17

 

 

TO HER CREDIT, Leona does not speak as I tell my story. She tries to keep her face expressionless, but she cannot control her eyes. They narrow, they widen. Several times, she keeps them closed for a few extra seconds, as if she does not want to look at me any more.

I don’t want to look at me either.

“The other two, they were right,” I say. “I caused this. I’m why we’re here. Becalmed.”

Leona does not nod. Nor does she reach out a hand to comfort me. She sighs. “They abandoned their post.”

They did. They left the Quurzod as the rest of us went to the violence pool. They should have stayed with us, but they thought something might go wrong and they fled.

I should have told the others to go as well. The mistake was mine, not theirs.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“The Captain decides that,” she says. “He brought you back.”

“When he didn’t have all of the information,” I say.

She inclines her head. She is conceding that point.

“Tell him I’m ready. He can’t send me back, but he shouldn’t keep me here either.”

“You’re volunteering for execution?” she asks.

“It’s the right thing,” I say.

“I don’t think that’s your decision,” she says. “Not any more.”