For some reason, he found himself getting off the bus at the stop nearest Hyacinth’s house and walking the rest of the way. He had paid the fare with the change she gave him yesterday, maybe it would’ve felt like stealing otherwise. She was expecting him. If he didn’t show up she would find him. Hell, she knew where he lived.

He wavered at the plywood gate. Did he want to go around the back like a friend, or in the front like a stranger who didn’t know if he knocked on that front door he was just going to get a voice hollering at him that it was open?

I don’t belong to these people, he thought.

He scoffed.

Oh, please, he thought.

He sighed and went around the back. He knocked on the back door first, then he peeked in. “I know it’s…”

They never gave him a chance to finish. These people whom he did not want to belong to, who were just trying to make lunch a second ago. They didn’t care about the soup on the stove as much as the drug addict and unlicensed prostitute with the bruised cheek.

He saw it coming like a tidal wave. He could hear them winding up with a million questions and concerns, a gasp of breath before a scream. There was nothing he could do but shut his eyes and pray for the sweet release of death.

They dragged him into the house and shut the door.

◈◈◈

When Milo came home from work, Calliope’s door was half-open with voices talking behind it, so he peeked in. They had taped a big piece of paper to the wall and were decorating it with markers and stickers. It looked a bit like a surrealist meadow, with insects, unicorns, hearts, and an occasional winged spaceship. They also had affixed a few to their clothing and skin, and Seth was wearing a rainbow foil butterfly on a chain.

“Let me tell you something, Calliope, this is hilarious. I know you have a sense of humour. You know where the guy got the idea to write the book? You’re going to love this. He took a whole bunch of drugs and spoke to a god. When I found that out, I thought I was going to…” Seth broke off in the middle of sketching a flower in green ink and regarded Milo with shock. “I…”

Milo shook his head and waved both hands in front of him.

“Mr. Rose, I want to assure you nothing improper has occurred and every step of this process seemed reasonable right up until this point.” He reached up, removed the red glitter heart from his cheek and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

Milo twitched a half-smile and covered it. Then he signed one for Calliope: SMILE [LEVEL 1]. He nodded and shooed a hand at them.

“Milo’s my boyfriend, he knows how it is,” Calliope said. “Seth wanted some tape because he’s mad at gods but he still loves Maggie, and ‘spell Boulmiougou backwards’ is a silly lesson. So I gave him a sticker.”

Milo nodded and saluted her. Yup. I’m sure that makes sense in some way. He hugged her, then he pointed at Seth and cocked his head to one side. He signed: OK?

“I heal fast, I’m fine.”

“He’s super embarrassed Maggie got Glorie to tell her what really happened and we all know, and he doesn’t want eighteen-thousand sinqs, but they loaded Glorie up with all the papers for it as soon as she told them she didn’t want to set her cheques on fire anymore and she wants him to have it right now, and when he got here everyone tried to take care of him at once and scared the hell out of him. Em made everyone back off, but then he tried to take care of Seth too — ’cos  Em is either gonna yell at you or take care of you, that’s just how he is — and Seth threw him against the wall with that shield thing to get him to quit.”

“Oh, my gods, is he all right?” Seth said. “I’ve been playing with stickers like a psychopath…”

“Em said I should take care of him because I haven’t burned all my bridges. Then we did the stickers…”

“I-I-I just really don’t like him to talk to me. He used to… talk to me. I know that doesn’t sound bad… It-it wasn’t bad, he’s not a bad person…”

Milo took him by the shoulders and set him back gently. He shook his head.

“Okay. But I’m sorry.”

“Em heals fast too, but if you want me to check him, I will,” Calliope said. “You don’t have to go back out and put up with them until you’re ready. I’ll bring you guys a snack.”

“Calliope…”

She was already leaving, and Seth didn’t like to go after her. He sat on the bed with a sigh. “I’m still sorry.”

Milo shook his head. He sat down on the bed too. He signed: SORRY.

“You? Don’t be sorry. What for?”

Milo blew out a long, slow breath and folded his hands behind his head. That was a hard one. Seth wouldn’t have gotten hurt if they didn’t offer to mind the school for him, but it wasn’t that. If he didn’t get hurt this time, he would’ve gotten hurt another time, and before too.

He knocked himself in the head with the heel of his palm and signed: ONE BAD MACHINE.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Milo nodded and shrugged. Yeah, I know. Maybe Calliope will get it. He picked up the record player. How about music?

He selected “Windy” by the Association, because it was a good song.

Seth sorted through the available records with increasing dismay, and inquired as to the whereabouts of Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Joan Baez, the Byrds, and, with desperation, Judy Collins.

Milo pointed at him. Oh, yeah. Doesn’t she do “Send in the Clowns?”

“Where?” Seth said hopefully.

Milo shook his head. Oh, no. Sorry. I hate that song. It’s depressing. He signed Seth a thumbs down.

A few moments later, Seth triumphantly held up a copy of the Turtles singing “Happy Together,” which he considered an excellent place to begin a music lesson, but Calliope came back in with apple slices and cheese before he had a chance to play it.

“Everyone is okay, nobody is mad, and Em took the kids to the park so you wouldn’t have to deal with any of them,” Calliope said. She set the plate on the bed. “But he couldn’t do anything about Glorie and she’s in the kitchen with all the papers spread out on the table. If you want to go back out, I can fight her.” She wound up both hands, as if preparing to engage in some handlebar-moustache-style fisticuffs.

Milo patted her hands down and scolded her with a finger. And — honest-to-gods — he never thought he’d be doing this, he gestured out the bedroom door towards the kitchen and signed: GOOD MACHINE GOOD.

Calliope tilted her head to one side with a smile. She signed while speaking, “Thing. Person. Woman. Soldier. General. You like any of those?”

He shrugged.

“Feel like giving her a name?”

He rapidly shook his head.

“Calliope, what is he saying? He said that before.” Seth signed: MACHINE.

She snickered. “He says he wants everything to be a machine because he likes them, but not in so many words. Milo, what were you trying to tell Seth? He didn’t get it.”

Milo sighed again. He tipped back his head for a moment. Okay, but if Calliope didn’t get it, he was just going to let it go, because he felt bad about it. This would be hard to say if he could do words like a normal person.

Calliope understood: GOOD MACHINE [ITEM/PERSON] THERE [IN THE KITCHEN] I/ME STUPID/BAKA/MISSED-SOMETHING-OBVIOUS BAD ONE BAD MACHINE [ITEM/PERSON] NO/FALSE GOOD MACHINE [ITEM/PERSON] GOOD MIND BLOWN.

“Could you draw it?”

He shook his head. SORRY.

“He’s super surprised Glorie wants to give you her pension and he really wants you to take it, but it’s more. He thinks he messed something up.”

“Milo, it wasn’t your fault for watching the school. Do you know that? It would’ve happened eventually, it…” Seth rubbed the bruise on his cheek and looked away. “It happens a lot.”

Milo nodded broadly. Yeah, that part he knew already. Otherwise at a loss, he took his wallet out of his pocket and dropped it in Seth’s lap. He banged himself on the forehead again, looking at Calliope.

She pointed at it while Seth just stared blankly. “Oh, the money!” she said. “We could’ve just given him the money!”

Milo was nodding.

Calliope frowned. “Babe, we don’t have eighteen-thousand sinqs.” He was still nodding. She clapped her hands, making both men jump. She spoke while signing, “Only bad choices, Milo? One bad machine?”

He pointed at her and then touched himself on the nose, like charades. He signed back, or maybe he was just practising: CHOICE CHOICE CHOICE.

Calliope smiled. “Milo and me only had bad choices. We couldn’t give you enough money to run the school — schools are super expensive, I know. But we never even thought about it that way, so instead of trying to figure out how to get you enough money, we helped you do something dangerous and get hurt. He’s sorry, and I’m sorry too.”

Milo was still nodding. It was close enough, and he didn’t want her to try and get any closer, because he was ashamed.

Ann, we’re so used to there only being bad choices that we don’t even look for good ones anymore. Like, when you taught the school, you just asked those kids if they knew about stuffing their clothes with newspaper to keep warm, because that was the best we could do when we were like them. The General made them heaters.

I think most of those have been lost or stolen or sold by now, Milo.

By now. But even a few nights, Ann… And we didn’t even try.

I know, Milo. I’m ashamed too.

“I don’t think I will fight Glorie,” Calliope said. “Maybe if you just don’t want to sign all that stuff today… But we want you to do it soon. When you’re okay. Then you can stay okay.” She smiled. “Okay?”

“Please take your wallet back, Mr. Rose,” Seth said uncomfortably. “I don’t want that from you.” He shook his head, eyes closed, pained. “I don’t want it from her, either, but sometimes there aren’t any good choices.”

Milo shook his head. He signed: GOOD CHOICE.

“It just doesn’t feel good,” Calliope said. She sat next to Seth on the bed and put an arm around him. “We don’t have to do it now. Do you want some apple?”

He shook his head and stood. “Thank you. For everything. But I think I’d better just get it over with.”

◈◈◈

Calliope entered the kitchen with a tray of apples and cheese, Milo, and Seth in tow. “Okay, Glorie. I’m the man’s emotional support lawyer, and Milo is co-counsel. What’ve you got for us?”

Brigadier General Glorious D’Iver pressed both hands on the table and blew out a long, slow, calming breath that would’ve knocked out an entire field of soldiers if frustration could be weaponized. It was not possible to express herself in the usual manner when Calliope was involved. Calliope did not respond to shouting and bullying like a normal human being. Some reorganization was necessary.

“I have filled out all the information I can by myself, and I am not trying to make this any harder than it is. I am trying to give you a little over sixteen-thousand sinqs, Mr. Zusman, not a fatal disease. Please work with me.”

“What happened to eighteen?” Calliope asked.

“Fees. Let me see…” She sorted through the piles and moved them out of the way of Calliope’s snack tray, which had just been set in the middle of the table. “Here is the exact number, minus processing and…”

Calliope had her hand out. “Gimme.” She examined the form and noted the signature at the bottom. “No. Do they have this? Did you agree to this and let them have this?”

“No, the carbon copies are attached to the back. Because we are pretending I no longer wish to handle my own finances, Mr. Zusman must also acknowledge…”

Calliope tore the form and the attached carbon papers right down the middle and began to shred them into confetti.

The General’s mouth fell open, but she did not scream. “Miss Otis, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting rid of some bullshit and trying to protect your personal information. This is your money, Glorie. It doesn’t matter how many cheques you set on fire, that just means you refused to withdraw it. It’s like you left it in the bank, except they’re not even a bank and even if they were, you didn’t agree to any fees or get a toaster. If we wanna get technical here, they owe you interest.”

“I have repeatedly stated I was willing to forgive them the interest, although not in this context…”

“In writing?”

“No.”

“Good, then we can still fix it. Do you have any idea why the government is trying to screw you?”

“They’re not…” The General drew up short and covered her mouth with a hand, as if to prevent the rest of an unwarranted assumption from escaping. “I have been charitable with them up until now, Calliope, but they have failed to correct my records and pension for over six years. Are you sure about this?”

“They just tried to hit you with over two-thousand sinqs of fake fees and they have a form for it,” Calliope said, indicating the confetti. “Glorie, are you sure they have the money?”

“I… Would this be like a banking situation where it’s invested elsewhere, and they don’t physically have it to give to me at the moment?” The forms had given her that impression.

“No. It shouldn’t be.”

The General just shook her head.

“Okay, we don’t sign anything to do with back pay because all the numbers are wrong.” Calliope selected three piles from the table and stuffed them into the oven for safe disposal. “I’m gonna call my Mom about this when we’re done with the other stuff and see what she can find. I’m super worried it’s not just you. People like the statue lady need their money.”

“Statue…?” Seth managed, faintly.

Milo shook his head.

“To the best of my knowledge Corporal Santee’s records and pension are in order, but it can be difficult for her to convey herself, and I suppose there are others…”

Milo nodded broadly and signed a double thumbs up at Calliope and the General. Oh. Okay. The Statue Lady is a real person. I’m sorry I thought that was a weird dream you had after all the turkey, Calliope, I’ll do you a card about it later.

“What about the numbers for monthly pay? Is two-fifty right?”

The General sighed. “It is consistent with the records they have of me and I am officially giving up trying to get it fixed. It is correct enough for Mr. Zusman and the school, and I will not be appearing in person to collect it. That is enough.”

Calliope sorted through the remaining papers. “You don’t have a mailing address, so you hafta go get it, Seth. You want them to reimburse you for the transportation, so I’m ticking the little box right here. It’s five to ten miles, so you get two sinqs extra, okay? Don’t let ‘em stiff you, it’s for the kids.”

He nodded.

They established, to the General’s further frustration, that Seth was capable of taking a bus and did not require special accommodations, among other things. Fortunately, Calliope explained everything in a calm and patient tone, as if to a mental defective, and Seth appeared to appreciate this treatment. He signed the forms with no further protest and did not bother to read them for himself.

Calliope shuffled them neatly back into the folder. “Cool. Now we just need this one right here to replace your birth certificate — it’s super cool they got that one for you Glorie, they must be really scared of you. This isn’t for the pension people, so…”

He was shaking his head.

“You need an ID to pick up the cheques, hon. You got something else that says you are who you say you are?”

“I’m not who I say I am!” he cried. “I mean, I am, it’s the family name, but if I ask for a copy of my birth certificate it’s going to say ‘Seth Jeannot Desdoux,’ and I doubt I’ll be alive to collect very many of those cheques. Calliope my… my whole family was assassinated at the end of the war. They… They…”

“That sounds horrible and you do not have to talk about it if you don’t want,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I just… I can’t.” He stood and turned away. “I want to do this for you, for the school, but I can’t do it this way. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“Mr. Zusman,” said the General.

He put up a hand. “I know. I understand why you don’t want the money with your name on it. It’s an insult. But if you can’t bend your pride enough to pick it up yourself and hand it to me, I don’t know what else we’re going to do. This, this isn’t worth…”

Maggie opened the kitchen door and bowed politely. “Excuse me, we were diverted on our way to the park. I know you don’t want kids right now, Mr. Zusman, but Erik says we have something you need. If you want, we’ll go sit on the porch with Uncle Mordecai and Lucy and leave you guys alone.”

Soup poked his head through the door beneath hers. “Hey, I have no idea what’s going on here, but does someone need a fake ID?”

◈◈◈

Soup ate the entire plate of apples and cheese and refused to help them twice.

“We’re defrauding the government with this? You guys! I get underage people into bars! With dim lighting! Forget it. I’m out. Not doing it. Nope. Have a nice day. Bye.”

And then, twenty minutes later, when the household managed to produce four birth certificates for him to copy in minute detail: “No, no. I can’t use these. These ones have some kinda army stamp and this is the new kind with that shiny shit on it. I can’t tell you how that’s supposed to act because I don’t have the light thingy they put it under.”

“What about that one?” Calliope said.

“That one says he’s from the Galiban Islands. Does Seth look like he’s from the Galiban Islands?”

Seth just sat there looking extremely urban, urbane and coloured, with a frown.

“Why do you even have this?” Soup asked the General.

“It is my husband’s.”

“Okay, well, he looks plausible. If you give them a reason to give this a second look they will, and then my teacher’s going to jail. I’m not up for that. If you don’t have any other ID for me to copy, then I’m out. No fooling this time.”

Nobody else in the house was possessed of an immediate birth certificate — Erik and Mordecai never even had one in the first place — or authorization to operate a vehicle or perform a trade.

Soup almost made good on his intention, but to get back to Violena Street he had to walk past the front porch, and Erik wanted to know what the deal was. After being informed in no uncertain terms what the deal was, Erik replied, “I can get you a driver’s license.”

“You can’t drive,” Soup said.

“No, but I can operate a phone,” the green boy said acidly.

◈◈◈

John Green-Tara arrived at 217 Violena a short time after Mordecai and the kids returned from the drugstore. They had brought chips, sandwiches and soda. John brought Mr. Patel’s truck. He indicated the keys to Erik and company in the kitchen, “You guys need a ride somewhere or what?”

Erik sighed. “No, we just needed the license, John.”

“Oh.” He stuffed a hand in his back pocket. “How come?”

“We’re defrauding the government.”

John froze with his hand in his back pocket. “Uh.”

“Hey,” Soup said, “as long as you’ve got a car, can you drive the teacher to one of those instant photo booths? That’s just the right size.”

“Uh.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” Seth bowed and offered a hand to shake. “It’s all sort of complicated, but…”

“Are you experiencing violence or abuse as a result of your race, gender or orientation?” John said.

“I… What.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the bruise.” John rubbed his cheek, mirroring Seth’s injury. “It doesn’t really matter about the violence or abuse, you just reminded me. You should have a card anyway.”

He pulled out his wallet and removed the license, along with a stack of white business-sized cards. “Erik, I’ve got Vee-Three, you need one too. We’ve got a bunch more numbers. Hyacinth…” He paused uncomfortably. “Um, I don’t mean… I guess you should all have one. We don’t discriminate. But if you call for help you’re probably going to get a gay person or a coloured person. Or both. That’s just how it is.”

“What’re we doing now?” Hyacinth said. She examined the card. It was a handwritten list of first names and phone numbers on both sides, although the back wasn’t anywhere near full. Altogether about three dozen people.

Erik pulled a similar card out of his back pocket. “My uncle and me needed someone with a phone who could come help us, but all we had was John. This is a bunch of people with phones who can come help. John and Rob are doing it with their friends. It’s called the Rainbow Alliance.”

John made a smile that was more pained than genuine. “Rob came up with it. It’s because of… Well…” He gestured apologetically to the blue and the green person. “Kinda obvious. Maybe too obvious, but it’s just super happy and positive! We want people to be positive! It’s a great name for that!”

“You sound like you’re trying to sell me dish soap,” Hyacinth said. She opened the drawer and tucked the card in her purse. “But it’s a nice idea. I’m sorry none of us have a phone. You want me to make copies and hand them out?”

John nodded. “Please, yeah. But, you know, people you trust. Or if they really need it.”

“How is Rob?” Erik said. Then he winced. That smile was even worse than the one about the Rainbow Alliance.

“Oh, he’s fine,” John said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. It’s just a little break. We’re still young. People take breaks all the time. It’s fine.”

Now everyone was wincing.

“Sure,” Soup said. He pocketed the card and examined the license. “You wanna get Seth’s picture taken while I work on this?”

“I, um, I can’t drive without the license.”

“So not true, but let me get a quick copy of this sucker and I’ll give it right back.”

He had his found-object forgery kit folded up in a little cloth parcel in his back pocket. There was a wallet-card-sized piece of unbreakable glass in there which worked for making apographs and shitty transparent copies he liked to call reverse apographs. Then he could unreverse apograph the copy and use the faint impression like a template. He had several colours of ink for filling in the lines, a few blank cards, a fake government stamp, and a razor blade for cutting paper and photographs.

Hyacinth observed over his shoulder. “Oh, you can’t just freehand it?”

He put up a hand. “Please, ma’am, I’m defrauding the government here. Let me make my best effort.” He dropped the glass precisely on top of the license and snapped his fingers to do the magic.

“Now that’s some monkey business I’m gonna train out of you,” Hyacinth said.

“Gimme a little more time, at least I quit doing ‘abracadabra.’” He held up the glass and examined it against the light. “It’ll do for a start. Thanks.” He returned John’s legal ability to drive with a smirk. “Do us a favour and trade shirts with him for the photos, okay? It’s weird when you’re wearing the same outfit as the photo. People don’t always realize why it looks weird, but they get suspicious and give everything a second look.”

“I really don’t know how I feel about this,” John said. He wiped his license on a pant leg before putting it away, as if it had been soiled.

“I don’t, either, but I’ve decided to stop worrying about it and take the path of least resistance,” Seth replied. “Which is about how I got through the siege, but I don’t think I’ll have an emotional breakdown as long as nobody shoots at me.” He flinched. “Unless a car backfires or something.”

“Um, maybe I shouldn’t drive you.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mind that. I used to have a car when I was your age. It’s awfully nice being able to go wherever you want, isn’t it?”

“Um.”

“Be gentle with him,” Maggie told John. “He was rich for a little while and it’s still affecting his brain.”

Erik nodded sadly.

“What?” Seth said. “Is it an old car? I promise you, my brain can handle an old car. I lived in one for a little while.”

◈◈◈

“This is not a car,” Seth noted.

“No. Sorry.”

“Are you positive it is a vehicle?”

“I mean, it goes.” John held up the keys. “But are you serious about having a breakdown if it backfires, because it, uh… It makes noise.”

“Do you want your lawyer? There’s room in the back,” Calliope said. Milo dragged her gently backwards and shook his head. Mordecai almost died when he tried to ride back there.

“I think I can handle it.” Seth nudged a balding tire with his shoe. He made a brave smile. “It’s obviously not trying to kill me.”

Milo looked pained, but he did not have enough language to object.

◈◈◈

Seth crawled out of the truck an hour later and curled up in Hyacinth’s front yard among the trash.

“I am so incredibly sorry,” John said again.

“I don’t want a driver’s license. I never want to drive anywhere ever, ever again.”

“Okay.”

“Especially in that.”

“Okay.”

“I need drugs.”

“I’ll get Hyacinth.”

Seth considered that from the ground. “Okay.”

◈◈◈

Seth got to stay in Calliope’s room and play with the stickers some more.

John deposited the strip of photos on the kitchen table with an apologetic shrug. All four were of a blue gentleman flinching at the camera flash with a shell-shocked expression and ashen circles around his eyes. His ill-fitting shirt had been buttoned askew.

“My gods, that is perfect,” Soup said. “Well done.”

“Our teacher, the serial killer,” Maggie noted.

“I still love him anyway,” Erik said defensively.

“Gimme back the original and let me finalize this,” Soup said.

John surrendered his license and accepted the path of least resistance with a sigh. “We are doing this to fund an illegal school and keep a very nice man from being assassinated, do I have that right? I was a little distracted and he couldn’t stop saying, ‘I don’t want to die.’”

“Inasmuch as the government is apparently trying to screw me, I think this is only fair,” said the General. “We are forging a document to get a lot of stupid people to accept what is true and carry out my wishes. I want this person to collect my pension cheques and his name, in a roundabout way, is Seth Zusman.”

Maggie regarded her suspiciously. “I always thought I got my flexible morality from Dad.”

The General rolled her eyes. “He was only trying to keep a boat alive. He lacked motivation.”

Soup handled the selected photo by its edges, avoiding fingerprints. He nudged it into place and cast a quick lamination spell with a snap. “What do you guys think? I can move the ink a little, but I can’t make big changes. I made him forty and I gave him your birthday, John, it’s easiest. He looks forty. Ish. Right?”

“He’s an organ donor,” Hyacinth noted.

“Hell, he would be,” Soup said. “You know he would. Ask him for a kidney, I dare you.”

“Don’t, he needs those,” Erik said. “I think.” He glanced at Hyacinth.

“It’s debatable, but let’s let him keep his kidneys. He still needs to sign it, Soup.”

“I’ll un-laminate it when he can operate a pen. Magic is handy like that. Has anyone checked him recently?”

◈◈◈

Milo tapped on the door and peeked in. Seth did not appear to be engaged in art therapy so much as methodically applying a line of heart-shaped stickers with a shaking hand because he knew it was expected. He wasn’t even talking.

Milo nudged Calliope and handed her a card.

Calliope went around behind Seth and hugged him. “Hey. Are you okay to sign one more thing or do you want to be left alone? We’ve been pushing you around a lot today and I’m super sorry for all of it. It’s like Em said when you smacked him, you’re a human being with boundaries.”

“I don’t feel much like one,” Seth replied softly, head down.

She sat down on the bed, giving him space. “I’m really sorry we’ve got you operating in siege mode, that must suck. I don’t want you to go sleep under the bridge, I want to give you a cot in here so you know you’re safe and we can’t lock you in, but if you just want to go home right now I will go back in that kitchen and smack everyone for you.”

“Calliope, that’s not fair to you.”

“None of this is fair. I’m just trying to make it a little less sucky, but I need direction.”

He looked over his shoulder at her and managed a weak smile. “You’re my emotional support lawyer.”

Milo waved and pointed at himself.

“He knows you’re co-counsel, he’s not dumb, Milo.” Calliope smiled and shrugged. “He wants to be included. You don’t have to be, though. You don’t even have to figure out what you want right now… But you can quit with the stickers. I’m not dumb either.”

“I don’t know, I was kind of hoping it would help.” He regarded his non-creative output. “Maybe I’d rather glue cotton balls to a sheep.”

“If you’re serious, I’ll make it happen.” She frowned. “I can’t promise you an actual sheep.”

“No.” He laughed helplessly. “That wouldn’t be fair to the sheep. It’s all right, Calliope. I’d rather sign one more thing so I can just stop thinking about it. And I don’t have to have a cot in here to feel safe. I know you can lawyer me out of the basement if I need.”

“Milo’s room is warmer.”

Milo nodded.

“He doesn’t mind, he sleeps here a lot.”

Seth considered for a moment. He sighed. “Okay.”

“I can’t be a good lawyer if you lie to me. You sure?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Just let me know if anything changes.”

◈◈◈

Seth affixed his signature to one more thing and expressed his intention to go to bed.

“Sounds great, can I have that cot in the basement?” Soup said. “You people have eaten into my shelter-finding time, and it’s friggin’ cold out there.”

“You want me to drive you someplace?” John offered.

“Oh, gods, no.”

Hyacinth gave the sleeping arrangements her blessing, and the General pocketed the fake ID.

“I will return it to you on pension day, Mr. Zusman. I don’t trust you not to lose it or set it on fire, and we do not wish to go through all this again.”

“Cut it out, Glorie, neither does he,” Calliope said.

“I thought we did all this so you wouldn’t have to do anything on pension day,” Seth said blankly.

“I refuse to accept the cheque. I don’t mind accompanying you on the bus to the building, and I believe it to be the wisest course of action.”

“Stop right there before you insult my client’s competence or intelligence,” Calliope said.

“Perhaps I’m just being a good friend,” the General said. “If there should be any difficulty due to the nature of his identification, I will be there to help him.” She smiled.

Calliope calmly walked to the water bucket, dipped a glass, and dumped the contents over the terrifying woman’s head.

She sputtered. “Cuh… Calliope!”

“We reject your attempt to frighten my client into submission, you may resend your request in written form in the morning. Nighty-night.”

Seth clamped both hands over his mouth and managed to hold in the laugh until he got up the stairs, but they heard him in the kitchen anyway.

Milo signed with a wistful smile: GOOD MACHINE.