— “What is Amelia planning?” she asked reluctantly.
<
> Yago said. <>
“So?”
<>
“More recycling?”
<>
This news deeply depressed Tate. She didn’t want to play the hero. She just wanted to —
rest. Give up. Obviously, on the off chance that Yago was telling the truth, that wasn’t happening. She couldn’t die and leave the Troika cruising the universe. Who knew what kind of trouble they’d cause?
“We could breach the hull somehow,” Tate said. “Let the atmosphere out.”
<>
Tate stopped walking.
The answer was right in front of her Okay, not right in front of her. It was off to the left and about two hundred yards away. Close enough. A pit fitted out with several oddly proportioned chairs. Chairs where the aliens who had built this ship sat and connected with their über-computer.
Alberto had been the first among the Remnants to discover what the chairs really were. He’d been the first to hear Mother’s voice.
Back on Earth before the Rock, Alberto had been an engineer. He’d designed the solar sails on the Mayflower. He was a brilliant man and one with enough political savvy to get himself and his son two seats on the only ride off the doomed planet.
Connecting with Mother had driven him mad. He didn’t live for long after that.
Yago’d had a go in the chair next. He’d been arrogant enough to think it would be no big deal. He’d barely survived. But, since then, he’d had long periods when he insisted he was like a god, alternating with periods when he seemed to forget his divine status.
Only Billy had been Mother’s match. And Billy— Billy was not entirely human. He was something — more.
Tate was no Billy.
She was no Alberto even.
But — but… if she could somehow connect with Mother and control her — then she could do anything. She could destroy Amelia and Duncan and Charlie and go back to Earth just to make sure her friends weren’t waiting for her.
And — if it didn’t work, she would end up like Alberto … completely insane.
Having so little to hold her back made her bold.
But she was still afraid.
“Do it fast,” Tate whispered to herself.
Yago immediately figured out what she had in mind. He’d seen her looking toward the not-too-distant pit. He might be in a slightly weird situation, but he wasn’t stupid.
<> he said forcefully. <> Tate had never heard Yago’s voice so lacking in posturing or artifice. He sounded completely and honestly terrified.
“Shut up,” she said tonelessly. She walked quickly toward the pit, ignoring the steady stream of begging that Yago was letting loose. She hopped down into the pit and approached one of the chairs.
<>
“I wonder which chair is a good one,” Tate mused out loud. “Some of the connections to Mother are broken, aren’t they?”
<>
Tate ignored Yago’s pleas. She cautiously approached the closest chair and gingerly lowered herself into it. Maybe it won’t be so bad, she told herself shakily.
<> Yago screamed hysterically. <>
“I’m here. Mother,” Tate whispered, her voice hoarse with fear “Let’s you and I have a little chat, shall we?”
Tate braced herself for
