I breathe a sigh of relief, then look to Marina’s left where Phiri Dun-Ra glares at us from her knees. There’s a fresh trail of blood dripping through her mess of Mog tattoos and severely pulled-back braids, probably from where Marina clocked her. Phiri’s blaster is in the dirt next to her, out of reach and crumpled beyond use by a telekinetic attack. Her hands and ankles are bound in what I quickly realize to be shackles made from solid ice. Looks like Marina’s getting pretty good with her new Legacy.

Adam arrives in the clearing a few seconds after me. Phiri Dun-Ra’s look of hatred only intensifies when he shows up.

“You got her,” Adam says, and Marina nods, even smiles a little. “You’re all right?”

“I’m good,” Marina replies. “Now what should we do with her?”

“You should kill me,” Phiri Dun-Ra growls, spitting into the dirt in front of her. “The sight of a trueborn consorting with you Loric trash so offends my eyes, I no longer wish to live.”

“Hello to you too, Phiri,” Adam says, rolling his eyes. “What did you do to my Chimæra?”

Phiri Dun-Ra’s eyes light up. “A little trick I learned from the Plum Island scientists with blaster frequencies. Did your pet die? I didn’t have time to check its body.”

“He survived. Unlike you.”

“We aren’t going to kill you—,” I start to say, but Phiri thrashes in the dirt, interrupting me.

“Because you’re cowards,” she hisses. “Do you want to rehabilitate me like this one? Make me into another Mogadorian pet? It won’t happen.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” I say, stepping closer to her. “We’re not going to kill you yet.”

“Did you search her?” Adam asks Marina.

“She was only carrying the blaster,” Marina replies. The rest of Phiri’s outfit is the standard sleek body armor of a Mog warrior. There’s no room to hide a bunch of ship parts.

“Where are the conduits?” I ask her. “Give them back and I’ll at least make your death quick.”

Marina shoots me a quick look, her eyebrows upraised. I put off answering these questions before—what do we do with a captured Mogadorian and how far do we go to get what we need? Torture. The thought gives me a chill of revulsion, especially thinking back to my time spent being one of their captives. It feels like crossing a line, like something they would do to us. It’s different from killing them in battle, when they’re fighting back and trying to kill us too. Phiri Dun-Ra is helpless, our prisoner. But one Mog prisoner is useless and we need to get the hell out of this jungle. I know we shouldn’t sink to their level, but our situation is desperate. How far will threats take us? I wonder.