Aliyah had fallen unconscious by the time Ruth arrived. Paul’s eyes fluttered – compressing the carotid was a quick off, but it was also a quick on – so Ruth jabbed him with a Magiquell insta-shot.
That wouldn’t put him down quick enough, though. She kissed Aliyah on the forehead before rolling her off her asshole of a father, then carefully strangled Paul back into oblivion.
Valentine kicked her – not hard enough to hurt through the armor.
“You kill him,” she said, flexing her fingers around an imaginary controller, “and you’ll answer to me.”
Ruth had considered executing Paul. Behind her, the Unimancers mopped up the broaches, doing their best to stanch that fucker’s damage before the Thing got loose. The villagers were damn near readying their pitchforks.
Still, she felt the sickening unrest thrumming through the collective:
How did he trigger those broaches he was healing them almost as fast as he created them
He said we’d done it wrong
We have to know what we can do
Ruth stood strongly in the “disagreement” camp. A rebellion coalesced around her sentiment that Paul Tsabo held no special wisdom. Preserving Paul Tsabo’s reckless techniques struck her like trying to save a bear chewing your neck open on the off-hand chance you might teach it to dance.
Ruth wondered if Aliyah could forgive Ruth for killing her father.
So glad you asked, Ruthie! Mom-construct interjected. All the signs I’ve collected indicates your new friend is very very attached to her daddy. Almost as much as you are to me, sweetiekins! Though since you asked, I’ve assembled head-doctor techniques you could use to weaken her bond…
Fuck off, Mom, Ruth snapped, then tuned out Mom’s usual canned response on how good girls didn’t need profanity.
She didn’t want to fuck with Aliyah’s mind; that was what Paul did. No, Ruth simply wanted Paul Tsabo gone. But too many in the collective were convinced they needed him. Killing him without consensus might create a permanent schism.
Which puzzled her. He’d murdered them in a maniacal bid to protect his daughter – and like Mom, he’d never bothered to see whether this new world he’d created would make her happy.
She’d told Aliyah he’d never let her go. Tsabo was just another version of the mother-construct – jailing his child and convincing himself it was for her own good.
She could crush his larynx. She could save Aliyah. She could rid the world of danger.
Except Aliyah would never forgive her.
“I would,” Ruth growled. “But he’s too valuable.”
“Then let’s plan our next move,” Valentine said.