Forty-three
Keelin burnt with a fever. Inside, she was fractured, two halves of her mind at war.
She’d killed her commander, but he wanted to die, and he wasn’t her new commander. She watched her sisters slaughter like the machines they were, and she was equally attracted and repelled by their actions. She knew she must obey Murdoch whatever he said, but she also wanted to crush the life from his body.
Her head pounded.
On the screen, she saw the group approach the Proteus, and that triggered memories too. Faces she knew, people she had worked with. Names rose—Piran Remis, Eljin Galanis. One a tech expert, the other a pilot. Like her. They’d escaped Haven when she flew the Hermes up to Metis. And they’d been with her in quarantine, before Kaiahive took her.
More memories rose, dark
