“No,” I said. “Wait.”
Elián blanched. I saw again the flicker of his fear, and remembered again that if everything went perfectly, he’d end up in the grey room. He pulled the mask up over his face.
I could still stop them. I should still stop them. The plan was unfolding, and it was too late to call it off without consequence, but I should still stop them from going there—the guns, the guards, the ship.
“I don’t—” I said. Would Burr strap down my hands again? Would it be the feet? Where would it stop?
“Don’t,” I said. “I need to stay with you.”
“Greta,” said Xie. Tears sprang into her eyes.
“But you’re in white,” said Grego.
“I should stop you,” I said. “I should but I can’t. So let me—let me help you. It’s my life. Let me help you.”
“We—” Gregori began.
“But you’re being medics, right? You could . . .”
“Yeah, we could,” said Elián. “And you’re right. It’s your life.” And he scooped me up, and held me in his arms as Talis had, but Elián—taller, stronger—was better at it. It was like something in a tale. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
I lay limp in Elián’s arms while he ran. The pounding of the stones under his feet seemed to go straight into my shoulders: it was like being hit with mallets.
An unfamiliar voice hailed.
“Out of the way,” Elián shouted, “out of the way!”
I decided it was theatrically acceptable to moan, and I moaned.
“Break out the decontam gear,” Elián said. “Get your gas masks! Hurry!”
“What’s happening?” The stranger’s voice was tight with confusion and fear.
“Some kind of chemical—” said Da-Xia, and dissolved into a fit of gagging.
But for all the commotion, we were slowing, stopping. Not good. Elián staggered to a halt, jarring me and making the red darkness behind my closed eyes flash.
“Isn’t that the princess?” A different guard. At least two, then.
“And if she dies the whole game’s up.” Elián had let the Kentucky mountains into his voice; it was rolling and strong, a granite boulder. “Talis will kill us all, right sure.”
“Out of the way, out of the way,” said Grego, and his attempt at a Cumberland accent was terrible.
Elián hoisted my weight and resettled me in his arms. A little cry broke from me, without regard for the theater of the moment.
“She’s dying,” cried Elián. “Get the hell out of the way!”
The airlock went chunk.
And then we moved.
Elián’s footsteps rang against metal, and the jostling of the rough ground changed to something harder but smoother. I could cope with it, time it to my breaths. Echoes from the metal walls, the sound of us running. The eyelid darkness was strobing. We rounded a corner, another, and then Elián staggered to a stop. He tilted, leaning against a wall. “Okay,” he panted. “Okay. Wake up, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that.” I opened my eyes, blinking.
“Sorry.” Elián let me slide to the ground. His voice was low.
We were in a . . . a corridor, I suppose, a step or two from a junction with another. The space was so narrow that I was surprised that Elián could carry me through it. It was square as a duct, metal, unadorned but for the traction plating on the floor. There were pinpoint lights in the ceiling, making a rhythm of dimness and dazzle. “Where to, Grego?” asked Elián.
Grego answered. “A shock ship, for short-range transport. Troops above, troops below. This is the central level—command, communications, storage, medical.”
“So we’re on the right level, but we’ve gotta find the communications room before the panic dies down,” said Elián. “Since the panic is being caused by goats, that’s probably not going to take too long.” Da-Xia had already moved off down the corridor and was checking doors. Grego moved off in the opposite direction.
“You okay if I leave you here?” Elián asked me. I nodded, still shaken, and he stepped down the intersecting corridor, leaving me standing in the junction, swaying in the center of the world. He palmed a pressure strip and a door slid open. “Hey, it’s food! Man, I could really go for something highly processed.” He did not raid the pantry but moved on, rapid and capable.
I swallowed twice, and then I took the fourth way, opposite from Elián. It took a few seconds to work out how to activate the pressure strip with my hip. The door opened. The room behind it was dark.
And in it, folded up around a glowing smartplex tablet like a spider wrapped around a fly, was Tolliver Burr.
I staggered backward and fell against the corridor wall. It should have hurt but it didn’t. I felt only shock. A physical jolt, as if I’d jumped into cold water.