“That’s pretty suspicious,” Rosalyn pointed out. “Aren’t you worried Piero will realize you suspect him of something? You two do sort of share a mind.”

“Let him find out,” Misato replied. “Finding the truth for Tuva matters more. Honesty, truth, justice . . . that was everything to her. Do you understand?”

Rosalyn dared to walk closer, knowing it was risky. She couldn’t trust anything the crew said, and she knew it was possible that Misato could lash out just like Edison had. But somehow she felt safe, or at least, in that moment, Misato seemed like the closest thing to human she had found since boarding the ship.

“It means you’re still human,” Rosalyn said softly. She looked at the row of cups, and at the end where Tuva’s should have been. Girdy had told her to be on the lookout for something strange. The Foxfire was strange, obviously, but this mystery was something else. Something human. Maybe it would lead her away from the infestation itself and closer to what had caused it in the first place.

Her hunger, then, seemed very, very small.

“Did you keep the body?” she asked, hoarse.

Slowly, Misato nodded.

“Show me.”

20

Something remarkable was happening. They stood in the cockpit together, a wall of flickering light dyeing them a vivid grass green. Like the foothills in spring outside the città. It felt like the whole of the universe was open to them now, an endless horizon of opportunity, and all thanks to Mother.

No, thanks to the girl.

Ah yes, the girl, the salvager who had split Piero’s face down the right side and with it, forged an opening for Mother. Ingress. Progress. The wound had weakened the body and opened the way, defenses lowered and useless against Mother’s assault. The gash was a wide-open door that led to the heart of him, and when the wound began to heal, it healed with the strong blue filaments of the cluster.

Mother was there, standing next to him, or so it seemed. A figure hovered in the corner of his eye, the suggestion of a luminous blue being.

Piero was hers. He moved now with Mother guiding his hands, with deft and determined fingers, not a hint of hesitation or fight left in him. He was freed and they were one and it felt almost painfully good to be whole that way. Mother understood now, understood what others of their kind had experienced—the undeniable rightness, the bliss, of union.