‘What, against the UN?’ She shakes her head. ‘They’re the only ones who’ve even hinted Mars shouldn’t be more exclusive than a country club. Why would a protest group take on their only allies?’
‘Simplistic, but I see your point.’
‘What, then?’ she murmurs. ‘Seven hours and fifteen minutes until what?’
‘I might be able to figure that out, if I can see what they’re doing with the commander’s compstation.’
Cleo lets out a slow breath. ‘I think we should find a safer base, first. We’re still not that far from them, and depending on how closely they’re looking, they might notice these living quarters are drawing more power than they should.’
‘Hey, look at you, thinking like our criminal friends.’ I try for a tease, but it doesn’t land – she flushes, her pale skin reddening, like I hit a nerve. ‘I’m sorry.’ What’s going on, am I stumbling over my words right now? ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘No, of course, you’re fine.’ She cuts me off firmly. ‘I think we should head to the facilities wing. The hydrogen plant, the oxygenators, the greenhouse, the fish farms, they’re all grouped together. They’d have to be drawing a lot of power, if they’re still running, so nobody will notice whatever we use. And there are plenty of places to hide.’
‘Then let’s do it,’ I agree. ‘Carefully.’
8.
CLEO
7 HOURS, 7 MINUTES REMAINING
AS WE SNEAK ALONGthe hallways like a couple of criminals – which I guess we are, only one of us does it in fancy, corporate ways – it’s so quiet I can hear the machinery of the dome working. Usually the fans that circulate our air are drowned out by the sounds of conversation and footsteps and daily life.
‘Maybe they’ll see a heat signature up on Orbital,’ Hunter whispers. ‘Realize all the plant’s still working, and the station’s not shut down?’
‘We’re buried underground,’ I point out softly, keeping theduhout of my tone. ‘There’s tons of dirt and rock shielding us.’
I’ve heard GravesUP has their radiation shielding built into their compound walls – there are materials that’ll do that for you – but the UN’s always scrambling for budget, and underground is cheaper, and lasts longer. You just don’t get many windows. If Hunter Graves wanted someone to monitor thisplace properly from Orbital, his family shouldn’t have led the charge to screw the UN on funding.
‘Right, I knew that,’ Hunter mutters. ‘Underground. Okay, keep thinking.’
His lordship is just a step behind me, in a T-shirt that saysRED STAR EXPLORATION CONFERENCE2067 on it, stolen from whoever’s quarters we just used. At least it covers him from waist to neck, and shields me from distraction. As for the neck-up beauty, I’m going to ignore it. I have twice as much reason as him to stay focused.
He just has to survive this. I have to live through itandconvince him to help get me off this base despite the fact that I’m everything that’s wrong with the world.
Trauma bonds people, right? And this is for sure traumatic. The best I can do is stay on his good-ish side and hope – assuming we’re alive seven hours from now – that this bond carries him through however he feels when he finds out how I got here.
I’m not sure it’ll really make a difference that I didn’t visibly roll my eyes at him when he forgot not everybody gets to be aboveground, but it’s worth a try. He clearly thinks I’m helpless and naive and that he needs to rescue me. If he wants to feel like he’s saving the day, that’s fine. Whatever.
We make our way through silent corridors, keeping our footsteps light.
It’s been eight months since I saw Sabrina, or any of the Gramercy crew. Three months here at Pax, four months crammed into the cargo hold of a freighter, and before that, one month hiding out in a basement in Jerhattan, hyperventilatingabout the fact that my mother left town and tagged me with all her debts on the way out.
Which, people, is why I don’t know a lot about bonding.
Sabrina won’t care that I owe her old bosses money. Will she? That can’t be Gramercy she’s with now – she’s leveled up. Then again, it won’t matter if she cares. She’ll have to wipe me out if she sees me, as a witness to whatever they’re doing here.
Or, a tiny voice whispers in the back of my mind,maybe they’d take on an extra pair of hands? She knows you. She knows you get things done. That could be a way out of here.
Three damn months here, trapped by the UN’s meticulous recordkeeping. Hunter Graves, of all people, is the first person I’ve had an extended conversation with in all that time. That’s probably what they mean when they say to be careful what you wish for. I wasn’tthatlonely.
I thought the hard part of my Mars trip would be blackmailing my way onto the freighter, or forcing my contact to hold his nerve long enough to get me down on his transport. I never figuredthiswould be where it came unglued – that I’d end up trapped at my first port of call.
It feels like I’m jumping from lily pad to lily pad, watching each of them sink beneath the water behind me, with no idea what’s ahead. Safe shores, or a dead end?
If I can just get to a bigger station – GravesUP has over twenty thousand people now, and there are others catching up fast – then I can find the local underworld, and blend in, get back to the kind of life I know how to live, hustle to hustle.Or even – though I can hardly whisper this to myself, even in the secrecy of my own mind – stop hustling? Just … get a job? Live?
Revealing myself to Sabrina would be a high-stakes move. She might just shoot me to eliminate a complication, and even if she didn’t, it would push that whispered part of my dream farther away. And sure, it’s probably a foolish, impossible thing to even let myself think. But I can’t help dreaming of it anyway. This is a place where I could be something – a place where I could stop running, if only they’d let me in.
