Ampersand’s posture, no longer racked with so much hopelessness, had changed, and he had moved himself between her and Enola. Ampersand, as graceful as he ever was, was a stark contrast to Enola’s movement, jerky and violent and fast, terrifyingly fast. If there was any conversation happening between them, it was in network language, not spoken Pequod-phonemic. What that conversation was she could not tell, but she sensed that Ampersand was trying and failing to reason with Enola, Not now, I have made an agreement, please let me honor it. We just have to wait, but not now, not now, don’t take her, too, don’t punish her. Not now!

Enola moved with that terrifying speed like a jumping spider, and Cora knew she wouldn’t have the luxury of being able to coordinate or strategize with Ampersand. For this one instant, Enola seemed to have forgotten that she was even there, and she used that opportunity to reach for the pulse emitter in the pocket of her hoodie. She managed to tap it, not quite press it, before Enola’s eyes found her, and a telekinetic hand smacked her across the room with the force of a truck, separating her from the pulse emitter, which flung itself all the way against the wall. There was a pulse, a tiny pulse, but not enough.

Cora tumbled so far, the wheel of a decommissioned airplane was the only thing that stopped her careening. Ampersand stumbled, falling down and trying to steady himself by rising up on his wrist joints. Enola stumbled, too, but seemed less affected by the pulse, calmly turning his head toward Cora like an owl, his eyes like television static. Cora braced for something else, another shove, or something out of Obelus’s playbook, but nothing happened. He didn’t have the power, not yet.

Most of their subroutines were still running, she figured, but the ones that required the most power seemed to be down—the remote electromagnetic manipulation, the telekinesis, and their shields.

Their shields.

She looked to where the pulse emitter had skidded over by the surveillance wall. Knowing that Enola couldn’t grab her with his invisible hand at this instant, she lunged for the pulse emitter. In those eternal seconds, no more than two of them, she was propelled by the assumption that Enola would try to stop her. That he would either try to restrain her, or take the pulse emitter for himself. The lack of movement from the corner of her eye was what made her chance a look in his direction. He was not pursuing her, but was instead standing over Ampersand’s body, one hand around his midsection, the other around his neck.

“IF THIS IS HOW IT IS TO BE,” said Enola, “THEN IT CANNOT BE DONE HUMANELY.”