Altered by Gennifer Albin Page A

individuals had to prove their health and value to earn a spot in Arras’s weave.”
    “And those that didn’t?” I ask.
    “You’ve seen the evidence,” Dante responds. “Not everyone on Earth migrated to Arras, but they didn’t die out either as the Guild had hoped. Those who were left behind adapted to the changing surface conditions. The war ended quickly. Hitler, the man who started it, had no one to fight, and there were bigger problems to grapple with here.”
    “They picked who got to come along.” The unfairness of it grates against my sense of justice.
    “They assumed the war would destroy the rest. The few records that have stood the test of time indicate that the war lasted for several more years, stretching out almost an entire decade. The Icebox was less affected as most of the fighting continued in what was known as Europe,” he says.
    “Was known as Europe?”
    “We have enough information to conclude that most of it is gone now. A large portion of Arras’s population came from Europe, as many of the Allied troops hailed from there. The rest imploded after they left. And of course, many died during squelched riots. The survivors were driven into the Icebox.” Dante keeps his eyes on the screen while he tells me this. He relates it like a newsman on the Stream.
    We watch the few remaining images flit across the screen. The program ends with a happy family—two parents, a daughter, and a son—beaming out at the audience. I wonder who they were. And whether they thought this would consign them to immortality, and how they would feel to see the theater sitting in a ruined world. An empty, forgotten Earth.
    As the last image vanishes, the lights in the theater come up. I blink against the brightness. Kincaid stands and politely claps.
    “I hope you found that informative.” There’s something weary in his voice, a heaviness that doesn’t suit, and I realize the film has moved Kincaid to tears. He’s touched by something that happened hundreds of years ago.
    “I think it raises more questions than it answers,” I say. I bow my head a bit in an attempt to hide the surprise I can’t quite wipe from my face.
    “It’s the story of how our worlds came to be.” Kincaid spreads his hands. “You cannot expect one film to explain everything.”

TWELVE
    DANTE FOLLOWS ME OUT OF THE THEATER, but Jost keeps a protective arm around my shoulder. I know I can’t avoid Dante forever, and now that I’ve seen the film, I shrug off Jost’s arm and kiss him swiftly on the cheek. He doesn’t like it, but he gives Dante a terse nod and leaves us, heading back into the main house while Dante and I tarry on the stone path. The lights have dimmed to near twilight, but I can see the outlines of the wild plants and hear the trickle of the nearest fountain.
    “Have you told anyone about us?” Dante asks me.
    I shake my head. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”
    “I can barely believe it myself,” Dante says.
    “But you suspected it. Why?”
    “You said your last name was Lewys and, well, because of your mother,” he says.
    “You know her?” I ask.
    “Of course, she’s your mother.”
    I’m having a difficult time composing sentences, and thoughts, for that matter. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not possible. “So you
knew
her.”
    “Yes,” Dante confirms.
    “But Benn Lewys was my father,” I say, trying hard to sort this in my mind.
    “Benn was my brother,” Dante says.
    “He didn’t have a brother,” I say.
    “No, his brother left.” Dante blinks several times as if resetting himself. “I left, because the Guild was coming after me.”
    It doesn’t explain anything, especially not his claims about his past—our past—or how he wound up on Earth. Still, my mother hinted at this, so I concentrate.
    “But,” I say, struggling, “you aren’t old enough to be my father.”
    “About that,” he says, scratching his temple.
    “Yes?” I prompt.
    “Things are different