Ajit sat with his eyes closed. Exhaustion was a bone deep ache.
“You should sleep,” said Jazarah, a voice floating beyond his eyelids.
“I should,” he said. “I can’t.” He snapped his eyes open and stood.
“Easy.” She caught him before he stumbled.
He smiled weakly then pulled away. He touched the wall of the machine and it exploded with texture and color.
Jazarah watched in awe as Ajit manipulated the kaleidoscope. Finally its chaos settled into a pattern.
“Are you sure anyone is there? Maybe they bombed America, too?”
“They’re there,” said Ajit. “I just hope they can see.”