There is no point in pretending we’re not in trouble. As quickly as I can, I tell them about Barkah and the Springers, how there is real hope we can communicate and find a cure for the red mold, but right now we need to deal with the most dangerous problem first.
“A ship came down,” I say. “We don’t know how many people were in it. If we march out blindly, we leave the shuttle less protected. Bishop, myself and a few more will go find where the ship landed. No one else leaves the landing pad. While I’m gone”—I stare straight at Aramovsky—“O’Malley is in charge.”
Aramovsky nods. “You’re leaving Spingate here this time, aren’t you?”
I scan the crowd, see her in back. She and Gaston are holding each other. She stares at Aramovsky, suspicious he mentioned her name.
There’s no need to put her in danger again. I shouldn’t even go myself, but I can’t wait for people to report back to me—I need to know, and I need to know now.
“Correct,” I say. “Spingate stays here.”
Aramovsky smiles, spreads his arms, turns as he talks. “A wise choice,” he says, to everyone rather than just to me. “Because now we’re not just fighting for our own lives, we’re fighting for those that come after us.”
Spingate’s eyes go wide. She shakes her head, silently imploring Aramovsky to stop talking.
He doesn’t.
“We must congratulate Spingate, and Gaston as well”—Gaston rushes toward Aramovsky, pushing past people, stumbling over kids—“because she is pregnant.”
A hush falls over the coffin room.
Gaston stops cold, just a few steps from Aramovsky.
All eyes turn to Spingate.
She sees Smith standing by the shuttle door, points at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Smith is clearly rattled. She glances from Spingate to Aramovsky, shaking her head at him as if to say, How could you?
Spingate gathers herself. She stands straight and tall. Despite her bruised face, the angry line of stitches on her forehead, her muddy, filthy hair, she is confident and proud—she has never looked more impressive.
“It’s true,” she says. “When Doctor Smith fixed my elbow, the med-chamber scanned me, found out I was a few days pregnant.”
Smith must have told Aramovsky. In confidence, I’m sure, but he is so slimy, he was probably waiting for the right moment to use that information.
This news, it’s overwhelming. And Spingate is my friend…why didn’t she tell me?
The way she changed, became so serious, fighting to get her way when before she would go along with whatever I wanted to do. The things she said…
Our children will inherit Omeyocan. What kind of a planet do you want them to have? One of war, or one of peace?
I should say something to her, to everyone, but there are no words.
Aramovsky smiles wide, raises his hands, expertly commanding the room’s attention.
“It has begun,” he says. “Our children and our children’s children are going to fill this planet. We are the chosen people. Omeyocan is our birthright. We will defend it from the Springers and anything else that tries to take it from us.” He looks at me. “Go, Em. Go and find out what new threat we face.”
Spingate is pregnant. And, somehow, Aramovsky managed to turn that into him ordering me to do what I just said I was going to do. That’s why he chose this moment, he knew it would stun me, he knew he’d be able to make himself look like a leader.
My eyes seek out the one person who always makes everything easier.
“Bishop, let’s go find that ship.”
Gaston was so mad I thought he might attack Aramovsky. I had Farrar watch them while I sent Beckett to use the pilothouse map, see if he could figure out where the new ship landed.
It landed near the Observatory.
We ride Coyotl’s spider. Five of us are aboard: me, Coyotl, Bishop, Bawden and a young, brown-haired circle-star named Muller. He’s as tall as I am; I wonder how big he’ll get in the next few years.
My fingers still hurt, although not as much. Smith put some bits of metal on them, which helped, and poked them with a needle, which helped even more. I glared at her the entire time—she refused to meet my eyes.
The clouds that block the stars are starting to break up. Twin moons cast enough light to see some detail of the vine-covered streets, the dark buildings that rise up all around us.
On foot, this trip took us half the day. Atop the sprinting spider, it doesn’t even take half an hour.
As we drive, Bishop plans our strategy.
“Em, you and Muller will stay on the spider,” he says. “Muller is a good shot. We’ll stop a few blocks from where the ship went down. Bawden and I will continue on foot. I’ll go left, she’ll go right, we’ll observe the ship from the flanks. Coyotl, once we get out, you wait one minute, then approach the ship straight on, but move slow, so the spider’s feet don’t make too much noise. Stay a block or so away, close enough so you can rush in if you hear gunfire.”
All around me, heads nod.