COUNT TO FIVE, NOEMI DECIDES.

If she’s cracking up—if the terror of the past few minutes has scrambled her mind to the point where she’s hallucinating—then this will all go away in a couple of seconds. If this is for real, the mech will be standing here waiting for orders when she’s done.

One. The mech remains still, expression curious and patient.

Two. Noemi takes a deep breath. She remains in her crouch, hand clutching her blaster so tightly her fingers have begun to cramp.

Three. Abel. The mech said its name was Abel. We were taught that there are twenty-five models of mech in the Mansfield Cybernetics line, alphabetical from B to Z. A was for a prototype.

Four. Abel’s face and posture haven’t shifted in the slightest. Would it stand here for an hour? A whole day? At any rate, it hasn’t made any move to get its weapon back.

Five.

Noemi grabs Abel’s blaster. “My friend in the docking bay—she needs medical help, now.”

“Understood. I’ll bring her to sick bay.” Abel takes off down the hallway so quickly that Noemi first thinks it’s escaping—but it’s apparently following her orders, just like it said it would.

Shoving herself to her feet, Noemi runs after the mech, unwilling to let the thing out of her sight even though she knows she can’t possibly keep up.

From Darius Akide’s lectures on mechs, Noemi knows the A model was an experimental model never put into mass production. Could the mech be lying about what it is? Its programming could potentially allow it to lie. But like everyone else on Genesis, she has memorized the faces of every single model of mech. According to her history books, they used to fear infiltration, in the early days of the Liberty War. What if the machines had walked among them, pretending to be human, spying on them all?

While the Queens and Charlies are most familiar to her, Noemi could identify any of Mansfield’s mechs on sight—and she’s never seen this Abel’s face before.

Okay, you found a prototype. It doesn’t matter how it got out here as long as you can use it. Take care of Esther and worry about the rest later.

Her footsteps pound a staccato drumbeat along the corridor as Noemi dashes back to the docking bay. Panting, she stops in the doorway to stare at the scene in front of her. Abel leans over Esther’s damaged fighter, gently scooping her into its arms. Esther’s head lolls back as she murmurs, “Who—who are—”

“It’s a mech,” Noemi calls as she ditches her nearly dead blaster, then holsters Abel’s to her side. “The ship has a fully equipped sick bay. See? We can take care of you.”

Abel moves slowly, deliberately, until Esther rests against its chest in a firm embrace. Then Noemi barely has time to get out of the way before it rushes out, moving at a speed no human could match.

When she gets all the way back up to sick bay, Esther’s lying on a biobed. Abel’s deft fingers move across the controls so swiftly they seem to blur. Noemi goes to Esther’s side and takes her hand.

“The sensors are still assessing her condition,” Abel reports. “But I predict they’ll confirm preliminary findings of internal bleeding, multiple pelvic fractures, and a mild-to-moderate concussion. If internal bleeding is confirmed, she’ll need an immediate transfusion. I’ve administered pain medication.”

Enough medication to leave Esther dazed, her eyes half closed and her facial muscles slack—Good, Noemi thinks. Esther needs that. And the nauseous weight in her gut lessens, because those injuries sound survivable. Fixable. At least, if this Abel mech actually knows what it’s doing. “How are you—” She has to stop and gulp in another few breaths before she can continue talking. “You’re one of the medical models? I thought—thought that was the Tare mech.”

“To the best of my knowledge, the Tare mech remains the primary medical model,” Abel says, as amiably as if they were having tea. The ozone-seared air still stinks of their battle only minutes before. “However, I am programmed with the knowledge, skills, and specialties of the entire Mansfield Cybernetics line.” It glances over from the readouts to study Noemi’s face for a moment. “You’re experiencing extreme shortness of breath. This shouldn’t represent an emergency unless you have any underlying medical conditions. Do you?”

“What? No.” It’s so strange, talking to a mech. Standing beside one. It feels just like standing next to a person, even though nothing could be further from the truth. “I just—pushed myself. That’s all.”

“You could’ve remained in sick bay instead of following me down,” it points out.

“I don’t trust you.”

“I wasn’t asking for a justification for your actions. Humans have many reasons for behaving in an inefficient or irrational manner.” Abel’s tone is so mild that it takes Noemi a moment to recognize the insult.

But that’s stupid. She’s anthropomorphizing a mech—a recruit’s mistake, one she should be past. Apparently this prototype’s innovations don’t include tact.

The dark, glistening stuff in the bags Abel brings out must be synthetic blood. He’s very sure about that transfusion. Some faiths on Genesis won’t use synthetic blood, others won’t accept transfusions at all, but Esther’s family doesn’t belong to one of those.

Noemi imagines the Gatsons standing before her, tall and pale, their expressions disapproving. How could you let this happen? they might say. You were supposed to protect our daughter. After everything we did for you, how could you let her be hurt?

Smoothly, the mech slips the needle into Esther’s skin. Not a flicker of discomfort shows on her face. Is she that doped up, or is the mech that good? Probably both, Noemi decides. While Abel works, she studies its—his face in greater depth. There really is something different about this one. He looks younger than most mechs, as if he’s perhaps two or three years older she is. Instead of the customary, blandly appealing mech features, he has a distinctive face with piercing blue eyes, a strong nose, and, if she recalls correctly, a slightly asymmetrical smile.

Why make a mech so… specific? And so advanced? Akide had told them that mechs were calibrated to the level of intelligence they required for their duties, nothing more. Extra intelligence would only be a complication, another way for a mech to break down. There were even laws against developing mech intelligence too far, or there had been, the last anyone on Genesis heard about Earth laws. If Abel is telling her the truth—and by now she believes he is—he represents a significant step forward in cybernetics development.

Except that he can’t be. This ship was abandoned many years ago. As she brushes a strand of hair away from Esther’s cheek, Noemi asks, “How long have you been aboard the Daedalus?”

“Not quite thirty years,” Abel says. “I can provide the exact time down to the nanosecond if required.”

“It isn’t.” It so, so isn’t.

“I doubted it would be.” Abel turns away from the medical readouts to face her directly. “Upon further examination, the patient’s liver appears to be ruptured, and the internal bleeding is more severe than initially indicated. Surgery will be required.”

Noemi’s abdomen knots in sympathetic pain. “But—if Esther loses her liver, she won’t survive.”

Abel walks away from the biobed, toward various storage chambers—even past a few cryosleep pods against the wall. “The Daedalus is stocked with artificial organs in case emergency transplants are needed.”

She bites her lower lip. Although Genesis has retained more medical technology than any other kind, artificial organs are used very rarely. Yes, life is precious and must be preserved, but death is accepted as a part of life. Unnaturally avoiding death is seen as an act of futility, sometimes even one of cowardice. The Gatsons are particularly strict about these things. They spent weeks debating whether or not Mr. Gatson should even have laser surgery on his eyes.

This is different. Esther’s only seventeen! She was injured trying to protect our world. Noemi didn’t sign up for the Masada Run only to have Esther die anyway. “All right,” she says. “All right. Do it.”

From the biobed comes a whisper: “Don’t.”

Noemi looks down to see Esther gazing up. Her skin, always fair, has turned waxen. One of her pale green eyes is horribly marred, deep red where it ought to be white. But she’s awake.

“It’s okay.” Noemi tries to smile. “I’m here. Do you need more pain meds?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Esther sighs deeply. Her eyelids droop, but for only a moment. She’s fighting so hard to stay awake. “No transplant.”

It’s like the chill of space outside the ship’s hull rushed in to freeze Noemi’s blood. She feels adrift, exposed, vulnerable. Like she’s the one in mortal danger instead of Esther. “No, no, it’s all right. This is an emergency—”

“It would make me part machine. That isn’t human life. Not the life I was given.”

Please, God, no. God doesn’t speak to Noemi’s heart, no matter how often she prays for guidance. But maybe he’ll speak to Esther’s. Show her it’s more important to stay alive no matter what. The Gatsons raised them so strictly, and Esther’s always obeyed her parents. Now, though—who could argue with this?

“Esther, please.” Noemi’s voice has begun to shake. “If you don’t have the transplant, you’ll die.”

“I know.” Esther feebly moves her hand, searching for Noemi’s; Noemi takes it and hangs on tight. Esther’s skin is growing cold. “I knew as soon as the mech tore through my ship. Please—don’t argue while we’re saying good-bye—”

“To hell with good-bye!” Noemi will make this up to Esther later. “You. Abel. Perform the transplant.”

Abel, who’s been standing in the middle of sick bay through this entire conversation, shakes his head no. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“You just said you had all the talents of every mech ever! Were you lying?”

“I don’t mean that I am incapable of performing the transplant.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think Abel was offended. “And I cannot lie to you, as my commander.”

“That’s right. I’m your commander.” Noemi seizes onto this, the one weapon she has that might make Abel stop arguing and move, dammit. “So you have to follow my orders, and I’m ordering you to perform the transplant.”

“Noemi—” Esther whispers. The weakness in her voice slices through Noemi like a blade, but she doesn’t let herself look away from the mech. Abel is Esther’s only hope.

He doesn’t take a single step closer as he says, “Your authority over me is subject to a few strictly limited exceptions. One of those exceptions is that I must obey the wishes of a medical patient regarding end-of-life decisions. Esther’s choice is therefore final.”

Damn, damn, damn! The same programming that saved her life is endangering Esther’s. Why would Mansfield build legions of killing machines and then program them with mock morality? Just one more way the people of Earth fool themselves into accepting the machines in their midst, like the human skin and hair. Noemi wants to scream at Abel but knows it would do no good. Programming is final. Absolute.

Instead she bends closer to Esther, brushing her friend’s pale-gold hair away from her face. “If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. We’re on this spaceship out in the middle of nowhere, and I need your help to—to—”

But it’s not help she needs. It’s Esther herself. Noemi knows she’s only made one real friend in her life, but she only ever needed one, because it was Esther, who knew every awful thing about her and loved her anyhow. Noemi’s bad temper and awkwardness and distrust—the same stuff that pushed Mr. and Mrs. Gatson and Jemuel and everybody else away—Esther was the only person who didn’t think those things mattered. The only one who ever would.

A sob bubbles up in Noemi’s throat, but she chokes it back to whisper, once again, “Please. You’re supposed to be the one who goes back. You’re the one who’s going to make it.” The one who can be happy. The one who can be good, who can love and be loved. Noemi can only be the one left over.

“You were willing to die for me,” Esther says. For one moment she’s really able to focus on Noemi; maybe the blood flowing into her is helping a little. “At least now you won’t have to. Not if you take your name off the list. You can now. Promise me you will.”

“Esther—”

“Tell Mom and Dad I love them.”

Abel chooses this moment to interrupt. “I had a thought.”

“Is it about getting around your idiotic programming?” Noemi snaps. Oh, why did she have to say it like that? She doesn’t want Esther to hear her being mean, not now.

“Cryosleep.” Abel points at the pods against the wall. “Often even severely injured people can be successfully put into cryosleep. If she weren’t brought out of it until an organ could be cloned, perhaps—”

Esther wouldn’t agree to cloning either, but cryosleep would be okay. What they’d do after that… Noemi doesn’t have to think of that now. She can leave it to the doctors once they’re back on Genesis. “Yes! Please, yes, put her in cryosleep!”

“I’ll check on the pods.” Abel’s on it in an instant, finally making himself useful again. But after a few moments, he pauses. “I’m afraid the cryosleep pods’ power source was damaged in the attack on the Daedalus thirty years ago.”

“Isn’t there any way around it?” On a ship this size, Noemi knows, every vital system should have backup.

“Normally the ship’s main grid would provide backup power, but I took that offline.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me!”

“I am now,” Abel says, his tone maddeningly even. “I wasn’t when you first boarded the ship. At that point you were considered an intruder and—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Noemi’s almost screaming by now, and she doesn’t care. “Just bring the main grid back up!”

Abel nods and rushes toward sick bay’s main computer interface. Noemi takes a deep breath to steady herself before she leans back down toward Esther. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispers. “We’ve got a plan now.…”

Esther’s eyes are closed. She doesn’t hear. Noemi looks up at the biobed and sees the dark truth the sensors reveal: Esther is dying. Right now. This moment.

“Esther?” Noemi touches her friend’s shoulder, stricken. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Please, God, please, if you won’t give me anything else, at least let me tell her good-bye. He’s never answered Noemi before, but if he does now, she’ll believe forever. I have to tell her good-bye.

The sensors flatline. Esther is gone.

In the very next instant, every computer interface in sick bay brightens to full illumination. The damned mech brought power back online just as soon as it was too late to save Esther.

Noemi stands as if frozen, staring down at Esther. Her eyes well with tears, but it’s like they’re crying without her. Instead of sobbing or shaking, she feels as if she’ll never move again.

She’s in heaven now. Noemi should believe that. She does, mostly, but the knowledge doesn’t comfort her. The words only echo in the hollow space that has replaced her heart. She finds herself remembering her family’s funeral more vividly than she has in years—the high winds that blew, tugging at everyone’s hair and clothes, and stealing the priest’s words before Noemi could really hear them. The way Noemi stared down into the grave and tried to imagine her parents lying there, baby Rafael between them, looking up at the sky for the last time before they were covered by dirt forever. More than anything else, she remembers Esther standing near her, all in black, crying as hard and loud as Noemi herself. Years later Esther had revealed that she made herself cry, so Noemi wouldn’t be alone.

Now Esther’s gone, too, and instead of being held close and told she was loved, she had to die listening to Noemi shriek at someone in anger. That ugly moment was the last one Esther ever knew.

It’s dangerous—being angry at God—but Noemi can’t deny the bitter rage she feels at this one last proof that she isn’t enough for God, for the Gatsons, for anyone at all.

The long silence is broken by Abel’s voice. “I didn’t attempt resuscitation because failure was all but certain. Her internal blood loss was too great. We would’ve had to begin the transfusion much earlier to save her.”

“Or we could’ve gotten her into cryosleep.” Noemi turns to stare at the mech. He stands near the computer interface, very still, so obviously unsure what to do that he looks almost human. This doesn’t move her; it enrages her. “If you hadn’t wasted time trying to kill me, Esther might still be alive! We could have put her into cryosleep and saved her!”

Abel doesn’t respond at first. But finally he says, “You are correct.”

As many times as Noemi has gone into battle against Earth forces—as many times as she’s seen friends and fellow soldiers torn apart by their mechs—she thought she knew how to hate with her whole heart. But she didn’t.

Now, only now, as she stares at the machine responsible for her best friend’s death, does Noemi feel what hatred really is.