((The chapter heading is taken from Leaving New York by R.E.M.))

Epilogue:
Mercurial Future

Kalyna stepped onto the roof of the C.I.T. Father's face was readable like a book. There was disappointment and wariness and betrayal. She didn't even try to hide what she felt. If she saw herself in the mirror right now, she'd be faced with a mask of fury. 'Don't bother,' she said, pointing in the direction of Bunker Hill. 'Your courser is a colander. I'm not going to say I'm sorry because I'm not. And unless you want the same he got, you get the fuck out right now.'

'But why? Why would you betray me, throw all that I offer into my face?'

Kalyna snorted. 'Like you'd understand if I told you. You're a slaver and a torturer. Go home and know one thing. I'll find a way to return. And the day I come back to the Institute will be the day you die.' She pulled her gun. 'Go. Go now or it's today.'

Ϡ

The people at the Slog knew Deacon. He came by every once in a while. Almost every time before and after a face change and sometimes in between. It had been a long time now, so long he couldn't even tell when he'd last come.

After bringing the four synths to Amari, his instructions had been to return to HQ. Whisper would already be there. But instead, his steps had led him north, all the way up here, as if on their own accord.

The mark he'd left on the place, a little bit away from the actual settlement, would be invisible to everyone but him. The burnt remainder of a small house. And a patch of hubflower. It had once had a slightly different colour, and Deacon had thought it was a mutation so he'd brought it here. But apparently, there had just been something in the soil there, making the flowers reddish. Here, over all this time, they had reverted to their natural colour. Deacon sat cross-legged on the floor. 'Hi,' he said softly. 'Been a while, I know. It's just … This is going to be awkward. Now I know you're not going to be mad at me. You're probably smiling, wherever you are, telling me this is good for me, but … I've got to tell you this.'

He rubbed a hand over his face. 'You see, I've found someone who … I've got feelings for her. But she doesn't know all that she should. Like you didn't. But this time … I've got to do this right, if I do it. I mean, you never knew the darkest parts of me, but that was a mistake. You learned them in such a horrible way, and you must have felt so betrayed. And if I were to ever have another human being suffer my presence they should know what they're getting themselves into. What sort of person they're letting so close. And no-one sane would do that.' He took a few steadying breaths. 'Which is why what I feel or what she feels doesn't matter. She loves … she loves someone, but not me. Like you. You loved the young farmer, the blundering fool who learned all he knew from you. And she loves the agent who tries to make the world better for those who don't even get a fighting chance on their own. But neither of you … neither of you would love a bigot and a murderer.'

He placed his hands on the ground in front of the bush of hubflower. There had been a small mound once, but now the earth was flat, and only the plant indicated the spot. 'My God, what would you have me do? If I don't tell her, I have to go dark. I can't face her again and not tell her, let her waste herself on me like that. And if I tell her she'll kill me. She's got to. The Railroad means too much for her to let me stay with them, and I know too much to let me go.' Slowly he stood again. 'No. I can't do that, not before our job is done. I've had this mug for too long anyway. This time the name will have to go, too, it seems. Again.' He smiled. 'I don't know when I can come back, of course. I'll have to lie low. You know it doesn't mean I've forgotten you. But one way or another, it's time for me to move on. Good bye.'

((I did say this wouldn't have a satisfying end, didn't I? Wash It All Away takes up right there, pretty much.))