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“This is asinine! You’re going to get yourself killed and then we’ll all be dead in the water.”
I turned back to him. “Then I will die either way because you will have to kill me to keep me from doing this.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” he said. “Tell her, Saga.”
“I’m not done,” I said. My voice was surprisingly strong sounding, though my hands were trembling.
“Saga,” Icarus said again.
The old man looked from Icarus to me and back again. From the corner of my eye, I spied Zed clenching and unclenching his fists, as if he was preparing to fight us all to get his way. Finally, Saga said, “Let her finish.”
Icarus opened his mouth, but Saga’s death glare shut him down.
“While inside, I will have three goals—to save Zed’s people, kill Pontius Morordes, and blow up his lab.”
Saga’s eyes narrowed with anger. He hadn’t wanted this inf
ormation shared with Zed.
“Who’s Pontius Morordes and what lab?” Zed said, as if on cue.
I quickly gave him a run-down of Dr. Death’s sins. “If we are going to take the risk of breaking out your friends then we must ensure that our goals are also met. In this case, destroying the Troika’s ability to produce synthetic blood.”
When I finished speaking, his eyes, which were so recently bashful, turned hard. “And if it comes down to a choice between the goals?”
“I will do everything in my power to avoid having to make that choice.”
He watched me for a moment. I met his glare levelly, but inside I was praying to every divine entity I’d ever heard of to help me never have to make that choice.
“Wait,” Icarus said, “there’s no way in hell we can send you in.”
I put my hands on my hips, prepared for him to tell me I wasn’t a strong enough leader or that I couldn’t hack the mission because I was too weak.
“They’ll recognize you.”
My hands dropped. “Shit.”
“What? Why?” Zed asked.
“Carmina has been the poster child the Troika has used for years to keep the humans in the camps in line. When I was in my camp, there was a massive poster of her hanging over the entrance.” He refused to look at me, as if my face suddenly brought back really horrible memories.
My stomach cramped. Icarus never talked about his time in the camps, but that alone meant it was probably worse than I could ever imagine. Back when I was still the Troika’s poster girl for obedient humans, they’d taken publicity photos of me in a worker’s uniform looking perky for the camera. It sickened me to think that my image now hung over the heads of downtrodden humans to inspire them to work harder.
“Then Icarus will have to lead us.” This was from Zed, who didn’t know any better.
His words ignited instant responses from the others. Icarus’s skin paled and his eyes hardened as he glared at the kid. Dare stepped forward and slightly in front of Icarus, as if to close ranks and protect him. Rabbit rose from the floor and got out of the way, as if he expected Icarus to beat the kid up for the mere suggestion.
“Out of the question.” Saga’s voice was like a gavel’s strike.
“Why?” Zed asked.
“First, Icarus escaped the camps in a particularly memorable way, so they’re just as likely to recognize him as they would Carmina.”
“And second?” Icarus raised his chin high.
“We can’t risk that you’d get in the camps and have some sort of breakdown.”
I flinched because it was the truth. Icarus’s mouth pressed into a thin line and his gaze sought the floor. Seeing him cowed like that made me wish he would fight. But it was no use. We all knew that going back to the camps would be too much for him. Icarus was stronger than his ruined hand and burn scars might indicate, but emotional trauma was a handicap that even the most physically capable person couldn’t escape.
