Governor Riddell loathed the overly melodic, toothsome music wafting through the town square before the Governor’s mansion and City Hall. Waving off his aides, he finished tugging on his jacket and fastening the last button as he hurried out to the square. In the center of the square where the gazebo once stood a long tube reached high into the sky. The music originated from the thing.

“I can do this,” Dark Glimmer said as she kicked the abdomen of another of Amberbourne’s thrall. She didn’t pause to protest Control’s directive further. Instead, she ducked beneath the incoming punch of another thrall. Diving forward, she rolled between the pair, searching for a pocket, any space to regroup and appraise her situation fully.

The Devonthrall Chamber Orchestra and Choir was considered the best in the sector. The conductor Janlee would have loved to take in pride in this fact. She had taken over when the previous conductor had retired and been delighted with the honor. She felt no delight that the reputation of the chamber had not suffered for her leadership. She would have been delighted, but even a week passed before she’d understood to dread each performance.

Brandell hoped that whoever had invented the marketing for Tearfall IX had been awarded a great lump of money from the company. He doubted that a better marketer had ever lived. He’d certainly been sold on the lie, and their agent hadn’t tried that hard. He supposed a doomed world lent to the desirability of the world which otherwise might be more difficult to come by.

Mark had not expected the chorus of “No” to greet him reaching for the trap door in the engineering room floor. Snatching his hand back, he straightened and stared at the five crew members arrayed about the room. Each had lunged toward him, and, seeing him pull back, paused glancing at each other. They shuffled back several steps in discomfort, as if surprised by their own reactions. All this over one trap door?