THE GUNSHIP PLUMMETS through the cloud line toward the frozen ground below. I press hard on the yoke, feeling the metal column bend under the strain.

Despite the meteoric speed, the scene below opens up beneath the clouds in slow motion. All seven enclaves come into view, spread out below the stalks of the lillipads. The walled cities are huge, several kilometers across—yet decidedly pathetic when seen against the vast, bleak backdrop of gray countryside outside the city walls. At least two of the enclaves are burning. Huge red tongues of fire snap and lick against the old high-rise buildings and ramshackle abodes.

Several slashes of light streak across the sky, followed by a deafening crack and a high-pitched screech. In the distance, a lillipad support buckles—the metal squeals as if in pain. The safety balloons will hold the platforms for a while, but not forever. Chunks of concrete the size of old-world cars crumble away from the platform and slam into the ruined city below. Far in the distance, to the east, sits some kind of platform, separate from the enclaves. What is that?

Who cares? You’re going to kill us, you fool.

Indeed. What does it matter? If the Leader didn’t have the evidence to create black holes before, he does now. I practically handed it to him, with a full scan of my DNA and thus the protein—and the link—to other dimensions.

I force the yoke to its absolute limit. The engines whine, the wind whistles past, and the windows to the cockpit vibrate to near-resonant frequency.

A small delicate hand slips over mine and begins to pull the yoke back gently. It’s Husniya. She’s as calm as can be, balancing herself in the near-vertical orientation of the gunship. Her eyes bore into me.

“Don’t do it,” she says. “You only hurt those you leave behind. Killing yourself is a selfish act that passes your burdens to those around you.”

Those can’t possibly be her words. Perhaps Margarida is speaking through her.

Vedmak claws at my consciousness, desperate for control.

The ground is less than fifty meters from the nose of the ship. My jaw clenches and my biceps strain as I pull on the yoke, attempting to lift the weight of the massive vehicle and prevent us from smashing into a million pieces.

Husniya begins to float, then sails to the back of the hold, bumping into the bulkhead and storage units until she’s pinned to the rear. The engines choke, splutter, and finally burst into flame. The bow of the vehicle strikes the ground with a thud, sending a painful shudder through my spine. Powdered snow puffs up around us, obscuring any kind of view. I pull and twist the control, but it’s useless. Like a stone skipping across the surface of a pond, we bounce two, three, four times.

Giving up hope of controlling the ship any longer, I hold on tight and wait for the final impact. The ship collides into something, and my whole world quakes with the violence of the crash. The nose of the vessel rips open, exposing us to the sleet and frigid wind. Eventually we stop.

I uncurl my aching body, then touch my forehead and check my limbs. All okay. Husniya throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tight. It hurts like hell but is totally worth it.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I wish this moment could last forever.

She doesn’t care about you, kozel. No one does.

Vedmak’s voice is drowned out by a louder noise; a mob of Robusts, like the ones who attacked the Zopat market, swarms the ship.

Three men grab at me, dragging me from the wreckage. A fourth grabs Husniya and throws her over his shoulder. I kick, squirm, and bite. By the time we’ve cleared the hole in the wreckage, they’ve all but lost their grip.

Now. Let me save us. Give me control.

“No. I won’t let you butcher anyone else.”

The men stare at each other, confused at my outburst.

I shove the heel of my boot into the nose of the man nearest my feet. His face bursts into a spray of red, and he tumbles backward. The other two men, unable to hold my weight any longer, drop me in the snow.

“Let the little girl go.” I scramble to my feet, grab a thin, three-meter piece of the hull weighing at least sixty kilos, and swing it about my head like a sword. Who knows where this strength is coming from, but my muscles tingle and my head swims.

Vedmak enjoys my anger. Do it.

A deafening snap, followed by a pained cry, breaks the stalemate. The man carrying Husniya slumps to the ground, a geyser of blood spouting from his side. The girl runs to me and clings to my legs. Two armed Robusts, dressed differently than my current attackers, trudge up the bank. They carry old mechanized weapons—revolvers and shotguns.

More shots are fired, and the remaining Robusts scurry off like frightened hyenas, whooping and yelping. The gunmen talk among themselves as they approach me.

“Damn Musuls,” says the taller of the two men, slipping another round into the cylinder of his revolver.

“They’re attacking anything and everything now,” says the shorter man with orange hair and a bristly beard. “Seems the Gracile Leader wants to wipe everyone out. Including them. And now they’re pissed.”

“How did they find that out?” the taller man asks.

“Who knows, but now Kapka’s given a blood order. They’re killing anyone who isn’t a Musul.”

“Even some who are.” The tall man nods at the cowering girl between my legs.

“Well, well, well. Look at the size of this one,” the tall man says, waving his handgun at me.

“Fall off your cloud, your majesty?” mocks the other.

“Look, I—I don’t want trouble. Just leave us alone.” My heart pounds against the inside of my chest, and my grip tightens on the steel piece of hull.

Kill them both. They are in our way. Stupid dogs.

“I don’t want to kill anyone.”

Your hands are already stained, you pathetic kozel.

The resistance fighters take another step closer.

“Did you hear that BOLO transmission?”

“The one about the Gracile Bilgi wants?” the orange-haired man says.

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

A gust of wind ladened with sleet and soot bites at my face, contrasting with the heat from the burning buildings. I squint, struggling to keep focus on the advancing men.

“I think Yuri might be interested in this one.”

Wait. Yuri? Did he say Yuri?

A crunch in the snow. I swing around but am only met with a blast of pain to my temple. Husniya’s muffled screams meld with the gloom that closes in. I wish, just once, I could do something right.