“Maybe she could,” Gaston says. “Different ships usually have different controls, though. I’d have to see that lumpy ship to know if she could fly the shuttle.”
“Then go look,” I say. “Right now.”
“Coyotl will take you on his spider,” Bishop says. “I’ll send Muller as well, with a musket.”
Bishop isn’t volunteering to go, because he wants to stay in the shuttle—he finally understands the real threat might be here, with us, not somewhere out there.
“I won’t go,” Gaston says. “Bello could be one of them. I’m not leaving Spingate here alone.”
“There’s hundreds of us here,” Spingate says. “I won’t be alone.”
“I’ll watch out for her,” I say. “I’ll make sure Bishop watches her, too. Gaston, we need to know.”
He shakes his head, squares his shoulders. “Send Beckett. He’s studied hard, he knows how to fly.”
Spingate rolls her eyes. “Gaston, I’ll be fine. Go!”
He turns on her. “I said no. That baby is ours—you don’t get to make all the decisions just because you’re the one carrying it. I’m not going, you’re not going, and if you had told me you were pregnant before you went out looking for the Springers, I would have said the same godsdamn thing then!”
Spingate’s wide green eyes blink. She’s shocked. So am I, so are all of us. We’ve never seen Gaston this angry.
She knew about the baby before she and I set out to find the Springers—but she hadn’t told him. Maybe she didn’t because she knows him better than I do, because she knew he would have fought against her going.
“We’ll send Beckett,” I say.
Gaston lets out a long breath. “Thank you for understanding. I…it’s not that I don’t want to do what you ask, it’s just that…well, I have to keep Spingate safe.”
That word, yet again. Safe—how can anyone still believe it exists?
I spent the rest of the night, the morning and most of the afternoon in a med-chamber, getting my broken fingers fixed. They still hurt, but nowhere near as bad. I can grip the spear properly again.
Bello got out of her med-chamber before I did, but I planned for that, telling Farrar to watch her closely.
I’d hoped to come out of medical to answers, but that didn’t happen. Spingate found nothing to prove that Bello is a Grownup. Neither did Smith. Science and medicine have failed me, so I’m trying the only thing I can think of—having my friends see if they can spot anything weird.
Almost everyone is in the coffin room, listening to Bello tell of her escape. People want her story to be true. Of course they do—they want a future that is nice and neat. They want to believe that the Grownups’ overwriting machine is a failure, and that we don’t have to worry about evil creatures in orbit preparing to erase us.
The kids, especially, hang on Bello’s every word. Not counting her, there are eighteen teenagers left in our group, people who were with Bello on the Xolotl. Beckett and Coyotl are at Bello’s ship, leaving sixteen of us. At my subtle instruction, the teenagers don’t just listen to Bello, they watch her, looking for any indication she is not who she says she is.
And besides—a good story is a welcome distraction from our growing hunger.
At least I know Bello won’t try anything with all these people watching. Farrar will make sure she doesn’t go farther into the ship, or go off by herself outside.
When Beckett, Coyotl and Muller return, I’ll have more information. If Bello’s ship could be flown by autopilot—that’s what Gaston calls it when a ship flies itself—or if Brewer could have guided it down remotely, that means Bello might be telling the truth. I’ll let her join us, but I’ll make sure she’s never alone.
If it turns out her ship can’t be flown without a pilot? Then she’s lying; she’s a Grownup. I will lock her in one of the shuttle’s storage rooms until we figure out what to do with her. We’ll have to treat her like a prisoner. We’ll have to question her.
A nagging voice in my head tells me, Just lock her up now…or have her killed, immediately…it’s the only way to be sure.
It’s not my father’s voice this time, it’s Matilda’s. And to some degree, it’s mine, too.
The only way to be sure…
I force myself to look away from Bello. If Matilda were in my shoes, she’d kill Bello, but I am not Matilda—I will find another solution.
Like the rest of us, I want Bello’s story to be true. I want that desperately. Not just because I love her—the old her, anyway—but because if she’s telling the truth, I can go look for Barkah. My people are hungry. If that continues, I know Aramovsky will make a move. I think I have one day left before he does, maybe two.