Hosea shook his head. “Not even close. As I said before, the basic form requires the least energy.”

Finch grabbed his forehead. But it left Booster drained like the dead. And he was the strongest of us.

Again, Hosea shook his head. “Booster got the least sophisticated weapon because he is the weakest in many ways. He relies too much on his physical strength. He’s neglected other, more potent, avenues of power.”

Suspicion surged in me. My eyes narrowed. “You knew that would happen,” I guessed.

Hosea’s face was set like stone.

“You knew, from your test, that Booster would not heed you. That he would grip the weapon in his fist and cause it to overpower him. You knew, and you let him do it anyway.”

Hosea shrugged, not denying my accusation.

“You did it to teach us a lesson,” I said, angrily. “Do you care that he was terrified?”

“I don’t care,” Voltaire announced, not waiting for Hosea’s reply. “And if he was hurt it serves him right.” She lifted her chin.

“I agree,” Pidge said. “Booster’s too arrogant for his own good. If humbling him teaches us a valuable lesson, so be it.”

Seeing I was outnumbered, I said nothing. Still, it was not right. Booster had his flaws, but he was a Kongo brother. I did not like seeing him ill-treated.

Hosea picked up the next weapon from the trunk. “Pidge,” he said.

Pidge stepped forward, his ears prominent. His upper back worked rhythmically, revealing his inner demons. He followed Hosea’s instructions to perfection, holding the tube in the palm of his hand as a thin sword formed. It didn’t look particularly menacing but, at Hosea’s bidding, Pidge sliced the sword along one of the balancing posts. Without any apparent effort from him, a transparent peel of wood curled up from the stump.

“Sharper than a razor. It will never rust or dull,” Hosea said. “It’s called a rapier.”

Finch’s Helix formed a lance, which he took to immediately. He used it like a human slingshot, propelling himself through the air. When his demonstration was done, Finch secured his lance against his hip and grinned.

Hosea turned to Voltaire and me. I had avoided looking directly at her. But now I glanced her way, taking in her masculine dress. Worker women covered their short hair with colorful scarves. Voltaire’s head was intentionally uncovered, to fool others into overlooking her true sex. It was easy to guess why she hid herself. She was a woman maintaining dominance amidst men, any one of which could best her in a physical altercation. No doubt she, like myself, hoped the Helix would even the playing field.