When they’d first brought Uzo into the plane and laid her down, they’d all shared a moment of despairing shock. The synth’s skin peeled in a number of places, revealing metal rusted with corrosion beneath. Pistons and gears and divets the color of blood with dried oil like grease puddles around some of her abrasions. Soot blackened her face, and even now, in slumber, her chest heaves with labored breathing. Watching Ngozi hook Uzo to the external battery and get to work settling cushions beneath Uzo’s head, Ify remembers watching so many loved ones hovering over the hospital beds of patients in her care, whispering words she was sure the patient couldn’t hear or trying to stimulate responses by touch when Ify knew the patient had no way of responding. And annoyance had cut through her, watching that. It was illogical, what they were doing. And yet she kneels by Uzo’s side, wanting to run her fingers over the backs of the synth’s charred hands, wanting to murmur nothings into her ear, not caring whether she can hear her or not.

“Some of these will have to be replaced,” Ngozi says from behind her mask as she takes her tools to the exposed metal of Uzo’s shoulder. Her legs are riddled with rashes and burns as well. These, at least, Grace treats with healing pads and gel from the medkit. “But I’ve managed to restore brain function. She wasn’t out for long before we found her, thank God.” A smirk. “She certainly has Onyii’s luck.”

An ease settles into the back of Ify’s mind. As though a worry has been checked off her list. If Uzo is still alive, that means Ify has a working braincase to examine. That means they are that much closer to helping the children in Alabast.

After a while, Ngozi sits back and hangs some of her tools on hooks in a makeshift stand next to her. Then she takes off her mask, wipes the sweat from her forehead with her arm, and sighs. It’s a large sound in the small area of the plane behind the cockpit. “She’ll live.” When Ngozi says it, Ify doesn’t hear the joy she expects. “We need to talk about how you get her out of Nigeria.”

Grace stops swabbing Uzo’s legs and watches the cream dry, smoothing the ragged edges of the broken skin. “We can’t go back, can we?”

Ngozi shakes her head. “It’s no longer safe for you here.”

“They’ll find us.”

Ify considers them both, then looks down at Uzo’s still form. “We haven’t even asked her yet.”

They both look Ify’s way.

“What if she refuses?” She can’t stop scanning Uzo’s wounds, the story all her markings tell. “What if she doesn’t want to come with us?”