Althea jerked awake – eyes wide-open – felt something electric in the air, shivered, her fingers twitching. She held her breath, listened for the sound that could have awoken her, then let it out. It was quiet: just her breath, weak flapping of the tent, hums just at the border of her hearing, nothing out of the ordinary.

It was still dark.

Althea, wake up.

You must wake up.

His voice still sounded wrong to her, over the tiny speakers, not inside her head, inside her mind. She calmed her breathing, wanting to delay the inevitable.

“Sorry, I was–” she hesitated, resisting the desire to lie, knowing the answer to her question before she asked it.

“What is it Dorian?”

It’s time, he told her. She tensed, awaiting the news. Transmissions have been sent.

She took in a breath, haltingly.

“Already?” she whispered. They had just found – they had found the plant… of course.

They are unmistakable, he confirmed.

Althea flexed her fingers – made fists.

There has been a response.

She gritted her teeth.

You do not have much time, Dorian told her.

No, no time at all.

You must act, he urged.

“I was hoping–”

She pulled herself up to a sitting position, leaned forwards, arms hugging her legs, felt the cold draft seeping through the edges of the blanket.

“I still have a choice,” she forced out. “Don’t I?”

There is potentially enough time to flee, but do you understand the consequences if you run?

“I won’t have to kill them,” she replied.

Do I have to repeat what you told me? Why you needed to resolve this with haste?

Her fingers caressed his casing – seeking connection to his codestream would mean his destruction, at the very least, if she was compelled again. By her side, her projector rested. Althea picked it up, felt the cold solidity of it, noted its single green light glowing – ready for use.

You must make a decision.

Him or the greggas, her creation, her Macro – or it, or them.

Could she be forgiven – for deliberate killing, for murder?

“I’m not even sure it will work,” she told him.

Your theory is sound. You understand the engineering involved.

She pictured it, the act: sedating with the projector, locating the implant point, removal – testing – killing! The means to the end.

You chose them for a reason. They will die when the Macro is destroyed – either way.

Have you changed your mind? Are you going to flee?

She couldn’t change her mind. She had to overcome the revulsion, the fear – to get up – wishing there to be more time. With force of will, she took another deep breath, mechanically, robotically starting to gather what she needed, fumbled with her clothing – wasting time – delaying the inevitable.

You must act, Dorian raised his volume. Now!

“Easy for you to say,” she snapped at him, her clumsiness, the task ahead shredding her nerves. “You aren’t human. You don’t know how this feels… what it means. What it will make me.”

She was choosing him, not for the first time, over human beings.

I care about humanity Althea, he told her. I care about what will happen to them – to all of them.

She let her breath out slowly, nodded.

Just as you do, he told her gently. You know I am here with you, whatever your choice, whatever happens.

“I know,” she told him, mouthing an apology, offered a light last caress of his case. “It’s just–”

She was afraid; afraid of what she was about to do, afraid she couldn’t do it, afraid of what she was becoming, of what she was approaching. And as before, she was afraid of losing him. She couldn’t lose Dorian, not after all she’d lost, all she’d sacrificed. She would not lose him.

She would not allow herself to destroy him.

With renewed focus, Althea finished gathering what she needed, checked the energy store on the projector – it was almost full. The scanner, locater, the nantech needed for extracting the implant – her legs, to move her out of the tent, out into the bitter night – all were in perfect working order.

“I’m ready,” she told him as she waited for the right moment. “Wish me luck.”

Good luck, Althea.