. . .

He does not know why Mr. Loggins is dead.

The medical examiners will later rule it an apoplexy. They will absolve him entirely; though, hearing that, and thinking of the channels crude-carved by his hat into Mr. Loggins’ brain, Tom will be unable to absolve himself.

In the old days that wouldn’t have happened. Science adventurers with parasitic serpent DNA can do a lot of bad things, like warming the Earth and killing off humanity, but they don’t accidentally give people aneurysms when trying to help them out.

It might have stopped him.

That guilt — it might have killed the dream-wroth, struck it from him, made him hang up the hat or even burn it, and never to fulfill the destiny that he had claimed. It might have made him remember that being human can be a good thing, that being imperfect can be a good thing, that there is a certain value in not having any particular destiny to, you know, kill off the world.

Only —

He can’t stop. Not now.

He has tipped over the edge now. He can see.

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