If only he had been a second faster, he could be bringing Sky home right now. If he had just paid attention instead of running blindly, he could be holding his son in his arms instead of standing here empty-handed, slumped against the squad car while he listened to Nate report their failed rescue like it was a temporary victory rather than the utter disaster it had actually been.

It is a victory, Nate said firmly. The crapshoot lead had turned out to be good, and now they knew that Sky was not only alive, but unharmed, if the strength of his cries had been anything to go by. Still, all Jay could think about was how far his captor would surely run with him now, a captor who could apparently disappear at will. All Nate had seen when he reached the room was a flash of light in the window pane.

Jay didn't realize he was rubbing his forehead until Nate looked over and asked a little sharply, "You okay?"

Truthfully, the throbbing in his head was nothing compared to the weight of the guilt he felt. He dropped his hand, hoping Nate would drop the subject. "I'm fine."

Nate watched him a few seconds longer, his expression becoming more sympathetic. "You want me to tell Madelaine?"

Jay shook his head. He couldn't be so much of a coward that he was afraid to tell his own wife when he had failed. "I'll do it."

"Okay."

Of course, Madelaine told him the same thing Nate had. She also added, "At least Sky knows you're looking for him now. Hearing your voice always did make him feel braver."

It was true, though the word she usually used was 'reckless.' Either way, the thought did make Jay feel an iota better.

"So what happens now?" Madelaine asked.

"We keep looking out for leads. And we'll have Kat examine the clues we found in the house."

"What kind of clues?"

"The forcefield generator, for one. We also found Sky's shielding device left behind." Madelaine sucked in her breath at the other end of the line, and Jay hurried to add the better news. "We also found food and blankets and books, and even a toy. Whoever this person is, I don't think they—I mean they're not…they seem to be taking care of him for now."

"That's good," Madelaine said after a long pause, but her voice was strained.

"What's wrong?"

"What if that means they plan to keep him? There's been no ransom, no demands."

"Then we keep looking." The words came out sharper than he intended them to, fueled as they were by more denial than confidence, and he immediately apologized for snapping at her.

"It's okay," Madelaine said. But it wasn't. He hadn't considered that someone who went to the trouble of caring for a kidnapped child would actually want to keep them. The idea was almost as horrifying as the thought of someone hurting Sky.

Jay closed his eyes.

Almost.

They got off the phone, but the little tremble in Madelaine's voice when she said goodbye made his guilt and the pain in his head redouble. He rubbed his forehead again and didn't care what Nate thought or said about it.

Wisely, Nate took over the wheel when they were finally leaving the house, but Jay quickly noticed he was not heading in the direction of the Delta Base.

"Where are you going?"

"Your place."

"What? Why? We need to get this stuff to Kat."

"Which I will. Madelaine needs you right now, even if just for a second."

Jay knew better than to try to argue in his present state of mind. He also knew better than to admit Nate was right, even when he saw the relief in Madelaine's eyes as soon as he opened the door. Nate was the type who would never let him forget it.

Fireglass. So named for its ability to repel the heat of three suns. The cities of Mirloc's homeworld were made with great sheets of the stuff, whole walls and domed roofs stained in different hues to control the light. But it was not from one of these that Mirloc emerged because fireglass had one other unusual property—his kind could not travel through it. The original smiths must have realized that such boundaries were necessary to protect a society from itself, and even Mirloc, who hated limits of any kind, grudgingly agreed.

He emerged instead from a metal fragment half-buried in the sand outside the city walls, and the child immediately squinted in the intense brightness, raising one small hand to shield his eyes. Compared to the bleached desert sky, they were practically luminous. The sunbaked sand was too hot for his bare feet, so Mirloc found a shaded area beneath a protruding rampart in which to put him down. But that was not sufficient for long either. Within minutes, the boy was ruddy and drenched in sweat from the relentless heat.

They moved inside one of the common buildings, which like the rest of the city had been so thoroughly invaded by the sands that the crossing from outdoors to in was marked only by the steep drop in temperature. The child ran ahead more freely here, reveling in the immense space and the abundant fine, almost silky, grains beneath his feet. Jewel-colored sunbeams from the mosaic roof dappled the ground and he made a game of them, leaping from one to the next.

Mirloc envied his simple mind and easy distraction. For him, the very air was an assault of memories. To keep them at bay, he focused on forming a plan for that evening's rendezvous. His acquaintance was not as well-versed in the art of double dealing as he, though given the choice, he would prefer to keep their acquaintanceship amicable. Only a fool set out to make enemies, just as the competent couldn't avoid them. If it were a matter of price, he could produce the means, but he found it inconceivable that whoever wanted this boy was merely after money.

Perhaps that was a boon. Now that he was committed to protecting this boy's future, he found himself hard-pressed to name a price he found too high.

They passed into an even grander chamber, the true atrium of the building. It was filled with sandstone sculptures of beasts and mythic figures, the largest of which graced the corners and soared to the ceiling where they appeared to hold the glass roof aloft with their massive arms or tusks.

The child squeaked as he stared at one beast that could not be mistaken for anything other than a predator. The carved talons and teeth had somehow maintained their sharp apices, and the sculptor had used fireglass for the eyes so that they glittered at the beholder like a real beast's would. Mirloc narrowed the distance between himself and the boy, knowing that the immense statuary were more fragile than they looked. After standing undisturbed in the arid, still air for millennia, a single moist breath from an unaware sprat could reduce them to the dust from which they were made—and bury that sprat along with it.

"Come over here, boy." He herded the child towards kinder-looking figures, but they failed to hold his interest. Instead, he toddled up to a toppled stone head in the middle of the room, and after poking it in the nose, of which it had plenty, he scaled it with surprising agility and went rolling down the hill of sand that had built up behind it.

His gleeful giggles transformed the room in an instant. The air seemed to gladden and the gloom lifted from the many shadows. Even the dourest faces watching them in silence seemed less grim.

Around and around the boy ran to climb up and tumble down again, his laughter growing more breathless with each turn. Finally, he rolled his last and did not get up again. He lay where he landed, tired but content, and eventually his panting gave way to tender snores that guaranteed he would wake with a mouthful of sand.

As much as Mirloc wanted to explore his homeworld unencumbered, he didn't dare leave the child alone. Already the boy's warm human flesh and fragrant blood were attracting unsavory creatures—needle-tailed arachnids, wide-jawed asps, and sharp-footed arthropods that were not carnivorous, but were unpleasant all the same. The mercenary sat nearby and deterred them with a stick or his leg while he gave in to reverie to pass the time. The creatures did not find his flesh quite as sweet.

Later, when the boy did in fact wake up with a sandy tongue, they braved the desert suns once more so that Mirloc could show him one of the trees he had spoken about—a squat, thick-trunked flora with a single wide tuft of greenery at its crown. It perpetually smelled like it was burning, but its trunk held a watery sweet nectar that was easy to obtain. He gouged a deep line with his nails, then showed the boy how to sample the nectar with his finger. It was clear on his young face when the taste registered.

"These are our sweet trees," the mercenary said, which of course was not their real name, and even calling it a "tree" was generous, but for his current audience, it sufficed. Children of his own kind used to be taught this same lesson, albeit at an older age, as a matter of common knowledge and survival strategy should they find themselves caught in the desert wilds.

He deepened the line further so that the boy might adequately wash the sand from his mouth, but he also needed real water—and yet more food—and so it was time to leave.