“Yes, Em?”
“We can make peace with the Springers. No one has to die.”
He looks to the ceiling and sighs. “We just had a vote. Everyone heard your speech, yet they voted for me.”
“We don’t know how many Springers there are,” I say. “There could be thousands, all with guns. Even with the spiders, we won’t come out unscathed.” I look around the room, pointing at individuals. “You might die. And you. And you. And—”
The spear butt hammers down, rattling the stage.
“That will be enough!”
Aramovsky doesn’t hide his rage.
“War is dangerous, but the God of Blood will protect the faithful,” he says. “It is better for some of us to fall in battle than for all of us to starve.”
People are staring at me now, annoyed that I won’t shut up. It’s truly over: Aramovsky has their hearts and minds. I need to get it through my head that he is the leader.
But maybe I can try one more thing.
“It will take some time to repair any broken machines,” I say. “While that’s happening, let a few of us go talk to the Springers. If we can get them to show us where the food is before your army is ready, then no one has to die, right?”
All eyes swing back to him.
Aramovsky’s face twitches with hatred. It hits me—he wants war. If it isn’t for food, he’ll come up with some other reason. His upper lip twitches. He wants to kill me, right here and right now, but he can’t; if he ignores what I’m saying, he’s obviously passing up a chance to keep everyone alive.
And then how many votes would he win?
I pour on the pressure.
“The Springers might kill me,” I say. “But if I can save the lives of any of our people, I will take that risk.”
I’m leaving him no choice.
The smile slowly returns to his face. “Your bravery is a blessing to us all. Go, then—see if the gods will help you stop the bloodshed. Leave now, right now, because when we’re ready to attack I will not hesitate. Every minute counts.”
That was easier than I thought it would be. Could I have been wrong about him wanting war? Maybe there is a decent person in there after all.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I look to Spingate. “Let’s go.”
She flashes a glance at Gaston that is as loud and clear as a gunshot: Don’t try to stop me. She starts toward the shuttle door.
“No,” Aramovsky says, the word a sharp command. “You stay, Grandmaster Spingate. We may need your brilliance to repair the spiders, and”—he lowers the spear tip so it points at her belly—“we can’t risk the next generation.”
Her fists go to her hips.
“You can’t tell me what to do! I have the right to go where I want.”
Aramovsky shakes his head. “You gave up that right when you became pregnant. Do as you’re told, or I will have you escorted to your lab and confined there for your safety and the safety of the baby. Guards?”
Forty young circle-stars jump to their feet, stand at attention. Black coveralls, weapons in hand—what they lack in size they make up for in numbers.
Spingate is furious, surprised, devastated. She looks around the room. No one stands to defend her. Even if Bishop, Bawden and Farrar wanted to protect her, they would be instantly overwhelmed.
Bishop was away from the shuttle almost as much as I was. All the while, Aramovsky was quietly whispering in little ears. I thought all the young circle-stars followed Bishop, but I was wrong.
For a leader you are wrong-wrong-wrong quite a lot, are you not?
Brewer’s words. How right he was.
Little Kalle stands, steps forward from the crowd.
“I’ll go with Em,” she says. “I’ve been in the jungle already, I can help.”
Aramovsky smiles down at her, benevolent, as if he’s actually an adult with worldly experience and Kalle isn’t just a few days younger than he is.
“My brave child, Em must go alone. She is the one who has spoken to the Springers. She knows she has no special knowledge that we need here, like you have. And she knows she’s not a soldier, needed to defend us. This is the best way she can serve us all, and I salute her for it.”
Now it is so obvious—he wants me to go alone because he wants me to die. The Springers can eliminate his main rival for leadership, and he doesn’t have to lift a finger.
Still, I don’t have a choice. If there is any chance I can pull this off and save my people, I have to take it.
Aramovsky tilts his head toward the shuttle door. “Gods be with you. Go now.”
I am dismissed.
People step aside, opening a path to the shuttle door.
I step out onto the deck. The night is black, overcast, starless. A stiff breeze brings that smell of mint. Before I can walk down the ramp, Bishop rushes out to join me.
“Take a flashlight,” he says, handing me his from a pocket in his coveralls. “And a med-kit.” From another pocket, he hands me one of the white plastic cases.
He grabs me, pulls me in close for a hug.