‘Grace is going to take you through the station’s systems,’ he says. ‘You’re going to figure out what can be turned off to save power, what can be reduced, and what you can redirect.’
‘And the first thing you’re going to do,’ Grace the Ballerina adds, with a glare as cold as the Martian air outside, ‘is show me where to shut down power to the damn classroom, so we can get my girlfriend off a desk.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I mutter. ‘You would have had trouble finding it – this place was built in stages, expanded every time they got more funding, so some of the connections aren’t where you think. I can show you if you get a diagram up. We’ll have to do it manually, though.’
‘We have to go on-site?’ She narrows her gaze, trying to figure out whether I’m just looking for a chance to get away. ‘The boss has an all-access pass to the systems with that cuff she wears.’
‘And some of it’s not attached to the systems,’ I reply. ‘It just got put together when they got the budget. It’s not hard. You can get to the wires no problem, and they’re easy to pull out. They were thinking about maintenance, not sabotage, when they built it. Just have to watch for the live ones.’
‘Girl,you’llbe watching for the live ones,’ Grace mutters.
Nico huffs a soft laugh behind me, and I can still feel Hunter’s gaze boring into a spot between my shoulder blades, though whether he’s madder that I’m undoing our hard work, or that I’m a filthy hitcher, I don’t know.
I have to remind myself that I don’t care what the corporates do to each other. I care about what I need, and about keeping my own ass intact. This is the only way to do that, and I can’t believe I nearly forgot that. I knew better than to rely on anyone but myself.
If this is what it takes, I’ll hold my nose and do business with them. And if Sabrina does somehow get me out of here, I’ll do what I can with that chance.
I look down at the tattoos curling their way up my forearms – at the purple flowers and green vines, a reminder that there’salwaysa way, even if it’s through a crack in the concrete. I’ll find my way now. I’ll make it.
Then I hear Nico speak again, somewhere behind me. ‘Now, my boy. Indulge me as I give you a pat-down, and then we’ll go talk to the boss.’
Hunter is about to meet his sister. I wish I could—
‘Here,’ says Grace, pulling up a schematic. ‘Show me exactly where to find the power shutoff.’
So, wishing I felt better about the choice I’ve made, and desperately trying to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach, I do.
26.
HUNTER
2 HOURS, 11 MINUTES REMAINING
MY SISTER HAS HERfeet up on the chief engineer’s desk. I have a moment to study her as Nico shoves me through the door.
Her thick curls are pulled back into their usual braid, and for the first time in our lives, her skin is a little paler than mine – she hasn’t been outdoors without a pressure suit in over a year. Atmosphere aside, Martian radiation is no joke. She’s leaner too, maybe down a little muscle in the lighter Martian gravity.
She’s wearing the same slim cuff on one wrist as I was until I left the greenhouse, but hers gleams, and the display it’s projecting into the air is bright, buzzing with numbers. This must be a new Graves prototype – it looks similar to mine, but based on the specs I can see dancing in the air, this is definitely my cuff’s big sister.
I’ll bet its system access is much slicker too. I want it because I want it – because it’s the kind of tech I was raised to play with – but I also want it because whoever has that thing owns Pax Station, I’m sure of it.
‘Mmm?’ She doesn’t look up from her work, levering her feet against the edge of the desk to tip the chair onto its two back legs.
Nico pauses behind me, one hand on my shoulder, probably realizing in this moment that he doesn’t actually know why he brought me in, except that Cleo told him he should. ‘This one …’
He trails off, and that makes Marguerite look up, her brow creasing in the start of a question. And then her gaze lands on me.
I’ve never seen my sister shocked like this, not in all our eighteen years. She nearly tips the chair over backward, then scrambles to recover, surging to her feet as it thumps into place. Her cuff’s display flares wildly, then goes dark.
‘What are you …?’ But her words die out as suspicion kicks in, her green eyes turning wary.
‘I checked him for weapons,’ says Nico, who still has no idea what’s going on.
‘And scars?’ she snaps.
‘What?’
‘She wants to know if I’ve been surgically altered to look like her twin brother,’ I supply. This is how they taught us to think, growing up. For a moment, I even consider going that route – but though I don’t know what my reception’s going to be as Hunter Graves, I’m pretty sure it’d be worse as an impostor.
