During the thunderous applause, I glance at Spingate. Her head droops: she knows there’s no point in giving a speech of her own.
Opkick asks for other candidates. When no one volunteers, she calls for a vote. A simple show of hands, just like the vote on the Xolotl when I became leader.
She calls my name and she counts out loud. I don’t know why she bothers; not even fifty hands go up.
She calls Aramovsky’s name. Hands shoot up instantly. Even though over three-quarters of the kids are circles—like me—most of them vote for him.
He has won. He is our leader.
With that change comes a feeling of hopelessness. All the bad things that have happened so far are nothing compared to what will come next.
Opkick calls us both to the stage.
It takes every bit of will for me to meet Aramovsky’s eyes. He’s not smiling, which shocks me. He looks resigned to his new duty, as if it is a terrible burden thrust upon him rather than something he’s worked for almost since we first woke up.
“Em, we wouldn’t be here without you,” he says. “I want to say—and I think everyone agrees—thank you for your leadership thus far. You got us off the Xolotl, got most of us down here safe. Everyone appreciates that, but now that we’re on Omeyocan we face a different set of challenges. The people have spoken.”
He holds out his hand toward me. I reach to shake it, then I realize what he wants.
My spear.
I feel my face flush red. I look like an idiot. My hand falls to my side.
My fingers tighten on the spear shaft. I don’t want to give it up. I want to hit him. He will lead us to ruin.
Kill your enemy…
It would be so easy to stab him, just like I did the Springer in the jungle…
I glance to the shuttle doors. I see Bishop standing there, hands gripped on his axe. His eyes silently tell me that whatever I do, he will back me up.
Farrar wears the same expression. So does Bawden. All three are ready to fight for me.
I don’t have to give up leadership. I can have Aramovsky and Bello locked up. If the circle-stars are behind me, I can stay in charge.
Attack, attack, always attack…
Aramovsky’s hand is still out, empty and awkwardly hovering in midair. I see a flicker of fear in his eyes. He knows I could ignore the vote, imprison him, maybe even have him killed. I still have the power.
Matilda had power, too. She used it. Look what happened to her people.
I am not Matilda, and Matilda is not me.
I hand Aramovsky the spear.
He takes it. His fear vanishes. He’s won. His mouth doesn’t smile, but his eyes do.
Aramovsky gestures to the floor, asking Opkick and me to step off the stage. We do, leaving him alone to tower over us all.
“As your new leader, I must put first things first,” he says. “The Springers have food. They had their chance to share it with us, but they chose the path of evil. They have what we need to live—so we will take it from them. Bishop, Farrar, you will drive the two spiders we have left. Take Borjigin to the spider nest. Schuster, Bemba and Zubiri, stand up.”
Zubiri stands, as do a boy and another girl, both halves. Aramovsky is sending a combination of symbols: science and management.
“Borjigin, these three are your assistants,” Aramovsky says. “Take them with you. I’ve talked to Bemba and Schuster, they think they remember working on machines. And Zubiri is our smartest young scientist—better to have her with you, solving problems that come up, rather than wasting her time in the lab. Why would we try to research a cure for red mold when we can just take food from the Springers? You will all work together to fix any machines that can be fixed. Bishop, choose three young circle-stars to go as well. Take all the remaining muskets. The rest of us will seal up in the shuttle for protection.”
Borjigin walks to the stage, his hands together at his chest. He’s almost in tears.
“What about Coyotl?” he says. “And Beckett, and Muller. Aren’t you going to look for them first?”
Borjigin and Coyotl have grown close in such a short time. Aramovsky’s expression of sympathy is so real I almost believe it. He bends slightly, leaning toward Borjigin.
“The gods decide our fates,” Aramovsky says. “Don’t worry—if Coyotl is worthy, the gods will return him safe and sound. Your duty is to give us an army of machines. And when they are ready”—he stands tall, raises the spear high, his eyes widen and his lip curls up—“we will go to war!”
The kids who voted for him jump and shout and cheer. They were afraid…Aramovsky gives them a way to attack what they fear. I wonder how many of these cheering faces will soon be dead.
I should have stabbed him when I had the chance.
Maybe I’m not the leader anymore, but I can’t let this happen.
“Aramovsky!”
My voice echoes off the shuttle walls, loud enough to cut off the cheering. He looks at me, annoyed and impatient. I’m ruining his moment; I won’t quietly go away.