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“I, Himiko, am good.”

“I am Himiko, the girl who found the dog.”

“Thank you for the lesson. I believe all nematodes are angry.”

Among Chance's memories are these: A sprig of lemon peel that Tomohiro twisted into her tea. The light way he held his red coffee mug with both hands. The louse she found crawling through his black hair, trying to hide in the gray. The time he stood for twenty minutes at the school open house, in front of a drawing she had made. How he beamed cheerfully as he greeted the other parents. The month he taught her about stick bugs and beetles.

Josette reconciled herself to the
facts. She had made a mistake. The bet had been too large, and she hadn't looked closely enough before committing her money. If that damaged her business, that was a price she would have to pay.

She meets Tomohiro at a popular barbecue place, Josette still feeling bruised from their previous encounter. As she sits across from him, a single word forms in her mind: “principled.” From her years of working with him, she knows he is principled. And while she's always appreciated that about him, she also knows from experience that principles can be a source of the worst kind of havoc.

“I think perhaps your time here will be wasted,” he says at the start. “I told you as a courtesy. I think there is nothing you can do.”

She disagrees. She is open, direct, and respectful as she lays out the plan she and Mark have developed. Now that she has full control of the business, it's time for her to give back. They will create a foundation, with significant resources from the beginning, that can grow over time. It'll focus on cleaning up the bay. In time, it will also extend to related projects.

What's more, Tomohiro has made it abundantly clear that she hasn't been seeing his full potential. They'll build the foundation together, with him as a primary policy adviser.

“I appreciate what you're saying, of course,” Tomohiro says. “And I know you are a good person. Though perhaps not good enough. I wish I could help you.”

She presses on, but he resists her. Each variation, each concession—none of it means anything to him. At the end, after he has rebuffed a plea to simply wait for her to cut ties with the company, he asks, “What does Leap think of this business?”

She is desperately trying to imagine something that will interest him.

“I haven't told him,” she admits.

Tomohiro draws in a hissing breath. He says, “Perhaps you should not be involved in a business that you cannot speak of with your child.”

Josette recoils.

Tomohiro continues, “I can see your situation is difficult. I can see that you love your son and are trying to build a better life. I am not so different from you in that. But I think more broadly about what it means to make a good life.”

“
Sanctimonious son of a bitch”
is how the call with Mark begins, in a pod as she's flying away. Then there is a torrent of language that she remembers only as anger.

How could he judge her? He didn't really know her. She has fought with every fiber of her being against venality and stupidity. That's who she is.

Mark says, “It'll be the whole thing, Josette. All gone. I didn't tell you, but there's a trail. An employee complained, on a recorded call, and they didn't do anything.”

Josette is high above the ground, falling. “You didn't tell me,” she says numbly. Then “Who are these people?”

“It'll be everything,” Mark says, “a financial blow, regulatory issues, the wrath of the press. Everything we . . . everything you and I have built. I'm talking about dissolution of the company. But I'm also talking about something else. I'm talking about a way to protect everything. And I'm saying I don't see other options. He may have to be removed.”

This isn't her. This isn't Mark. It is her anger that moves her lips to say, “Go on.”

“I did some digging,” Mark says. “There are people who can make sure secrets are kept.”

Then the memory stretches, wavers. Did he really say it that way? Is this really what happened? She says, “Do they know that he's come to us? Do they know what he has?”

“They won't know details. We just tell them what we need.”

“Can they talk to him? Just scare him?”

“These aren't the kind of people who talk.”

She already knows what she'll say. “Do it.”

After a pause, Mark asks, “Does he have any dependents?”

Mark knows that he does. Tomohiro has a niece. Himiko.

“Don't hurt her.”

“If he told her—”

“Mark, do what I said.”

Chance sees Josette as Himiko
first saw her—powerful, beautiful, smart. Josette's feelings of guilt are initially expressed as interest, then as devotion, and then the guilt is hidden, and other feelings take root in fields that the guilt has cleared and plowed—a growing affection and eventually what Himiko and Josette both recognize as love. For Himiko, Josette is an aunt, a confidante and wise counselor, a role model. For Josette, Himiko is a companion who responds to her in ways Ian, a stubbornly independent child, never did.

But Himiko is also alone. Her uncle, her guardian, has gone. She is relying on people who have no ties to her.

Every teenager is encouraged to think about joining. By the time they're in their midtwenties, the majority have joined. Josette is against it. She tells Himiko that it's the two of them against the world. But Himiko knows that's not realistic. They can't be against the whole world and be a part of it. When she tells Josette that she's joining Leap, they don't fight; they just stop talking. Chance endures the pain of that separation from both of their perspectives, the inevitability and futility of it.

Tomohiro once told her, “No matter what you may wish from them, endings are always lies.”

In retrospect, Chance is sure it was the arthritis, the constant, gnawing suffering, that eroded Josette's good judgment and left her vulnerable to that moment—asking to join Leap—that would effectively become a murder-suicide.

During their work with Oceanic, Josette wasn't able to tell Leap about Tomohiro. She tried twice, but both times, she thought about Himiko learning what she had done, and she couldn't say it. As she made the decision to join Leap, she convinced herself that what happened with Tomohiro could remain a secret. Her secret. And then, it did remain her secret, but what she was changed.

Leap Two was intoxicating. At
her best, she seemed almost more real than other people. People would often give up something of themselves in her presence, offer her their initiative, aspects of their independence that they would otherwise jealously guard. And seeing the world through five bodies had shown Leap the power of subtle differences in her interactions with others. It was natural for a join to use that power.

Weeks before Don Kim loaded all of Leap's drives into his truck, Leap Two called Mark Pearsun. They talked about the business, and as Leap expected, Mark quickly lost his derisive edge. Mark was more ready to listen and looked directly at Leap Two more often, and longer, than he had at Leap One.

They both knew that in whatever time she had left, they would have to work together. While they talked, Leap saw that she also had other purposes for speaking with Mark through Leap Two—which didn't surprise her, exactly.

Initially, they focused on business, but it was remarkable how quickly the two of them fell into old patterns. They had missed each other.

For Leap, the conversations with Mark required effort despite the familiarity she felt with him. Before and after their talks, Leap wrestled with a revulsion that almost subsided when they were actually in contact.

Early on, Leap tells Mark
that she doesn't want to talk about the illness, the flip. When she talks with him, especially, she wants to pretend that it isn't going to happen. He says that isn't like her, and she tells him that she's fighting, but she needs one place where she doesn't have to.

After that, she begins calling him regularly, and he eventually tells her that he's happy she's calling so often. They both agree that they need to meet in person.