She pulled away from the memory then, repulsed by her own lie. Stunned by herself, her inhuman coldness. The presence clamored for more, but Park slid away from the scene. She was aware that she was dreaming—but even in sleep, she did not want to relive that moment.

What happened next happened fast, like a flash from a camera. A feeling suddenly pulsed into Park’s brain, as quickly as a static shock. It felt as if someone had turned on a light, illuminating parts of her mind that she hadn’t known were dark. Park felt a headache kick up in her physical body, but did not feel it in the dream: she inhabited the two things at once, sensation and not-sensation, disconnected pain and disembodied strength.

The light in her mind grew and grew. Then sounds came to her, distant and incomprehensible. Gradually her mind made sense of them, of the scene that was piecing itself together in front of her. It was as if she was looking at the world through fractaled eyes, as if she was everywhere and nowhere at once, looking at distant shapes from a hundred different directions. Her brain struggled to process the shapes into one cohesive picture, thrashing against having to unify so many different perspectives. But eventually she understood what she was seeing. She was looking at Fulbreech. And Natalya.

They were arguing in the bridge, Natalya seated by a control panel, Fulbreech pacing restlessly. Both were heedless of her presence. Park felt a slow-moving, glacial anger shift within her and opened her mouth to speak, but found somehow that she lacked a mouth. When she made to step forward, she felt rooted in place. Icy terror shot up her spine for a moment, but she told herself to stay calm and observe—just as she had always done.

Fulbreech was saying, “This is wrong. You all lied to me. It was never supposed to happen like this—”

“Things happen,” Natalya gritted out. Chanur came into view, holding up her med-kit; comfortably, with the familiarity of old friends, she lifted Natalya’s hair and began to scan the back of her neck for injuries. “We didn’t lie. But plans change. We’re doing it this way now.”

“We weren’t supposed to take Park and Sagara as hostages. You think your sister’s going to be proud of you for that?”

“Don’t speak to me about pride,” she flared, beginning to stand up. Chanur tutted and pushed her back into her seat. “We had no pride, no dignity back there; we can have it now! We were slaves for the ISF, all of us. This way we can be free.”

“But at what cost?” Fulbreech demanded, throwing up his hands. “Is it worth it if you have to kill? Wick was a good man: you didn’t have to murder him. You could have knocked him out, tied him up—”