Borderless (Analog #2)

by Eliot Peper

Sometimes it’s the things we forget that refuse to stay hidden.”

“What would you have me do?” she asked, painfully aware that capitulation deserved nothing but contempt.

Do it. Those two simple words were the infinitesimal low-pressure pocket thrown off the trailing edge of a single flap of a butterfly’s wing, the perturbation growing and picking up momentum as it zigzagged through weather systems, urged on by the secret prayers of chaos theorists, until the resulting tornado spun open the door to Oz.