Jimex rose then, his entire white shirtfront covered in blood and bits of gummy residue, his face calm and unblinking. “For Ellenex,” he intoned.

“For Ellenex,” the others echoed, kneeling solemnly. Chanur’s blood was spreading across the floor; it touched their knees like dark paint.

Oh, God, Park thought, still feeling disembodied. As if she were floating somewhere above herself, looking down. What had they done? What had she done? She’d taught them how to murder—how to take revenge. Or enact justice. Or had they already known it, from the unity rain? A feverish kind of chill traveled up and down her arm; she was gripping the gun too tightly. What path had this set them on? What would happen to them now that they had incorporated violence into their new minds?

“What about Wan Xu?” Dylanex asked then, very matter-of-fact. He moved to crouch by Megex, laying a heavy, wide-boned hand on her shoulder; by some providence, she still seemed conscious, though she couldn’t sit up.

“Leave him,” Park forced herself to mumble. “He’s a coward, he won’t do anything without the others around to command him. He’ll be hiding somewhere. We can get him later. How is she?”

“Still alive,” Dylanex affirmed, looking down into Megex’s sweet blue eyes. She had fixed a reassuring smile on her face, as if to request that no one worry about her. “We can repair her. The shot clipped her motor nexus, but she retains what makes her—her.”

“Good,” Park said. “That’s good. I thought she—well. Let’s . . . let’s find a safe place for her to wait.”

Somewhere where she wouldn’t have to lie there and contemplate Chanur’s split-open head, she thought as they tucked Megex into one of the utility closets. She tried very hard not to look at it herself, but she felt the acute awareness of it pressing against her like a fever. Like a flame in the room that she couldn’t avoid. She prayed that Chanur hadn’t been telling the truth—that her relatives were not heading their way right now. She stopped herself from looking at Jimex’s bloody hands.

As if aware of her thoughts, he wiped them on his pants. Then he said, “There is another console, down there in the . . . lab. You can use that to send your message. It wouldn’t be safe for us to go to the other areas of the ship, not with Boone and Severov still around. At least we know this area is now secure.”

“All right,” Park said faintly. She did not want to argue with him anymore. “Are you—all right?”

“I was not harmed. Except for my shoulder. But it’s superficial damage—see?” The bullet had barely broken his skin. Park shook her head.

“I meant more about . . . No. Never mind.”