He hides me, and they’ll trash his stuff if they figure it out. He gives me up, and he has to watch what happens next.
I see the moment I become invisible to him, as his gaze slides away and he hails the next buyer. I curl into a ball, hugging myself, trying to keep my breathing quiet.
Here and now, my breath seems to freeze in my throat, and I’m straight into another memory.
I’m in a club, looking for someone to hustle, the music pumping through my veins, sweat sticking to my skin as bodies writhe around me. I push through the crowd and come face to face with her –Sabrina Barr– her tattooed gems picked out with crystals for the night, her usual fatigues switched for a sheath dress.
I freeze as her hand comes up to steady herself. Our eyes lock. I see the moment she makes me, recognition clicking into place.
My hands come up too, ready to shove her away backward, to twist and plunge onto the dance floor. But she grabs my wrist, her hand closing around it like a vise.
‘Easy,’ she says, raising her voice above the thumping bass. And then, impossibly, she winks. ‘I’m not on the clock right now. I’m only an asshole for money.’
And then she releases me and turns away, and I’m left dry-mouthed and shaking, cradling my wrist as if it’s been burned.
Sabrina’s not a terrible human, but when she’s paid to do a job, she does it. In my experience, Sabrina doesn’t do nice jobs. If she’s here, this is … yeah. Not a good time to be here too.
I turn my head toward Hunter, and his gaze is waiting for me, eyes huge. He might not see any familiar faces, but he’s obviously figured out the same thing I have.
Whatever the next seven hours and fifteen minutes hold, it’s going to be bad, bad news.
7.
HUNTER
7 HOURS, 13 MINUTES REMAINING
IFOLLOWCLEO DOWNthe hallway and around a corner, my breath coming too fast, sweat prickling the back of my neck.
Glancing over her shoulder, she shoves her fingertips into the seal between two sliding doors and, with a soft grunt of effort, levers them open. I slide my own hands in to help her, and together we keep them apart long enough to slip through before they close behind us.
We’re in … is this living quarters? It can’t be; it’s smaller than the room I had on the ship out from Earth. I could cross this whole space in three long strides, and there arefourbunks in here.
Just like the commander’s desk, this place was abandoned on a moment’s notice. Beds are unmade, and a kid’s remote-controlled toy rover lies in the middle of the floor. And none of that matters, because we just saw a bunch of criminals take over the station. Why am I looking at toys?
‘What the hell?’ I whisper. ‘What thehell? Who are those people?’
Cleo shakes her head, leaning back against the closed doors like she wants to block them with her body. She’s rattled, lips parting as she reaches for words – then she presses them tightly together again and shakes her head once more.
She’s an engineering student. This must be so, so far from her world. I mean, it’s not like I hang around with criminals all day – or at least, people keep it to white-collar crime in my circles – but the idea of a threat isn’t new to me.
I should try to comfort her so she doesn’t shut down – it’ll be even harder to get us out of this if she freaks out. But what can I say that won’t sound like I’m delusional? It’s definitelynotgoing to be okay.
Still, I came out here to show my mother that I could do this – that I could lead.
‘Okay.’ I’m surprised how steady my voice sounds. ‘The first thing is to try and let someone know we’re alive in here. Carefully, in case our new friends are monitoring comms.’ I spin around to find the inhabitants’ personal console, set into the wall. ‘Can you hot-wire this one too?’
‘Probably easier than out there,’ Cleo says, crossing over to inspect it. ‘Lower security.’ She takes her gloves from me and shoves them into her belt, hesitates, then unseals her helmet and sets it down beside her. Then she starts to unzip her suit. ‘Safe to do this, I guess, if they’ve taken theirs off.’ Her voice is warmer, richer, now it’s not being piped through the helmet’s external mic.
She peels the suit down to her waist and ties the sleeves there, like I’ve done. She’s wearing a gray tank beneath it, and her arms are covered in tattoos. Flowers and vines curl up from her wrists, twining around each other in vivid greens and purples. There are freckles across her pale shoulders, covering her skin like the sweep of the Milky Way. She’s been outside in the sun, and over the long term too. So from a lower-class background, then. I wonder how the hell she got to Mars.
She produces a tool from a pocket at her hip and jams it into one of the outlets, biting her lower lip in concentration as she carefully pries it open.
Engineering is physical work, I guess – she’s lean and strong, and I catch myself studying her face, where her red hair’s escaping the knot at the back of her neck to curl around her cheekbones.
Hunter, no. Absolutely not. For a start, this is a life-threatening situation, and she’s probably terrified and counting on you to—
‘Okay, got it,’ she says, straightening, and I realize the display’s lit up. ‘Your turn.’
