“Someone has to speak out loud what all of us are thinking,” he says. “Do we need new leadership? The majority of us—the people from Deck Four—never got a chance to vote at all. It’s time to fix that.”
He locks eyes with me.
“It’s not that Em didn’t do her best,” he says. “But perhaps the job of leader is too much for a circle, too much for an empty, too much”—the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin of victory—“for a slave.”
The word hangs in the air, pressing down, pushing at locked memories. I see hundreds of faces go blank. I see eyes widen and heads nod. For everyone, even the kids, the mention of that word opens up flashfires—they know.
Gradually, all eyes turn to me.
The things I’ve done right, they suddenly don’t matter. My leadership, keeping the group together, getting us off the Xolotl, learning the mysteries of Omeyocan, making contact with the Springers…none of it matters.
In an instant, with a single word, they see me as something different than I was. They see me as less.
I have to stop this, right now.
“I’m not a slave,” I say. “None of us are. Just because the ring on my head says I’m Service, or the double-circle says Aramovsky is Spirit or the half-circle means O’Malley is Structure doesn’t mean we have to be those things. We make our own choices!”
I look to O’Malley for support, hoping he will back me up, but he just stares at me, openmouthed, like I said something wrong—something horribly wrong.
“Spirit,” Aramovsky says. “Structure…Service. I just now remembered what the symbols mean, but you…you already knew.”
Bello’s little grin. She told him. She knows the symbols’ meanings because she’s a Grownup. She told him what to say.
Nearly three hundred people are staring at me. A hundred different lies jump to my brain, but none of them make it to my tongue. There is a brief moment where I can say something, deny that I didn’t keep information from my people, and then that moment is gone.
I am convicted by my own silence.
The eyes glare at me now. Even Spingate’s, her expression somewhere between betrayal and outrage. Not telling me the truth is the same as lying to me, I said to her.
I’m guilty of the same thing.
And everyone here knows it.
Things are falling apart.
Bishop and Bawden returned empty-handed—no sign of Beckett, Muller, Coyotl or the spider. Fear rages through the shuttle, fueled by Aramovsky instantly screaming to everyone that the Springers have taken our friends.
I feel lost. Did Barkah take our people? Bello’s ship was near the Observatory, a place Barkah has been before. He was so angry when her ship came down—maybe he lay in wait, knowing that my people had been there once and might come back again. If not him, could other Springers have attacked?
Aramovsky said the disappearance of our people was further evidence of a lack of leadership, and that we need a vote, immediately. Bishop argued against it, so did Spingate, saying now wasn’t the time, but they were shouted down.
I stand on the stage and tell people why they should vote for me, but my confidence is gone. Even though I hold the spear, our symbol of leadership, my words sound hollow. As I speak, I look to O’Malley, seeking some kind of guidance—the expression on his face tells me I have lost before the votes are cast.
I should have told everyone about the symbols. O’Malley talked me out of it. It’s not just that people now remember circles were slaves—which is damaging enough by itself—there is also the fact that I knew something everyone wanted to know, deserved to know, and I didn’t tell them.
They don’t trust me.
I wouldn’t trust me, either.
When I step off the stage, Aramovsky steps on.
I see Spingate talking in hushed tones with Gaston, Johnson and Ingolfsson. Is Spingate going to try for leader? I hope so. Anyone is better than Aramovsky.
But as soon as he begins his speech, I realize no one can beat him. Most of the kids gaze up at Aramovsky with wide-eyed adoration. Out of the nearly three hundred people in this room, only sixteen are teenagers.
Only now do I understand the significance of those numbers. While I was out searching for food, exploring, looking for Bello’s ship, Aramovsky was quietly campaigning. The only reason he didn’t call for a vote sooner was that he wasn’t sure if he could win. I got us off the Xolotl, after all, and kept us alive all this time. I think those facts convinced many of the kids that I was best for the position.
Then Bello gave Aramovsky what he needed—a way to make some of my supporters change their minds. Bello is obviously a Grownup, but I have no proof, and right now no one in this shuttle is about to take me at my word.
Aramovsky finishes with a passionate statement that basically becomes an I told you so. He warned us about the “demons,” and now three more of us are gone. He says we must not wait for the Springers to pick us off a few at a time, that if we want to be worthy of this great gift the gods have given us, we need to “be strong in the face of evil” and “drive the demons back to hell.”