She shrugs. ‘Let’s say I have trust issues, I had some downtime, and I enjoy a challenge. And aren’t we glad of that right now, huh?’
I can’t help making a mental note of it – we should embed the locator function into the software so it can’t be physically removed – but for now, it’s the answer I want to hear.
We’re not safe, but we’re as safe as we’re getting for the time being – if only my body would figure that out, and let me step down from this hyperalertness.
I’m still humming a jittery version of the Victoriana Lu song to myself as I open up the menus I want, starting the hunt for camera feeds.
A part of me is still back in the total blackness, Cleo warm and alive beneath my hands, that contact the only thing anchoring me to reality. How is it possible that I didn’t know her a few hours ago?
If we’d met before now, we’d never have given each other a second look. Well, that’s not true – I’d have looked twice at her no matter where I met her. She’s beautiful, and I’d have known that even if I’d known nothing else.
But we’re both guarded in our own ways, for our own reasons, and it shows up differently for each of us. I have more questions than answers about her – she knows parts of this station where nobody goes, and I can tell she’s keeping more to herself than she tells.
We’ve both learned not to rely on anyone, because one way or another, they’ll let you down or leave.
Just now, though, she had my life in her hands, and I let her hold it. In the dark we were one breath, one body. She held me as carefully as she holds her secrets.
I find a limited camera feed – we clipped a bunch of wires, so there aren’t as many viewing options available as before – and start to flick through the screens.
I wonder what my mother and sister are doing right now. It’s nearly lunchtime, so maybe they’re getting ready to grab a bite and then take over a small country before cocktails or something.
It’s so strange to think we’re this close – physically – but they have no idea I’m here. I wonder what they’d do if they knew.
I wonder what they’ll think if Cleo and I don’t make it through this. If I’ll be identified, and …
I nearly swipe past the view of the hallway outside the cafeteria, then catch my breath, leaning in to get a better look at a flicker of movement.
The Martian is strolling out of the cafeteria. There’s a grace to the way he walks that I see a little of in Cleo, and in a few of the mercenaries – a comfort with this gravity that takes time to develop. He’s holding something in his hand, and … holy shit, it’s an apricot.
‘Come on,’ I whisper. ‘Take a bite. Take a bite, you know you want fresh fruit.’
‘What’s happening?’ Cleo calls softly, from somewhere behind me.
‘He’s taking the bait,’ I breathe.
She’s behind me a moment later, leaning in over my shoulder to watch with me. We stare together, silently willing him on as he lifts the piece of fruit to his mouth and then sinks his teeth into it. He’s still chewing as he takes a second bite. And then,without warning, he sinks bonelessly to the floor, sprawling there with the apricot still in his hand.
‘Yes!’ I lean back in my chair, lifting both fists in the air and tipping my head back with a grin to watch Cleo dancing in a circle behind me, swinging a hand above her head like she’s going to lasso the next guy we take down.
‘That’s four!’ she crows.
Blue Braid’s presumably still stuck on the table, the Boxer is wrapped in foam, Mr Chin-Up is in the freezer, and the Martian will be unconscious for hours, if we got the dose right. He found the remains of that six-person feast we left out, and just like in the garage, he started snacking. Sabrina did say he’s always eating, so we laid out that fresh fruit in the middle of the table as bait especially for him – a luxury that a Martian wouldn’t be able to resist. And thanks to our raid on the infirmary supplies, he should be out for a long time.
‘You know, I don’t want to get ahead of myself,’ Cleo says slowly. ‘But …’
‘We might notdefinitelydie?’ I finish for her.
She shoots me a grin I’d have flown to Mars just to see. ‘You never know.’
17.
CLEO
3 HOURS, 55 MINUTES REMAINING
IWATCHHUNTER’S FINGERSfly over the keyboard, studying his hands as he lifts one to swipe away a display, grab a cookie, take a bite, get back to work. There’s an ease to the way he does it – I can believe his family created these systems. He doesn’t even seem to think about what he’s doing. It’s as natural as breathing to him because he grew up with this code as his playground. His family’s DNA is in this stuff, and when he walks through it, he’s at home.
‘We need someone isolated,’ he says, eyes on the screen. ‘If we’re going to force a rover out of them, this is the time. There are three of them left at large – the two who stalked us through the movie theater, and the Pirate. This is our best chance that one of them will end up on their own – to look for someone missing, or to help someone. Once they start solving problems, the odds will be against us again.’
