I’VE NEVER HAD SO MANY people’s gazes fixed on me before. Each pair of eyes searching and studying. Each holding a different expectation. Most expect me to die. Probably slowly and in pain. Especially the one called Giahi, who now stands in the back, alternating between staring coldly and laughing with his friends. Their hatred for my kind is palpable. Others hold the hope I will be the answer to their problems—to the war between the Graciles and Robusts, even between Robusts and other Robusts. Musuls, Rippers, whatever. They’ll get an end to their war, just not the one they want.

The brother of Husniya holds my gaze; his demeanor is warm and almost comforting. He stands among them but not with them. He, of all of them, understands my predicament. Other than Graciles, his people are who these Robusts seem to hate most of all. Musuls. At least that’s what he told me in my cell. For reasons I can’t fathom, he came to thank me for saving Husniya—even telling me he owed me a life debt. He doesn’t owe me anything.

And then there’s Mila. She’s now basically in control of this militia, at least in as much as their leader, Bilgi, has given her command of those who can fight. Right now she’s addressing the whole group, telling them a bit about herself and how they should give me a chance.

These people have come to hear what we’re up against. Those with nowhere to go amid the chaos have now come to cling to this group for protection—hiding in the mines for safety. Mila has her arms folded across her chest, all her weight shifted onto one leg, her eyes wide. It’s her stare that holds the greatest expectation of all, that I’m a friend to the Robusts, that her faith in me is well placed. It isn’t. I’m a failure. Just ask Nikolaj. I can’t save anyone.

You couldn’t get laid in a brothel. Vedmak guffaws. Let alone formulate a battle plan to save anyone. But I could. Look at this pathetic band of misfits. They’ll just get in my way. Let me kill them, and then I’ll go after your elitist, inbred dogs.

Your answer to everything, Vedmak. Murder. Violence.

It’s nature’s answer to everything. Even for these stupid kozels. Look at the hate in the eyes of that Giahi. The need to kill. He and the rest of these wretches are no different than me.

“Some of them are, Vedmak.”

“Demitri?”

Sard. Did I say that out loud? How long have they been waiting?

“Demitri, you wanna speak up? We can’t hear you.” Mila’s lips are tight, and she’s studying me. Don’t let them know about Vedmak. That’s what she said. You need to seem credible.

“Sorry, yes. Well, I, um, where do I start?” I pace back and forth, tapping on my forehead with two fingers.

“How about the beginning,” says a firm but warm voice from the rear. It’s Bilgi.

“Yes, okay, the beginning.” How to explain to these Robusts in a way they’ll understand? “Okay, look. The Gracile Leader believes we—Graciles, I mean—are now as perfect as we’re going to get. Does that make sense? Without considering upgrades and hacks, biologically we are where our ancestors wanted us to be.”

There’s an uproar from the crowd, cussing and shouting. They did not like that. “I said he believes. I didn’t say it was true.”

“Continue, Demitri,” Mila presses, waving her hand. “We don’t have much time.”

“He wants to preserve us this way for as long as the universe will allow. The best way to do this is to make us part of the universe, turning us into a packet of information that can be held in that state for many, many millennia.”

“Are you talking about a soul?” a man calls out from the crowd. “Existing for eternity, with Yeos?”

Simpletons, but I guess if it works. “Sure. Imagine the Leader’s found a way to ensure your soul is kept intact forever. The way he wants to do it is to create a black hole—it’s a point in space where the gravity of something huge is squished down to the size of a pinprick. Everything nearby gets sucked in and crushed into nothingness. That said, on the edge of a black hole—the point of no return, the event horizon—information, or souls, can be stored. Anything that falls into the black hole isn’t actually destroyed; it’s converted to information and sits on the event horizon.”

They have the brains of goats. They don’t understand a word.

Shut up, Vedmak. Keeping him at bay is so exhausting.

“He wants to create a black hole,” Mila repeats, trying both to support me and to move the explanation along.

“Right, a black hole. There’s a lot of complicated physics involved I won’t bore you with.” Or reveal it’s my fault he even knows how to do this. “But he has something called a particle accelerator. When he fires it, it could eventually create a small black hole that will grow and swallow everything. You, me, Etyom—the Earth.”

A short, stocky man, not too far from Faruq, grunts, “Why hasn’t he fired it?”

“He had two problems,” I reply, holding up two fingers, which again end up nervously tapping on my forehead. “One is you all exist. Robusts. Musuls, Rippers, all of you. You muddy the perfection. He wants you all dead first. Your information—your souls—scattered.”

“Right,” Mila interrupts. “He’s been using Kapka and his terrorists to keep us in line long enough to finish his project. Now that he’s near the end, he’d intended to use Kapka and the Creed to wipe out every other enclave and the Rippers, and then clean up what was left with his remaining Creed soldiers. Except Kapka found out he was being double-crossed.”

“Yeah, he’s gone crazy. Killing everyone in sight,” a woman calls from within the gathering. “What are we gonna do?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I interrupt. “The Leader’s hand has been forced. He has to fire it with some of you still alive.”

“You said there were two problems.” A small man with thin eyes and a calm manner studies me. I think his name is Ghofaun.

“Yes.” I nod and start talking faster. “Disregarding I have no idea where he’s put a collider powerful enough to generate a black hole, he’d need an escape plan in case it went wrong.”

“Went ... wrong?” Mila squints at me.

“Strangelets.”

“What?” she snaps.

“Strangelets. Look, there’s a distinct possibility he could get the experiment wrong. If he doesn’t set up the accelerator correctly, he runs the risk of creating strange matter, strangelets. If that happens, he won’t create a black hole, he’ll instantaneously transform all normal matter—the whole Earth—into strange matter. When strange matter touches normal matter, the latter is instantly converted. There’s no stopping it, save the vacuum of space.” Their faces are blank again. “A blob. The Earth and everything on it will become a giant amorphous blob.”

A gasp ripples through the troop.

“What can he do about that, Demitri?” Mila presses. “He must have figured out a backup plan. If he’s so adamant he wants to preserve you, then he would have a plan to try again if it went wrong—correct?”

How am I supposed to know? “He’d need to trigger the accelerator from a safe place. Somewhere the strange matter, if he created it, couldn’t get at him. Somewhere ... well, it would have to be off world. Put a vacuum between him and it.”

“Off world?” Bilgi repeats.

“Yes, as in not on Earth—but I have no idea how. I mean, he’d need a—ˮ I saw it on the way down.

“He’d need a what?” Mila demands.

“A rocket. He’d need a rocket. And a rocket needs a—ˮ

“Launchpad,” Mila says, finishing my sentence.

“Right.”

“There’s nowhere to launch a rocket from within Etyom,” Bilgi says. “On a lillipad?”

“No, no. The lillipads are too flimsy to take the thrust required. And you’re right; there’s no launchpad in Etyom. But there is one outside the walls. I saw it on my way down, way out east.”

Most of the audience appears as confused as when I started. Faruq isn’t even paying attention. I follow his stare to Mila, who stands, eyes wide, the blood drained from her face.

“Mila, you okay?” Bilgi asks.

She doesn’t speak for a long moment, but then composes herself and nods. “Yeah, I’m okay. Look, we’ve got explosives, right? We get to that rocket before it takes off and blow it wide open with the Leader inside.”

This woman is crazy. “How do you expect to do that, Mila? How do you think you’re going to get there? Through the enclaves, with Robusts, I mean Musuls, and the Creed running around—not to mention the Rippers out there in the no-man’s-land.”

“Demitri, can you for once—ˮ Mila begins.

“He has a point, Mila,’” Bilgi interrupts. “If we move as a group up there, we’re a big target.”

“What do you suggest?” She taps her foot expectantly.

“We use the mines,” a Robust woman says, working her way through the crowd.

“You gotta plan, Denni?” Bilgi asks.

The woman drops to the floor in front of the crowd and sets down a small holo-projector. She flicks it on. Streams of green light spider out from the center to form a skeletal map of the mines.

“Not a plan so much as a decent idea. We haven’t mapped everything yet, but there’s one tunnel that’s been bugging me. It’s pretty much a straight line from here way out to the east, where our Gracile friend here says he saw the launchpad.” She points to the tunnel she’s referring to, following its length to a dead end. “Problem is, it just stops. One recon team said they thought it was blocked up manually. Like it was filled in. Could be this is our way there undetected.”

Bilgi nods. “I like it. The element of surprise.”

“And if it’s not?” Mila says. “Then we’ve lost our chance, and the Leader escapes to kill us all. No, we go over the top.”

“We do both,” Ghofaun interjects. “You’re both right. We need to double our chances. I’ll take a small team to the surface. As a stealth unit, we’ll move in the shadows unseen.”

Mila glances at Bilgi and then at the little thin-eyed man. “Okay, Master Ghofaun. We do it your way. Double our chances for success.”

Slow, deliberate clapping from the rear of the group draws everyone’s attention. “Let’s give our fearless leaders a hand.” Giahi continues to clap. “Can anyone else believe what they’re hearing? Not only is this plan the most far-fetched, ridiculous nonsense I’ve ever heard, but they want us to do it according to the counsel of a Gracile? Then there’s the towl’ed over here.” He motions to Faruq. “We’re just supposed to be okay working alongside him, too?”

Mila bristles, and Bilgi takes a step toward the gruff Robust.

Vedmak chokes on his own laughter. Ohhh, this is good. I like this one. If we’re lucky, maybe he and the old man will kill each other.

“Giahi, your opinions are well known to us,” Bilgi snaps. “You don’t have to like the plan, and you can choose to leave—but if you are going to work with us, you can start by shutting your fool mouth and actually doing something useful. Am I clear?”

Giahi says nothing for a moment, his crew looking on. “Of course, Bilgi, of course. You’re crystal clear, as always.” He flashes a disturbing grin. “Hey, I’m always a team player.”

“Well, does anyone else have any other xenophobic remarks? No? Please, speak up if so.” Bilgi scans the crowd. No one moves. Even Giahi has settled into the back of the room. “This is not a popularity contest. This is about the survival of our species. Can everyone understand where we’re going with this? What we’re doing here is the last resort. I promise you we would not take such risks unless we had no other choice.” Bilgi takes a deep breath and steps back, glancing at Mila and Faruq. “Please continue, Master Ghofaun.”

Ghofaun nods. “I’ll take three men over the surface. Any more and we risk detection. No heavy weaponry or gear. We will be as the night chasing the dawn.”

How poetic. All of these fools will still die. Sad little sheep blindly following the only one with a sense of direction—even if it’s off the edge of a cliff.

“Okay, Demitri?”

What? Oh no, what have I been asked? “Umm, I’m sorry?”

Mila looks at me expectantly. “I said, you come with us down into the mines, okay? We don’t know if you’ll come in handy. You’re the only Gracile we have on our side. We might come up against some tech we don’t know how to deal with. We need you.”

Now I know she’s insane.

* * *

THE ROBUST RESISTANCE fighters scurry around like worker ants, busying themselves with who knows what. Ghofaun has already taken his three men and left. Making his way through the enclaves and the Vapid will be time consuming. If he makes it at all.

Husniya clings to my leg, watching me watch Mila. What is it that drives this woman? She’s seen the depths of desperation and suffered more horrors than most would care to imagine. Yet here, in the face of certain death and against a force she cannot hope to beat, she shines like a beacon for these people. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. They follow her and hang on every word, every order, taking each instruction as if it were the word of Yeos Himself.

Crouching down on my haunches, I pick up Husniya and sit her skinny frame on my knee. She perches there, a vague smile on her face, staring at the side of my head.

“Margarida likes you,” she whispers.

“She does?”

“Yes.” Husniya nods. “Listen, she’s telling you.”

“I don’t hear her.”

“Close your eyes. Concentrate.” She slides her fingers down my face and over my eyelids, stroking them closed.

In the darkness, beyond the chatter between Mila and her team, is a faint voice—one that might once have belonged to a loving mother. It’s soothing and kind.

“Hey.”

My eyes snap open and I nearly topple to the ground, taking Husniya with me.

“C’mon, big guy, we gotta show you some tactical basics,” Mila says, almost laughing.

I hate guns.

I don’t, Vedmak whispers menacingly.

“Let’s go.” Mila grabs me at the elbow and gives it a tug. There’s no way she can lift me, but I rise anyway and allow the little girl to slide safely to the ground.

At the table in the middle of the room stand two members of the resistance. One is Denni. The other is a large man with skin like night. He doesn’t look friendly.

“You know Denni. And this is Mos,” Mila says, waving her hand at her companions.

For a Robust, Denni is beautiful. Her shoulder-length blond hair is tied back, but strands fall about her face and into her round blue eyes. Her frame is short but voluptuous. Our eyes meet, and she blushes.

Female urges, Vedmak says, his tone heavy with disgust.

Mila squints at us both but says nothing.

“So, Miss Solokoff, since you insist on nonlethal weapons, I’ve put this little doozy together that you might like.” Denni plonks a tubular weapon onto the table. It’s bolted and bound together with all manner of screws, tape, and wire. Something between a rifle and a bazooka. “It fires forty-millimeter lead beanbags. May not sound like much, but it’ll hurt like crazy. Think of it as a flying knockout punch.”

Mila nods approvingly and inspects her weapon.

“You’re not even using a lethal weapon? You’ll get butchered.” She’s crazy.

“The only person who needs to die is the Leader. His sacrifice will be enough to stop this war. If I can prevent more deaths, isn’t that my responsibility?”

“I guess ...”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t knock a few teeth out, though. They can live without teeth.” Mila winks at Mos, who chuckles.

And what does the big one get? A slingshot?

Vedmak has a point.

“This one’s for you, big boy.” Denni heaves a huge piece of equipment onto the table with a thud. Mos picks it up. It’s an enormous, long, cylindrical barrel, cut off into an angle at the end, with a convex lens inside, bolted to the body of an old machine gun. There’s a crude breaker switch made from an old screwdriver jammed into the side. Two large handles have been welded onto it—one near the front, the other, with a trigger, at the rear. Four energy packs are embedded into the butt. A large woven strap hangs from two climbing clips attached to the top.

“What on earth is that?” Mila asks.

Denni grins. “This fires a laser beam.”

“A laser beam?” That’s not going to do anything to the Creed.

Ignoring me, Denni continues. “I used four blue diodes from a fallen Creed gunship. When they’re focused together, this thing can pack a wallop. You might wanna cover your eyes.” Denni picks up the hefty device, turns, and cranks the exposure lever halfway back. We all squint and shield our eyes as a brilliant, blinding light streams forth, blackening a patch on the stone wall about the size of a dinner plate. She cranks the lever forward and sets the laser back on the table.

“It only causes mild burns if it hits skin for a few seconds. But with a direct hit to the eyes, it’s thirty-three million times more intense than looking at the sun. It’ll fry the eyeballs of Musuls, Rippers, even Creed. It’s pretty damn effective—just watch the exposure. If you crank it wide open, it gets more powerful but also unstable.”

“But in case that doesn’t work, I always have Svetlana.” Mos grins, showing a row of surprisingly white teeth, as he pulls a heavy chrome Magnum from the back of his pants. “Svetlana doesn’t have a problem with killing people.”

Was that a threat? That could have been a threat.

“And for you, Demitri, something a little less violent. A sick stick. No one should be getting anywhere near you anyway, but one poke with this thing and they won’t be bothering you anymore. Difficult to attack anyone when you’re vomiting uncontrollably.” Denni giggles and hands me the stick. “It’s not on yet. Don’t poke yourself.”

“Thanks. Can I use it on that Giahi guy?”

The whole group glares at me in horror.

“Uh, I’m ... that was ... I was just joking ...”

Everyone bursts into laughter.

“Relax, Demitri.” Denni pats my arm. “You don’t always have to take everything so seriously.”

They were joking? “Oh ... yeah.”

Mos laughs. “I might borrow that from you just to see Giahi embarrass himself in front of everyone.”

“Seriously, though.” Mila sets her weapon down. “What’s that guy’s problem?”

“Giahi?” Denni says. “He’s always been difficult, but since you showed up, he’s been intolerable.”

“He thought he was in line to be a part of the command of Opor,” Mos chips in, “an aspiration that was dashed when he realized how close Bilgi was with you.”

“Why keep him around if he’s such a problem?” Mila asks.

Denni shrugs. “He’s a great fighter. Aggressive and resourceful.”

Mila places her hands on the table. “Well, we can use good fighters, as long as he can mind his own business and I don’t have to shut his mouth for him.”

This elicits another round of laughing.

“What else have we got?” Mila asks.

Denni coughs nervously. “We all pack standard melee gear—knives, axes, etc. Most of us have a revolver or some kind of handgun from the old days. The bigger guys have shotguns and a couple of Kalashnikovs. Not much ammo, though. There are also a few bits that I’ve cooked up. But all our explosives have been packed into two satchels. One is with Ghofaun’s team, and the other’s with me. That’s pretty much it.”

We’re all gonna die.