“Did we lose anyone?”
He nods. “Harris, a circle. He’s dead.”
Harris. All I knew of that boy was that he didn’t seem to trust me. I don’t think I even had a chance to talk to him. And now he’s gone.
I notice Bishop watching me. He’s still panting. Is that from exertion, or the emotions of killing yet again?
I face Matilda.
“You’ve lost,” I tell her. “You will take us to Bello, then to the shuttle.”
Her one eye glares out. She’s trembling, clearly in great pain, but she stands up straight like a leader should. She refuses to back down.
“I will not take you anywhere. And your friend Bello is dead. You are too late.”
She says it mockingly, accusingly, as if it’s my fault Bello is gone. Bello didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t even argue with anyone. A boulder of anger tumbles through me, rolling and unstoppable…this can’t be, it can’t.
I lean in so close I smell Matilda’s rotten stink. I move the spear tip up to where her throat should be. I press the point into the disgusting folds of skin.
“Liar,” I whisper. “You tell me where Bello is, then you take us to the shuttle, or I will end you.”
My creator slowly shakes her head.
“You are me, and I am you,” she says. “You know I am telling the truth.”
Tears well up in my eyes even as my fury grows. I’m almost sure Matilda is telling the truth…almost. I could keep asking her, I could torture her, but if Bello really is dead, then every minute I spend here is a minute the rest of my people are in danger. The Xolotl is massive; we know nothing about it, while our enemy knows every inch. My people will not be safe until they are on Omeyocan.
I know I will hate myself for this decision, but there is no choice. For the second time, I choose the safety of the group over the life of just one person.
“The shuttle,” I say. “Take us to it.”
Bishop runs to my side. “Em, no, we have to find Bello first. This thing is lying. Bello can’t be dead, she can’t—”
“Be quiet,” I say in a voice not so different from Matilda’s.
Bishop’s face grows hard, icy. He stands too close, this angry man, painted dark red-gray and streaked with blood. His fists clench. I see his pulse dancing in his temples.
I am aware that the others are watching. O’Malley, Spingate, Gaston and Aramovsky, Bawden and Coyotl and all the rest. I’m aware of that, I sense it, but my world has narrowed to a single point of focus: Bishop.
I stare straight into his dark yellow eyes.
“Step back,” I say. “The decision is made.”
Maybe he will hate me. Maybe the others will, too, but the group’s safety matters more than Bello’s life. And, our survival is infinitely more important than what the group thinks of me.
Bishop’s nose flares. His lip curls.
He steps back.
I focus my attention where it belongs: on my creator.
Matilda’s one good eye sparkles.
“Very good, little one,” she says. “You project such authority, as I did when I was your—”
I push the spear tip a tiny bit farther. The point pokes into her diseased flesh, cutting off her worthless words.
“The shuttle,” I say again. “Take us there, or die.”
Matilda stays so very still.
“No, little one,” she says. “I know who I was at your age. I know you better than you could ever know yourself. You can’t murder me.”
I told myself that when I saw her, I would kill her. I want to push the blade into her throat, I want to feel her terror again, maybe hear her beg—but my arms refuse to obey.
She’s right: I can’t do it.
But I have to get my people to safety. The monsters could be regrouping. They will come at us again, and this time, they might use those bracelets.
“If you don’t show me where the shuttle is, then you pay for what you have done to us,” I say. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t kill you. Good thing for me that I don’t have to. Bishop, take care of this.”
In the dim light, Bishop smiles. He is angry and frustrated. The chance to unleash his rage on a target—any target—seems to satisfy him in a deeply wicked way.
Bloody bone-dagger clutched in his right hand, he steps closer.
Matilda looks at Bishop, then at me, then at him again.
He raises the bone.
Matilda lifts both hands up, palms out, as if that will stop the blow. The ruin of her eye gleams wetly.
“I’ll take you! I’ll take you to the shuttle!”
I put a hand on Bishop’s chest. His skin is hot to the touch.
He looks at me. His face slowly returns to normal. He lowers the weapon.
Matilda trembles uncontrollably. She is alone and at our mercy.
“Bishop,” I say, “give this thing one chance. If she doesn’t take us to the shuttle, or if you think she’s tricking us, kill her.”
He nods.
I face my creator. “You will never have my body, so either take us to the shuttle, or die in the body you have.”
Her shoulders droop and her head hangs down. I do not know how I know, but this monster’s will has finally broken.
We have won.