“I’m not saying no, Doctor,” Grace says, struggling to one knee. She keeps gently touching her face, and the memory of her wounding earlier hits Ify with enough force to leave her breathless. But then Grace’s grimace turns into a grin, and she takes the pistol. “Lead the way.”

As they head to the room’s mouth, Ify stops at Uzo’s motionless body. The girl’s face is angled up toward the ceiling, gaze focused on a point past Ify, probably seeing nothing. Nothing in the girl’s face moves, nothing signals reaction, notes the passing of Ify’s shadow over her body. There’s no snarl on the girl’s face, no widening of the lips to signal a glimpse of the divine that the dying see before death. Ify wants to say something, to commemorate the life the synth was growing into, to apologize for killing her like this, but Grace tugs her away into the tunnels.

Ify heads down the first corridor, stepping over the bodies, picking up an assault rifle on the way, and makes her way through tunnel after tunnel, slowly and with Grace just behind her, sidestepping the downed guards where they lie. At first, she presses herself against walls and peeks around corners to see if anyone is going to jump out at her or begin firing from their perch or hiding place. But soon it becomes clear to her that she and Grace are the only things moving in this entire place. So they break into a run, slowing down only when they get to a clearing through which fluorescent light shines.

The platform she descended on. It lies buried beneath a small mountain of stone. But there’s an opening, and Ify spots the snapped ends of cables swaying overhead. Slinging her rifle over her shoulder and tucking her pistol into her waistband, she climbs up the rocks and leaps onto the rope. Sparks still occasionally shower in arcs from her suit, but they feel like small bug bites compared to earlier.

Grace scrabbles up the rocks, trying to follow Ify’s path, but falls hard. Ify, holding on to her rope, swings to the wall to brace herself and rest while Grace tries again. Another leap, another fall.

She hears movement, then motions for Grace to stop moving. They wait, then Ify hears it again. More movement. People are getting up. They’re coming for her. Now she can hear shouting. Commands being issued, weapons being distributed. They’re fanning out. Tracking her.

“Hurry!” She motions for Grace to jump for her again. But Grace can’t reach. Another leap, another fall. Another leap, desperate and flailing, another fall.

They’re getting closer.

Ify lowers herself, swinging loose on the rope she’s now tied around one forearm, and she stretches the other out for Grace. Grace jumps again. Their fingers brush. The voices get louder, the words clearer. Grace jumps. Just misses.