Sarya doesn’t have to go through with this insanity—
No. This is on her.
She draws a breath, and it seems to take forever. The sentence that is being formed in her brain, the one that’s about to be sent to her lips and vocal cords? Ridiculous, says her mind. One does not simply fool a mind the size of a thousand planets, no matter how drunk He is. Roche is right: everything she has done, Observer has expected. He formed her entire species, and His trillion minds have studied her as an individual. He is drawn together here, larger than He’s ever been, which means He is more intelligent than He’s ever been. Even when they were more evenly matched, back in the Blackstar, He was able to sway her with no more than a few words.
But that doesn’t mean anything, does it? Even if all of this is useless, it is her responsibility to try. Clichéd as it is, it’s true.
The galaxy has to want to work.
“Depart,” says Roche under his breath. He is rocking forward and backward in his seat, anxious. “Take off. Launch.”
“Ship,” she says, feeling those five gazes burning her skin. Please work please work please work—
“Input command,” says the ship.
And then the hatch dissolves into nothingness. Framed in the light of the corridor is a small figure in a tunic.
“Knock knock!” says Observer with a smile.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” says Sarya tightly. She almost gets the sentence out without cracking her voice. She keeps every muscle under the tightest of attempted control, but she knows she is shaking.
“Not make it?” says the Observer, laying a small hand on its chest. “I designed tonight’s entertainment. Did you think I was going to miss the grand finale?”
It feels like a game, like two players facing off across a board. Except now, she’s not even sure who the players are. “I could take off,” she says. “It would kill every one of you on the ship.”
“Would it?” says the Observer. “You might get the ones still in the corridors, but what about the thirty-one other control rooms? The crew quarters? The hangar? Did you even know this ship had all those things? Do you even know how big it is, how many of Me can fit on it?”
“It would be a good start,” she says through her teeth.
“Fine, let’s say you do that,” says Observer. “Then you’re going to, what, fly this thing up to My Human habitat, and…steal it, I believe you said? Steal the thing closest to My many hearts?” He glances, through multiple sets of eyes, at her five companions. “And you all thought this was a great plan.”
“It was something,” rumbles Mer.
It’s only a single sentence, but it warms Sarya from head to toe. Mer believes in her—or he did, at least—and that fact gives her courage. “My species is not anywhere near Your hearts,” she says. “You don’t want us. You want what we’ll do for You.”
Now there is an actual crowd churning in the corridor. Through the holograms in the center of the space, she watches them ignore Mer and Roche entirely, their eyes fixed on her. Mer’s fur is on end and his talons are clearly visible, but Roche appears to be doing everything he can to take up less space.
“I want what everyone wants,” says Observer with several smiles. “I want to remake the universe.”
“That is not what everyone wants,” says Sarya. She is vaguely aware that her good hand is gripping its armrest to the point of pain, but her focus is elsewhere.
“Oh, whatever,” says Observer, dismissing her sentence with multiple identical waves. “Like anyone thinks things can’t be improved. I know it’s what you want. I’ve watched you your entire life, and I know exactly how you think. The first thing you did, when you got a little power, was to remake this little corner of the galaxy.”
“I tried to make it better,” she says softly.
“No,” says Observer. “You tried to make it better for you. You are a Human. Humans want a place where they are free to do what they want. Where the strongest are free to make the rules. Which is, of course, exactly what you’ve created here.” Observer points upward, through the control room ceiling, and Sarya knows exactly what He is pointing to. He is pointing toward the curtain of fire that surrounds this Blackstar in all directions, and through it to the eight hundred newly freed