Elián scrubbed at his face. For a long time he was silent, stunned. Then he said: “Y’all really took that Socratic method shit to heart.”
“The benefits,” I intoned, “of a Precepture education.”
“Yes,” deadpanned Grego. “We were raised on Latin and Greek instead of love.”
Before Xie could crack up—I could see her starting to—and before Elián could reply, there was a shout.
“Hey!” One of the soldiers came across the grass toward us. His gun sat easily in his hands, as if it were a hoe, and he a gardener. “Isn’t that Princess what’s-her-name?” He was looking at Elián.
“Greta,” supplied Elián.
“Well, get her out in the open, okay? The shed blocks too many sight lines. Armenteros wants a close monitor on her.”
Grego stepped between me and the soldier, raising his hand like a schoolboy. “Maybe you do not notice,” he said, “but she’s hurt.”
“Just a little too much sun,” I told the soldier. I did not need to advertise to the Cumberlanders how much it would take to break me. Let them think it would be easy, and maybe they would go easy. I got up, and let myself tremble, playing the delicate flower. “I’m all right, Gregori.”
“Take her round with the others,” the soldier ordered Elián, who still hadn’t caught on. In uniform, armed, he had been mistaken for our guard.
The others. My friends. What had they done with my friends?
“We’re going,” I said, and I led the way, with our bewildered “guard” trailing us.
Xie caught Elián by the elbow, which damaged his credibility, but seemed necessary: he did not look remotely like our military escort. She looked sidelong at him. “You’re really not the most focused laser in the array, are you?”
“Hey!” Elián retorted, with laser-like brilliance. Then: “Just because I don’t have the benefits of a Precepture education . . .” He exaggerated my precision into mockery.
Da-Xia shook her head. “Elián, listen to me, try to understand. We’ve been taken hostage. The Cumberlanders will use us against the UN. And they’ll use Greta against the PanPols. It will beyond a doubt get ugly.”
Ugly. Yes. Yes, it would.
Elián was trotting along with us now, so Xie dropped his arm. “You have,” she said, “about thirty seconds to pick a side.”
Around the flank of the Precepture hall we found Atta, Han, and Thandi sitting side by side in the grass, their backs to the soldiers in what had to be a deliberate choice, a tiny gesture of defiance. They had not been singled out or taken away. My friends.
They stood as they spotted us, and in a moment we were face-to-face, the three of them and the four of us. It felt as if we were not so much reuniting as squaring off. Why?
“Elián,” said Thandi acidly. “Nice look.”
Oh, right. That.
“Nice gun, too,” said Thandi. “Really, it’s good to know there’ll be a friendly face on the firing squad.”
“Thandi, don’t,” murmured Xie.
From all around, the sun glinted off the weapons trained on us. On me.
Elián was floundering. “I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I really am.”
Thandi sneered. “I’m sure Greta will remember that when Armenteros starts digging in her claws.”
I stiffened my face as if that could shut my ears. I didn’t want to hear about claws. Not yet.
Elián was looking from one half of the unbalanced circle to the other. “Look, I know Grandma’s not exactly cuddles and puppies. But I’m still gonna side with the people who haven’t had my soft bits hooked up to electrodes all summer, okay?”
Something ugly—memory?—crawled across Thandi’s face.
Elián looked stricken.
“It’s all right,” I told him softly.
He answered with a snarl like a wounded lion. “Dammit, Greta, it’s not all right.”
He pushed both fists into his face and stood like that, not looking at me, not looking at any of us. My hands twitched at my side. I ached to reach out for him. He thought I was strong, and I needed to be strong. I needed him.
But I had promised to save him. And here— God help me, I needed him, but here was the moment when I could save him. I had not saved Sidney, and I could not save myself, but maybe I could save Elián. I closed my eyes and sank into the grass. Xie sank with me, and then the others, one by one. “Go, Elián,” I whispered. “Go with the soldiers.”
Elián hesitated, standing over us, his back to the sun and his face hidden in shadow. Then he turned and walked over to the Cumberlanders and took a place in their line.
“Oh,” I said. A very tiny noise, far too small for Elián to hear. As small as a crack in a dam. He was so ridiculous about his defiance. I hadn’t really thought he would go.
“In fairness,” said Xie, “I don’t think he understands.”
We were all sitting close together. It was like a game, a child’s game, kids in a ring, whispering secrets.
Xie put her hand on top of my knee.
“They’re going to use me against my mother,” I said. “Exploit her feelings. Public opinion.”