the station. The doors open.

[A train swooshes gently to a stop.]

Narrator 2: It’s a cool, sleek, glassy thing that runs on bocs.

Narrator 1: Like everything else around town.

Narrator 2: Things that go, go because of bocs.

Narrator 3: Normally the Highest Light Rail would be crawling with notaries, there to document fares and take tickets, but Tzila doesn’t see any as she takes her seat.

Narrator 2: Not that it would be a problem, apparently. She is so profoundly unused to the feeling of navigating the city with resources at her disposal.

Narrator 1: This is the first time she has ever done so. It’s a… interesting experience. She’s not entirely comfortable with it.

Narrator 2: It is convenient, though.

Narrator 3: As the light rail makes its way further into the city, she spies above, high there in the lofty air beyond, the Loxlee estate, shimmering on its own flying island of mica, like a soap bubble in the distance. Just briefly visible through a part in the storm clouds.

Narrator 2: She continues gazing out the windows as the train makes its way along. The train passes over the domed roof of a large greenhouse farm where lettuces and flowers are grown for food. Neat, colorful rows of vegetation visible there, through the layers of condensation-covered glass below.

Narrator 1: The train slows to a stop prematurely. A soft chime plays as an announcement comes over the PA: 

Narrator 2: (PA) “The light rail will be temporarily delayed while we wait for the track to clear. Your patience is appreciated.”

[The volume of surrounding conversation rises briefly.]

Narrator 1: The school kids aboard the train gather curiously at the windows, peering out ahead at an errant shard of crystalline mica that has snuck into the city undetected, under cover of storm clouds, until it somehow managed to cut through a city perimeter wall somewhere.

Narrator 3: The brightly glowing razor-sharp fragment is about the size of a sofa, gliding weightlessly through the neighborhood, gently and effortlessly slicing through everything in its way like a hot knife through butter.

Narrator 2: Quietly severing cables, carving corners and balconies off of a few buildings.

Narrator 1: A mica control ship cruises after it in pursuit, barking safety announcements out of a loudspeaker, shepherding the shard out of the area. The train awaits its passing.

Narrator 2: Tzila recognizes someone she used to know in school. Zenith, a super popular kid. They’re twirling their trendy bracelet-style abacus around their arm, giggling with their friends.

[A distant laugh.]

Narrator 1: Tzila’s struck with a weird feeling: that if she and her dad had never left, had never Breached, she would be here now, among that gaggle of school kids.

Narrator 3: There were some nice things about living here, things she sometimes misses.

Narrator 2: She hunches down in her seat to avoid another awkward conversation if she’s noticed.

Narrator 1: Fancy birds alight on the glass roof of the idling train, briefly preening long, rainbow-hued feathers. The sight of their plumage is occluded by a smear of them crapping on the roof.

Narrator 2: There’s even more wanted posters tacked up all over the inside of this train.

Narrator 3: Thorough.

Narrator 2: One of them, directly across from where Tzila is sitting, makes her feel like she’s sharing the compartment WITH Lark. They did a pretty good job on that sketch, very accurately grouchy-looking. How did they know what she looks like, anyway?

Narrator 3: While the train remains stopped, Tzila’s gaze has time to drift from the soaring spires of the city above, shining through the wet and glassy roof of the arcade, to look down at the streets below. Long lines of people are, like the train, at a standstill. But down there, outside of a notary’s office.

Narrator 2: The train chimes again and gets back underway, the mica threat having passed on to some other area of the city.

Narrator 1: The school kids disembark at the next station, some of them glancing curiously in Tzila’s direction when she stays behind.

Narrator 2: She self-consciously fidgets with her abacus. She glances at the address on the receipt. Her own stop is coming up.

[The ambient city sounds have faded to a dull industrial hum.]

Narrator 1: Soon enough, she disembarks at a station in a clangorous, industrial part of the Highest Light, near one of the city’s many dock areas, this one more focused on freight than on commercial passenger transit.

Narrator 2: She’s not familiar with this neighborhood. She pauses to look at street signs and consult the receipt one more time.

Narrator 3: Using the logic of a city grid, though, she’s able to find her way to the correct apartment building. She opens the door, makes her way inside, goes up the stairs, finds the right apartment number, and as she’s getting close to the door, starts to hear a heated conversation.

Narrator 2: Her heart is thumping in her chest.

Narrator 3: (Tzila) “Oh my gosh…”

Narrator 2: She recognizes her dad’s voice immediately, though she has rarely heard him yell like this.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “What do you mean you lost her?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “We DO know that she’s hearing the city somewhere. Oh, Sherman, we had no idea she had snuck onto our ship. I’m so—”

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Saskia, we can’t be sitting around. We need to get out of here and start looking!”

[A doorknob twists. The door creaks open.]

Narrator 1: Tzila opens the door. She sees Sherman, Saskia, and Harry the freighter captain all standing in the middle of a dingy living room.

Narrator 2: The chair behind Sherman is lying sideways on the floor.

Narrator 3: Saskia sees her first though, and the expression on her face makes everyone stop talking.

Narrator 1: Tzila has eyes only for Sherman. (Tzila) “Dad!”

Narrator 2: Sherman turns. Harry turns.

Narrator 3: Tzila is across the room in an instant, her arms around Sherman and his around her. 

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Dad! I found you!”