NOEMI’S STOMACH TWISTS WITH FEAR AS SIMON DROPS through the wreckage down to them. Above her she hears more rustling; when she looks up she sees a disembodied mech hand crawling along the ceiling like a spider. Simon’s still playing with his toys.

Abel is oblivious. The sheer wonder of finding another mech like himself must’ve overwhelmed all his rational instincts. He holds one hand out toward Simon. “It sounds like you two have met,” Abel says. “We’re friends, just like you and I are friends.”

“She’s not my friend. I don’t like her.” Simon sounds like the playground bully. She wonders if that’s the kind of kid he was, or if it’s the kind he remembers hiding from. There’s no telling how he behaved or what he experienced during his life as a little boy. What remains is neither human nor mech—and while Abel brought together the best of those worlds, Simon may be bringing together the worst.

You’re just freaking out because of his—toys, she tells herself. Maybe we can set things right. Abel can if anyone can.

But she keeps her eyes on the hand crawling closer along the wall.

Meanwhile, Abel’s smiling. “Noemi can be rude and abrasive at first meeting. You just have to get to know her.”

“Abel,” she says. The word comes out breathy and hushed; it’s like the sight of Abel near this thing has stolen her strength. “Obviously you’ve met Simon, but I don’t know if you understand who he is—”

“He’s Gillian’s son and Mansfield’s grandson.”

Noemi blinks. “Okay. The thing is, Gillian wants him back, and Mansfield wants him deactivated.”

Abel turns back to her, and the expression on his face shocks her to the core. She hadn’t known he could feel true rage. “Deactivated?”

Maybe just this once Burton Mansfield has a point? But no. She can’t give up on Simon so easily. “He’s doing strange things with the broken mechs. It’s like he’s—controlling them.”

“They’re my toys,” says Simon. He tilts his head the way a curious dog might. The effect is much less endearing. “She doesn’t like my toys. Noemi blows them up.”

Abel brightens, like this is somehow a positive turn in the conversation. “My friend’s temper is highly variable. But I’ve learned her kindness is the truer part of her character. She understands that mechs like us aren’t merely mechs. That we’re something more. Not so very different from other people—”

“I’m not like other people.” Simon stumbles back. He’s still awkward in his new body. “Other people don’t have all this yelling in their heads. I want it to stop. Why won’t it stop?”

“What you’re perceiving as ‘yelling’ is probably your databanks giving you raw information.” Abel’s smile could break Noemi’s heart. He wants so badly to think that Simon is like him. “I can help you learn how to prioritize memory bank input versus current sensory intake. I mean—I can teach you to change the yelling to whispers. Then you won’t mind listening.”

“Abel,” she says in a low tone. “Simon’s the one who sent the mechs after me in the theater.”

Finally, that gets through. Abel looks back at her, concern furrowing his brow. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“I did it! I did it!” This small child in the dimly lit hallway laughs as a severed hand crawls toward him as its master—and somehow his laughter is the scariest part. “My toys are my friends. Real friends. They do whatever I want them to do. They help me.”

Noemi clutches at the sleeve of Abel’s thick white coat. “Please, let’s go.”

“It’s all right…” Abel’s voice trails off as the broken mechs at their feet begin to twitch.

As obliterated as these mechs are, they’re trying to respond to Simon. A detached arm crawls toward them, pulling itself forward with its bloodied metal fingers. A Sugar model rolls onto her side, kicking at Noemi’s feet. Hopping sideways to avoid that, she pulls more insistently at Abel. “We have to get out of here before he calls more of them.”

Of course Abel wants to talk technological breakthroughs. “You’re controlling other mechs? Remotely? That’s a remarkable advance, Simon. Can you explain the method of your—”

“No!” Simon balls his hands into fists. “They’re mine!”

The Uncle on the floor grabs at Abel’s leg but misses. Its motion distracts Noemi from the Sugar reaching for her blaster.

At the first tug, Noemi manages to pull the blaster back, barely. She fires, destroying the Sugar with a single blaster bolt. As its remains collapse and clatter, the disembodied hand drops down on her, skittering its fingers through her hair. All the battles she’s lived through can’t stop her from screaming as she slaps it away from her.

“Noemi?” Abel’s trying to look after her and beat back half a George at the same time.

She takes Abel’s hand and runs away from Simon—trusting, praying, that Abel will follow her instead of pulling back.

He does. They dash from the theater, footsteps thudding so heavily that she can’t tell whether any of the mechs are chasing them. It doesn’t matter where they go, as long as it’s somewhere else.

They find a pair of doors that lead them into what was once a kitchen, and Abel manages to slide them soundly shut before any of the other mechs can follow. For a few seconds, they stand there in silence. Noemi finally catches her breath. “What’s wrong with him?”

Abel’s blue eyes lock on hers with a gravity she hasn’t seen in him since he offered to die for Genesis more than five months before. “Simon’s only confused and afraid.”

“That’s what I thought at first. But what he’s doing with the other mechs—the way he’s lashing out, denying his human side—he’s dangerous.”

Abel’s expression is hard to recognize. It takes Noemi a few seconds to realize that he just doesn’t believe her. “I realize Simon has problems, but he can’t be… written off so completely. Not yet. You don’t understand.”

“…I guess maybe I don’t.”

“You needed a while to understand me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” Noemi’s pretty sure this isn’t the same kind of thing at all, but they can talk about it some other time.

It hits her all over again: I get to talk to Abel. He’s here. The one person in the galaxy who’s ever completely seen me, known me—he’s here. What does that mean for her, for them?

She doesn’t know. Can’t know, not with all of this going on. Noemi is certain only that she’s happier to see Abel than she’s ever been to see anybody—and that their chances of getting through this have more than doubled, now that they’re together.

“We should return to the bridge,” Abel says. “Otherwise Fouda will suspect me of deserting Remedy, and Riko and the others will begin to worry.”

“And we have to get those relay codes.” She doesn’t really understand how the codes work—how Remedy itself works—but if that’s what Ephraim told Abel, she’s going with it. “Genesis doesn’t have much time.”

“Your fear for your world goes far beyond concern for your own survival,” Abel says as they begin walking along the glass-strewn corridor, taking what must be an indirect way back to the bridge. “You’ve always been selfless. My programming ranks it as one of the highest virtues—and my consciousness agrees.”

Does he balance those two? Interesting. They’ll have to talk about that sometime. “Saving my own planet hardly counts as selfless. I mean, that’s my home. That’s almost everyone I’ve ever known.”

“I’ve lived among humans for more than five months now, working as a Vagabond. This has given me far more insight into human beings than I had before. While what you say is logical, I have found that, when conditions become difficult, most people are quick to save themselves without thinking of others. You supersede that selfishness.”

Noemi shakes her head. She’s hardly the best person she knows. She’s one of the most mixed up, one of the angriest. “I don’t think I’m anything special.”

“I disagree.” His eyes meet hers with warmth that reminds her—suddenly, vividly—of their one kiss.

Flustered, she says, “Protecting Genesis is what I’ve trained for my whole life.”

Abel seems to consider his words carefully before replying. “I’ve come to believe that even humans have a Directive One. A call they’ll always answer, or a goal they can never stop trying to achieve. Something that will always override everything else. Mine is my need to protect Burton Mansfield. Yours is your loyalty to Genesis. Whether it’s a matter of virtue, as I believe, or training, as you believe—it makes no difference. You remain constant.”

“You defeated your Directive One to save my life. You didn’t even flinch.”

He says only, “Maybe I’m programming a new Directive One for myself.”

She flushes again, but it doesn’t fluster her so much this time. It feels… nice. Noemi hugs him tightly, and for a little while, it doesn’t matter that they’re on a hidden planet, in a crashed spaceship turned upside down. The terrible crises that they have to resolve both on the Osiris and back on Genesis haven’t gone away, but in this moment, at least, everything is exactly as it should be.

“Where the hell have you been?” Captain Fouda demands of Abel. His smile reminds Noemi of the versions of sharks native to Genesis. He leans back in the captain’s chair, which he’s gone to the trouble of setting up on the new floor. “A mech can’t work any faster than that?”

“Noemi!” Riko emerges from a side room off the bridge. She looks strained—red-eyed and pale—but no wonder, and at least her smile is genuine. “Where were you guys? I’m glad you’re okay.”

“That makes two of us,” Noemi says, though there’s a limit to how safe she can feel with Gillian Shearer’s poison ampule still embedded in her arm.

When Riko hugs her, she returns the embrace. It feels like too warm a welcome; Noemi’s never made peace with the radical wing of Remedy, and the events of the past couple of days haven’t encouraged her to improve her opinion. But when Noemi and Abel first met Riko she showed them compassion—and Harriet and Zayan, too. That’s worth at least one hug.

Riko’s happiness seems to have drained Fouda’s to oblivion. He sits upright. “Wait. I know you. You’re the one who threatened to breach the hull and kill us all!”

“You were threatening to kill me first.” Noemi folds her arms across her chest. “I’m not going to apologize for defending myself. That’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

Angry as Fouda is, he seems to recognize she has a point. “Why were you helping those parasites? They tried to hide an entire world from humanity!”

She could answer that she’d made the only allies she could, that justice is best served by sharing this world rather than punishing its would-be thieves, or several other things. With Captain Fouda, though, the best defense seems to be a good offense. “You didn’t bother reporting this to the rest of the galaxy either. Were you going to claim Haven for yourselves? If so, you’re no better than the passengers.”

Sure enough, Fouda flushes. “We only wanted to establish ourselves here first, to make it hard for Earth to conceal it again.”

“And of course to set yourselves up as the planetary leaders,” Abel interjects. “The hunger for power is an ordinary human failing. In this case, however, it appears you intended to use that power for the common good… more or less.”

We have got to talk more about tact, Noemi thinks. But dealing directly with Fouda is more important. “The relay codes,” she says. “We need them to save Genesis.”

“And you’ll get them.” Fouda nods, squaring his shoulders, but Noemi can see the traces of shame in his expression. “As soon as the two of you have helped us fully claim this vessel from the passengers. They’ve taken the docking bay, which means we have no craft to reach their shelter. Until we have that, we’re powerless.”

She’s surprised the passengers had the sense to secure the docking bay. “You’re holding an entire planet hostage?”

“No. The passengers are. Only when we have freed Haven will we help save Genesis—so make sure the passengers comply.”

Fouda’s trying to be proud of his pronouncement. Yet the murmurs around them suggest not every member of Remedy feels the same way. Many of them frown and cross their arms, unhappy that their virtuous mission is turning into a power play.

So how do I best save Genesis? Noemi wonders. By defeating the passengers or by arranging a mutiny against Captain Fouda? The mutiny would probably take longer—

The comm unit next to the captain’s chair begins to buzz. Fouda grabs it. “Yes?”

“Captain Fouda?” Gillian Shearer’s voice cuts through the static, as if defying the signal to muffle her words. “Shearer here. I need to speak with you.”

“How did you get this frequency?” Fouda demands.

“Process of elimination,” is Gillian’s only reply. Tension renders every word taut. “We’ve been able to review certain security data as well, and now I have reason to believe you’re in possession of a mech named Abel. He may not have told you he was a mech—”

“They’re aware of my nature,” Abel says. After a pause, he adds, “Hello, Gilly.”

That must’ve been what he called her when she was a little girl. It’s so strange for Noemi to think of him knowing her then—caring about her—

“I knew you’d come.” Gillian’s breath catches. “I knew you couldn’t stay away, not when Father needed you. He needs you now more than ever. Oh, Abel—he’s dying. Today. This hour. Please, come quickly.”

Even the raw pain in Gillian Shearer’s voice wouldn’t stop Noemi from telling her to go to hell. But the expression on Abel’s face does. He’s not angry. Not closed off.

Oh, my God, Noemi thinks. He wants to go to Mansfield.

He’s still controlled by Directive One.