Well, it sure is awfully early for me to post - but hey, I gotta get it out some way.

Ash belongs to Renaissance Pictures, Tails belongs to Sega Corporation. Read onward - if you dare.

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or weep in despair.

On the one hand, I knew what the conversation was going to be about. The missile strike. And why I was shoving Imira away. I didn't like that. On the other hand, I was actually curious to know what she really thought about the terrorists' actions. I just wasn't sure how to ask her in a way that wouldn't get me strangled.

But I did need to talk to her. If I'd gathered one thing out of all this chaos – out of DJ and Vinny Lee's words to me – it was that this pain, this confusion wouldn't do me any good if it was still hanging over my head. And I was fairly sure Imira would rather it not be hanging over my head – she'd have punched it right off if she could reach it.

"I'm coming," I muttered, and headed over to the elevator.

Once I'd reached the pottery shop, I noticed it was now deserted. DJ and Vinny Lee must've headed up to the top floor in my absence – back up to the print shop. But not even Starr's regular employees were in the room. The other two VLADJIs must've convinced the forger – somehow – to let them take the afternoon off from the shop. I guess they knew Imira and I would need some space when we talked it out. If we did.

If? No, I had to talk it out. There weren't many other options. If I was getting anywhere with resolving my crisis with Imira, this was the only choice I had. And I was already looking forward to that conversation.

Imira was standing by the kiln. Of course she was there. That was the same place DJ had pulled me over to announce she was lifting the Three Taboos. It was incredibly private for a place so close to a window – and in an open room, no less. Why would Imira want to talk here, though?

Upon noticing me, Imira uncrossed her arms and approached. "At least you show up," she muttered. "I'll give you that."

"What's the matter?" I asked.

Imira gave me a look like, what do you think is the matter? "Ever since you got the news, you've been driving me off. You ignore me. You don't even throw one smack comment my way. Almost like you're afraid of upsetting me, which you've never been."

"You make it sound like something's changed."

Imira sighed at me and stared upward – her famous Allah, give me patience expression. "I don't want to have to hurt you, Amos. I'm on your side."

"Really? You're within the same kind of people that just destroyed a bunch of my own. I'd think you'd want to–" I cut myself off abruptly when I caught Imira flinching. I realized I'd been wanting to say that for some time after hearing about the crisis. It was only when they were out of my mouth that I realized how stupid and judgmental my words had sounded. Funny how that works.

"Oy," I murmured. "I didn't mean–"

"Hey." Imira's voice was firm now. "You had to get it out." I was sure she'd understand a thing or two about needing to get something off your chest, the way she regularly shot off without really thinking it through. "Now, I'm just going to dole out a couple of reasons for me to hate the missile crisis. To really hate Hamas's guts for this."

What now? She really hated it? Now I was really intrigued. A Muslim hating a radical's actions… this was well worth looking into. I didn't say that out loud, though. I was already running the risk of getting smacked with this conversation alone.

"Spill then, girl," I said.

Imira sighed. "My father used to believe what Hamas taught," she said quietly.

I walked over and sat on the floor, beside the kiln. Not my smartest move, but I was a little thrown by that statement, as her father had seemed like a decent enough guy. It made me curious about Ali Fadjir's backstory. If he had believed Hamas' propaganda once, what had changed his mind about it?

"Go on," I told her.

She glanced off toward the kiln (not toward me), as if wondering if she could melt herself away in its heat. "Back in Baghdad, he saw soldiers and thought they were doing their best for the country. Of course, he was young and foolish back then."

"What happened?" I asked.

Imira glanced me in the eye this time. "During the Gulf War, he witnessed a soldier putting a bullet through a boy's head," she said in a low whisper. "The soldiers were targeting outsiders – American soldiers, mostly, but basically anyone who didn't follow their brand of Islam. The sight… really opened my father's eyes. It wasn't religion. It wasn't patriotism. It wasn't anything good. The boy was Jewish, an outsider. But he hadn't been doing anything wrong, except standing in those streets when the soldiers came by. That incident… was a fine example of senseless violence."

Wow. I couldn't really blame Ali Fadjir for defecting then. That sort of thing… I was pretty sure Islam frowned upon that. At least, Imira's brand of it did. I also couldn't help feeling another pang like the one I'd felt in Fadjir's Fancies when I got the news of the attack, as if the Jewish boy who'd been gunned down in front of Ali Fadjir's face was one more life, one more fellow Jew I'd lost in the missile strike.

"That was the reason he left Baghdad early on," Imira continued, her voice as flat as if she were narrating a documentary on the Holocaust. "He eventually stayed out of Baghdad because he didn't want involvement in any more of that violence. He just wanted to focus on his shop, his family."

"Ironic, really. With you getting in the mix. The other reason?" I asked.

"The Koran…" Imira hesitated. This involved religion, I could tell.

"It's all right. Just say it. DJ lifted the Three Taboos specifically–"

"I know, Darvosky. She did it because I suggested it."

"What?"

My expression must've been priceless, because Imira smiled. "I knew you'd hear about the whole affair sooner or later," she said quietly. "I wanted to clear things up with you then, but I wasn't sure how, what with DJ's Three Taboos."

"Okay, let's just get to the part where you tell me the other reason."

"The Koran preaches tolerance. Way in the back, but it does. 'You hold to your religion, and I hold to my religion.' That kind of stuff. And killing a bunch of people for a stupid reason like religion, that isn't tolerance."

"So glad you think religion's a stupid reason for killing people." I was only half-joking. Judaism was an ethnicity as well as a religion. It could easily fall under race as well, in fact. But it really did warm my heart that Imira had no ill will toward my people. Enough to make me want to joke again.

Imira rolled her eyes at me. "Another thing–"

"That's three. First your father, then the Koran, now – whatever you were going to say." I rolled my hand in a keep it coming gesture.

She gave me another vexed look, but I could catch a ghost of a smile on her face – almost like she was glad to have the old me back. "I wouldn't matter to them, Amos," she said with a faint growl of wrath. "With my parentage, the way I came into existence. They'd simply cut me down without a second thought."

Oh, right. Illegitimate children – usually a result of marital infidelity – were frowned upon in Jewish culture. These children weren't allowed to marry anyone except each other. I didn't know much about illegitimate children in Islamic culture, or specifics on how people judged them there. But I did know Imira's status as an illegitimate made her almost as much of a virtual pariah as with Jews. The radicals… yeah, they definitely wouldn't respond favorably to that.

"And it's not just me they'll target among my peaceful cohorts," she continued. "As soon as they gorge their fill of Jews – which is gonna be impossible – you guys are like cockroaches, you always keep popping up – they'll tear each other apart. Kill the people in their crew who even slightly disagree with them on one point or another. It'll only be their hatred of the outsiders – Jews, Christians and whatnot–" I winced at the reminder of Vinny Lee's warning that she and DJ were in as much danger as I was by virtue of springing from Judaism – "that keeps them from tearing each other apart – but that won't last for long."

I remembered what Vinny Lee had said, back on the third floor – That sort of hatred eats away at itself until there's nothing left. That's why I don't indulge in it.

"Something else–" Imira began.

"Four reasons."

Imira swatted my arm, which I took for a compliment on my perceptiveness. The girl doesn't generally do physical contact, at least not with guys. The only exceptions to the rule were physical injuries she dealt in combat and/or training, and the occasional punch in the arm to keep me in line.

"The Vortex called us all together, like I was going to tell you," she said. "But then you had to be an idiot and interrupt me. We have to be a team, and we have to act like it."

"Thanks for the rousing speech, Coach."

"Don't you see, Darvosky? That's why Tails doled out the Comclips when he did, that's why DJ lifted the Three Taboos. We need to stay together. We can't let some little thing like a stupid missile crisis five hundred miles away affect our solidarity."

She was right. I had seriously misjudged her. She didn't endorse it, never would. And I was foolish – and untrusting – to think otherwise. And trust was the one thing we needed, more than anything else, to stay together. Especially since the Vortex would not have chosen us four if he didn't think we couldn't handle each other's company.

"Last thing?" Imira said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"That's five now," I responded.

Imira glanced down at her Reeboks, and I got the feeling that she was about to say something she really wasn't comfortable admitting. That had to be a first.

"It might not seem like it, Amos," she said in a low voice, "but I do care about you. That's why I shove you around so much."

Wow. There was definitely an admission there. I remembered what DJ had said about some people beating you up because they cared about you. Did my leader really know about all that?

"I hate it," she muttered under her breath. "I hate that missile strike for a good number of reasons, but mostly because you could've been in the line of fire. That could've been my friend in the target of those earth-shaking missiles. And if I'd been in that alley when those creeps mugged you for being Jewish, I'd have kicked each and every one of them in the groin before Ash showed up."

She moved in a little closer – but not terribly close. If there was one good thing I could say about Imira, when she wasn't hitting me, she was generally pretty good at respecting my personal space.

"You might be a Jew, Amos," she said. "But you're the best Jew I've known. Don't mess it up for me. And snap out of it."

I never thought I'd say it about Imira, but I was actually glad she'd said that. It lifted my spirits even more than I thought it would. And it cleared up my head about the missile crisis. It was good to know even some other Muslims had my back on it. Also, it was really startling to hear her actually call me her friend. That was progress, no doubt.

"Thanks, Imira," I whispered.

Imira swatted me again. "Don't mention it," she said sternly.

But when we left the pottery shop, I could catch a ghost of a smile on her face.

Yeah, you can almost tell whose side I'm on. (But don't blame me for it.)

Verse for the update: Exodus 2:11-12. Stay tuned and pray that terrorism in the Middle East comes to a stop.