“You just killed a quarter of a billion people,” she said. “Someone should have kept that from happening.”

Filip stood, his motions wooden. For a moment, she saw what he would look like as a man. And what he had been as a boy. There was a deep pain in his eyes. Not like her own. His pain was his, and she could only hope he would feel it. That he would at least learn to regret.

“Before you kill yourself,” she said, “come find me.”

He pulled back a centimeter, as if she’d shouted. “Con que I do something stupid like that? Soy no coward, me.”

“When it comes,” she said, “find me. Nothing can ever take it back, but I’ll help you if I can.”

“You’re merde to me, puta,” Filip snapped and stalked away. Around the galley, the others stared or pretended not to. Naomi shook her head. Let them look. She was past caring. She didn’t even hurt. Her heart was vast and dry and empty as a desert. For the first time since she’d taken Marco’s call on Tycho, her mind was clear.

She’d almost forgotten Cyn was there until he spoke. “Harsh words for his big day.”

“Life’s like that,” she said. But she thought, This isn’t the big day.

In her memory, Marco spoke. In order to be heard by the oppressing class, one must speak as a member of it. Not only the language, but the diction. But he hadn’t made his pronouncement yet. Not in any diction. She didn’t know his plans. Likely no one but Marco knew all of them.

But whatever his grand design was, it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Twenty-six: Amos

Sullivan died when they were about fifteen meters up the shaft.

The plan, if you wanted to call it that, was open the elevator shaft doors, then boost up a level and pry those open. Each level could be a staging area for getting to the next, and by the time they got to where the car was stuck at the very top level, they’d have enough experience with the layout they’d maybe be able to find a way to get past it or get the guards posted in it to let them through. Anyway, it was a problem they could solve once they got there.