Page 19 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

“That is an excellent question I was preparing to ask with more stabbing,” Merra says.

“Crash debris,” I say.

Kessa does not blink. “That’s a partial answer wearing a bad cloak.”

“A what?”

“A lie with less courage.”

Silence settles over the room again. Her words strike closer than they should. I could tell them more. I do not.

“Do you want the warning or the anatomy?” I ask.

Kessa’s anger flashes hot. “I want the truth.”

“No,” I say. “You want safety.”

She flinches. That hit. Not enough to make her bleed. Enough to make her hate me more. Good. I know what to do with hate.

“There is no safety,” I say. “There is only what reaches you first and whether you are ready to cut it.”

“Is that what Krix taught you?” she asks.

I lean back despite the pain.

“Krix taught me that people who speak most often of safety usually own the locks.”

She glances at Adran. So she understands more than she wants to admit. Rosalind sets the sphere down fully.

“Enough philosophy. I need a place where the message can open.”

Kessa inhales, looks toward the door, and begins drawing on another slate. She keeps spares.

“There’s a dry cistern under East Three,” she says. “Old water channel, sealed after the wall cracked. No active sleeping quarters above it. No ration lines. No fever row. If the floor opens there, we lose storage stone and maybe two unused corridors, not people.”

Virn studies the sketch. “Bad air?”

“Likely.”

“Zemlja proximity?” Syin asks.

“Unknown.”

Adran’s mouth twists.

“Wonderful. We entrust the City’s future to a dead cistern with bad air.”

Kessa looks at him.

“Unless you’d like to open the alien warning beside the children’s broth line.”

A small sound moves through the chamber, but it is not laughter. Worse for Adran. Agreement.

Rosalind turns to Visidion. Their look carries years, war, command, and old grief. Then she nods.

“We move to the dry cistern,” she says. “Small group. No crowd. Kessa leads. Virn and Syin secure the route. Sera and Kavor stay behind.”

Sera almost objects. Rosalind’s face softens without weakening.