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delusion was something people were born with. She would have sworn Aufschlag was Geisteskranken except not once had he manifested a single delusion or shown signs of being anything less than coldly, dangerously sane.
    No, sane wasn’t correct. He might not be delusional, but he wasn’t necessarily fully human either.
    He stared at her with beady eyes, his forehead glistening. His fingers drummed nervously on the desk, a staccato without rhythm. He glanced away, grimaced, and returned his attention to her. What did he have to be nervous about? His agitation worried her. Have I done something wrong?
    â€œReport,” he said.
    â€œI have examined Ausfall’s room,” she said.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œBlood is not the best medium for leaving legible messages.” Aufschlag’s look said in no uncertain terms that he was not in the mood for humor. “Sorry.”
    He waved it away. “Summarize.”
    â€œRight.” Wegwerfen thought about the insane ramblings she’d spent hours trying to decipher and the ragged mess of the young girl’s wrists where she’d chewed them open. “Ausfall wrote, ‘We make poor gods’ many times. I believe she was saying Ascended humans made a poor substitute for real gods.”
    â€œOur god will be real.”
    â€œOf course. I only meant that—”
    â€œContinue.”
    Wegwerfen bit her lower lip, collecting her thoughts. “Ausfall also wrote of the incredible pressure of knowing she would Ascend to godhood. She said the expectations of an entire people were a weight on her soul. She said she feared death and . . .” Wegwerfen hesitated.
    â€œAnd?” asked Aufschlag.
    â€œShe wrote of coercion and control and how she couldn’t be a true god of the people unless she Ascended at her own hand. She wrote of puppets and the Afterdeath.”
    The Chief Scientist’s eyes bored into Wegwerfen. “Where did such ideas come from?”
    â€œAusfall was a clever girl, much smarter than the others. She could have figured this out on her own.”
    â€œAnd yet even though she took her own life, she didn’t Ascend,” Aufschlag said sadly, shaking his head in disappointment.
    â€œBut don’t the people believe she’ll be their god?”
    â€œNo. The people believe we will make their god. They know nothing of the individuals. She will not be that god—Konig will ensure that.”
    â€œThere is only one left.”
    â€œYes. Morgen. He will be our god. As Konig planned all along. The others, merely experiments. Morgen is the culmination. We will spread the word, the people must know his name. Their belief will guarantee his Ascension.”
    â€œIs that what I am to do next?” Wegwerfen asked.
    The Chief Scientist swallowed uncomfortably, looking ill. His gaze darted about the room and his fingers drummed nervously.
    He’s trying to make up his mind, she realized. About what? Had she done something to upset him?
    Aufschlag finally made eye contact. “Yes, but not here. I must send you away to . . .” He licked his lips. “. . . to Gottlos. There is a small church there. Tell Bishop Kurzschluss Gegangen I sent you. You are to help spread the word of Morgen’s coming Ascension.”
    Gottlos? That wretched stinking little cesspit to the south? Wegwerfen kept her face blank. “Of course, as you command. I shall begin packing imm—”
    â€œNo! You can’t pack. Fetch a horse and leave now. Tell no one you are leaving.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œBefore I change my mind.”
    What the hells is going on? Change his mind about what? Backing away, she dipped a quick bow. She stopped at the door, one hand resting against the thick wood. “Will I be allowed to return?” she asked hesitantly.
    Aufschlag stared at his desk. “Maybe. Go. Now.”
    Wegwerfen fled the Chief Scientist’s office.

CHAPTER 3
    If our world is defined by