by Alexa Donne
But who?
And then the word faded from the screen and was replaced by a woman with drab, stringy hair and deep, dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted, wrung out.
“Now that I have your attention, we need to talk,” the woman said.
“Find them now!” I heard my aunt hiss from the stage, though I didn’t know how far she expected security to get if they couldn’t leave the room. We were a captive audience, with no choice but to focus on the screen.
“My name is Lena,” the woman onscreen said, “though of course you all don’t care enough to give me food, so why would you care to know my name? Regardless, my parents taught me to be polite, so you have my name, and my apologies for interrupting your celebration. I wish I could be there, but you all like to restrict visas, so it was impossible to join you. Happily for me, your system was easy to hack.”
My eyes flitted over to my aunt, who was now hunched at the back of the stage, fingers flying over a tab unit, clearly trying to put a stop to this. She was brilliant but no match against hackers, so Lena continued on.
“Don’t worry, tonight’s program will be short. I just want to share with you a little glimpse of how some of the other half of the fleet has been living. Given that a prudent marriage appears to be your foremost concern, I assume none of you are aware of the exact cost of your lifestyle. Allow me to show you.”
With that, the video changed, the screen flooding with images of human misery. Packed medical wards and insufficient supplies. Children weeping at a funeral—one could only assume their parents’. Signage forbidding the consumption of fruits and vegetables “reserved exclusively for the Empire.” A government memo about a series of brownouts on the Stalwart. A sweeping shot of an endless line of emaciated people. There were even graphs comparing the population-to-food ratios of several ships. The Scandinavian had only three hundred permanent residents compared to the Saint Petersburg’s twelve hundred. Both ships received the same amount of food.
Shame seared hot through me. I thought about my dramatics over having meat less often and the occasional blackout because Father and Carina used electricity a little too enthusiastically. It was so easy for me to jaunt over to the Scandinavian and enjoy my extended family’s finery. People in the fleet were starving while we lived like queens. And pretended we still were.
Lena’s face appeared once more.
“Amazing how none of this has appeared in the media. Now you know.” She smiled, sickly sweet. “Many of the people in this room play a part in government. If you wanted to, you could change everything. Fairly distribute resources. Allow ships with overcrowded populations to migrate to less crowded ships. But I won’t bore you any longer. I’m sure you want to get back to your party. Just know that we know how to get in now. Cheers.”
Lena lifted an empty hand, as if to toast us, further driving home the point. I imagined many hands in the room tipping back their champagne flutes, draining them dry.
The screen went black, then sparked orange at the edges. Something sizzled, then cracked, and the giant screen burst into flames.
Everything exploded into noise and movement. The crowd behind me retreated, then surged. The doors were locked, but damned if everyone wasn’t making a break for them anyway. I felt my knees buckle as bodies behind me pressed in; I was so close to the stage, I could feel the heat from the flames on my skin. Someone behind me—someone strong—held me upright, and I grabbed tightly onto my sister, keeping her with me. Captain Lind had made a mad dash for the nearest bar, grasped a giant pitcher of water, and flung it at the screen, but it only tempered the flames.
Then, suddenly, there was light—the doors were open again.
“Everyone, go back to your rooms. Go! Now!” Captain Lind commanded into the mic, now turned back on. And then she flew from the stage, pushing for the exit herself.
Someone tugged on my arm—Daniel—and he urged me to follow him to safety, but Carina’s grip was tighter, and she had other ideas. We fled under the cover of chaos, heading for the back of the ballroom to avoid the bottlenecks at the side doors. My apologies got lost in the shuffle. Then my sister got lost too. I felt her wrenched away from me, a reveler built like a tank pushing his way through our clasped hands. I screamed her name, straining to hear mine in return, but it was too loud; too many people were running in all directions.
I made my way out of the throttle of people, along the back wall, straining up on my very tiptoes to peer over the crowd to try to find my sister. But this was the Scandinavian, so Tall and Blond was a calling card for far too many women here. I couldn’t spot her.
I had to go on the way we’d been heading. I could catch up with Carina, who was probably just ahead of me, taking our favorite shortcut. Midship was a maze of ballrooms, libraries, galleries, and lounges stacked back-to-back, and cutting through them all was the quickest way to the forward ship corridor, which would take us back to the royal quarters. I jogged as fast as my heels would allow, through a succession of rooms, until I was nearly to the very last receiving room.
I ran straight into Elliot. Coming from the exit. I stopped just short of full-body collision and said the first thing that popped into my mind.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m free to come and go,” Elliot snapped, like I’d accused him of trespassing.
“That’s not what I mean,” I said, breathless and exasperated. “Something happened.”
“What are you talking about?”
I eyed him, looking for a trick, him pulling one over on me. But I didn’t think he was playing dumb. He didn’t know.
“We were hacked by some protesters. They locked all the doors and broadcast a video. Then they set the screen on fire. You really weren’t there? Where did you go?”
Elliot glossed right over my question. “What were they protesting?”
“Overcrowding. Visa denials. Not enough food, medicine,” I replied, exasperated. Had he missed the part about the fire?
“What, you don’t like that they ruined your fun?” Elliot sneered. “I’m so sorry your party is over because people are starving.”
I was stunned at his venom. “It’s not that at all—”
He didn’t let me finish. “I have to go.” And he maneuvered past me.
“It’s not safe.” I tried to stop him, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him my way. Elliot pulled violently from my grasp.
“I have to find Evy. Go, Leo. Run away. It’s what you do.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” I snapped.
We held each other’s gaze, the air sizzling with tension. Elliot didn’t bother to fight any further. He just left me . . . again.
* * *
I pressed my fingers to the royal quarters’ bio-lock, and with a whoosh, the doors opened, spilling the bright hallway lights into the dark foyer.
“Lights on,” I commanded, stepping inside as soft light illuminated the entryway and living room beyond. I leaned heavily against the closed door, contorting as best I could in my dress to pry my heels from aching, red-lined feet. It was still a two-minute walk to our temporary apartment within the Linds’ quarters, but it would be easier done in bare feet.
“Carina?” I called out gently, in case she’d had a similar idea and come in through the main entrance as I had. Blast it all that we never wore our wrist tabs with party dresses. If we weren’t so vain, I could just send her a message to check in. Instead, we were bound by the analog.
“Miss Kolburg, you surprised me!” Nora, Klara’s personal maid, emerged from the dark doorway of the dining room into the light. She held a slip of fabric and some thread in her hands. “I was just finishing up some work, about to go home. You’re back early.”
“So no one else is back yet, then?”
“No. Why would they be? It’s not even eleven,” Nora replied. I filled her in on everything that had happened in the ballroom, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, those poor people. I’d heard about things elsewhe
re in the fleet, but I never imagined . . . I hope they won’t be punished too badly, the hackers.”
“Why do you say that?”
Nora’s cheeks spotted bright pink. “Of course they should be punished,” she hedged. “Just hopefully they’ll be allowed to live. They’re only trying to help, is all I mean.”
The death penalty for a harmless—if scary—demonstration? She had to be exaggerating. I switched subjects. “And you’re here late. You shouldn’t have to stay all hours of the night to mend Klara’s things.”
“She wants to wear this to tomorrow’s concert, and the seams need reinforcing.” Nora shrugged. My cousin was oblivious when she wanted something. She didn’t understand how her demand would mean extra hours of work for poor Nora.
“I wish I’d known,” I said. “I would have snuck you some champagne.”
“Oh, that’s all right, miss. A friend brought me some already.”
“Please call me Leo. And you should get back home to your family. I’m sure the whole ship is going into lockdown, and you don’t want to get stuck here.”
“That’s a good idea.” Nora considered the sewing in her hands with a frown. “Though I’d better take this with me, so it’s done by morning.” She curtsied and headed for the door. “Have a good night, then, Miss Kolburg.”
I headed back to the foyer, then left, down another corridor to the East Wing. I hoped Carina was there.
The inside corridor was cozy, domestic instead of sterile and white, and dim lights turned on automatically as I moved swiftly along the passage. The royal quarters arced on either side like a horseshoe, and our temporary home was to the very end of the hall, in a sub-apartment that opened with yet another bio-lock. These were Klara’s uncle’s quarters usually, but he’d taken our need for a place to stay as an excuse to vacation aboard the Lady Liberty for the Season.
At last, I came to our apartment and slipped quietly inside, careful not to trip over trunks cluttering the foyer. Father and Carina were slow to unpack, primarily because they were fully expecting a servant to do it. I could ask Nora to help, but I’d never felt entirely comfortable with the upstairs/downstairs dynamic on board this ship. Once you’d loved the valet’s son, it was hard to expect people to wait on you. Besides, Nora was my age—that made it awkward.
I called out Carina’s name again, then checked every room in the small apartment. I was alone—my father hadn’t returned either. I sat down in the living room to wait.
The adrenaline rush of the last twenty minutes slowly ebbed, leaving me to a surreal silence. My world had tilted precariously on its axis in the space of less than an hour. What did it mean that people could hack our systems and set things on fire as they pleased? There were so many electronics on board that making enough of them overheat would spell death for us all. And there I went, being myopically selfish. People in the fleet were dying, starving. I hadn’t realized it was this bad. Maybe we were the monsters they’d accused us of being, with our parties and champagne and finery.
And then there was Elliot. I had imagined a reunion between us more times than I cared to admit, the scene always melodramatic and romantic and happy in the end. Reality was altogether different. I wasn’t prepared for the sheer force of Elliot’s hatred toward me. It knocked me off-center, hollowed me out. And now I’d have to see him nearly every day for a month, while he flirted with other girls, no less.
How had he changed so drastically in only three years? Now he was brusque and cold and secretive, sneaking off to parts unknown during the party, probably with some girl. The old Elliot was steadfast and frankly a little bit boring—just like me. And he liked me, and only me.
I needed to get a grip on myself. Jealousy was not a good look.
With a deep sigh, I sank back into the couch cushions, resigned to wait. My mind spiraled from Elliot to my father and sister’s safety—what if something terrible had happened to them and that’s why they weren’t back yet? I hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer. Left alone with my thoughts was a dangerous place to be.
Four
The smell of bacon, tangy and sweet, woke me. Was it morning? Time was relative up here, the view from the window always dark, sprawling space. I groaned, rubbing at my sleep-crusted eyes.
Carina had swanned in at two a.m. like it was any other night, explaining breezily that she’d been pulled into an after-party some friends were throwing and lost track of the time. Too tired to yell, I’d simply collapsed onto my bed and fallen asleep in what I had on. And now, as I kicked my legs over the side of the bed and stood, I assessed the damage to my dress. Wrinkled but not ruined.
The bacon, on the other hand, might be. The acrid whiff of burnt meat hit my nostrils, sending me sprinting to the kitchen to find a sheepish Carina, uselessly moving charbroiled strips from the pan to a plate to cool. People were starving in the fleet, and we were burning bacon. Guilt swooped at my insides.
“Whoops,” Carina said with a shrug. “It’s the thought that counts?”
“I’m still mad,” I said. “But apology accepted. At least you tried. Help me out of my dress?”
She undid the eyehook closures and buttons that ran up the back, and I shuffled back to our room, clasping the dress to my front. It was a relief to change into a slick black bodysuit and a casual day dress. By the time I was done and had washed my face clean of last night’s makeup, Carina had Breakfast, Take Two, laid out on the dining table. She stuck to toasted rolls and a selection of cheeses and sliced meats. Both that and the bacon must have come from Klara. We’d not been able to afford meats for the past year.
Father shuffled blearily to the table as I prepared an open-faced sandwich. He demanded coffee as he plopped down into the seat of honor. Normally I wouldn’t baby him, but today I fetched the coffee as ordered. It was easier not to poke the bear, especially when the bear was tired and hung-over.
“What time did you turn in?” I asked, biting into the simultaneously crisp and fluffy bread, buttery cheese, and salty salami. I only just suppressed a satisfied groan. I’d missed this.
“Late,” Father grumbled between greedy sips of coffee. “Very late indeed. Had to help Freja sort things out, of course.”
I nodded along obediently, even though I was picturing my dad blustering around, pretending usefulness while the other adults did the actual work. Father enjoyed feeling important more than anything. I was sure my aunt had done the lion’s share of damage control after last night’s incident. I dared to prod a bit further.
“Did you find out anything? About who did it?” I asked.
“Lena Wendt from the Sternshiff,” Father sniffed. “Styles herself leader of some group called Freiheit. They like to blame everyone else for their problems instead of themselves.”
“That’s harsh,” I said. “People are dying.”
“And that’s our fault? People die, Leonie.”
I took a deep breath rather than say the first thing that came to mind. I would never win with my father, who was always right. Especially when he was very, very wrong.
“And what will happen to the hackers?” I forced a lightness into my tone.
“She and her fellow . . . terrorists will be dealt with on the Olympus.”
“It was hardly terrorism.” I went back on all my best intentions, because I just couldn’t let the word terrorists stand. “It was a protest. A statement, no?”
“They hacked us and started a fire. How is that not terrorism?”
“I heard they’re known to be peaceful protesters,” Carina piped up, surprising us both. “Lukas told Klara, who told Asta, who told Evy, who told me.”
I perked up at the mention of our renter, but then my father drew my focus, his lips pursed together so tightly, they went white. I could tell he was about to explode into a rant that I was too sleep-deprived to handle.
“I was sad not to see Lukas again last night. I’ll have to speak to him again tonight at the Klaviermeister concert,” I said, deflecting and lying all at
once. It seemed to work. Father abruptly changed tack.
“Oh, good. That’s the worst of it, you know. That the ball ended so abruptly, and you girls lost so much mingling time.”
Yes, that was absolutely the worst part about last night, I thought. Not the locked door, or the panic, or the fire.
“Besides which, several crates of champagne went missing,” he continued. “I had to deal with that unpleasant business, on top of everything else.”
“So sorry you had to deal with that. I can handle it today.”
But he waved me off. “Oh, no, I managed it. I scolded the catering staff for miscounting. But I do wish you hadn’t run off.”
“Speaking of the renters,” Carina jumped in, seizing on the slightest scrap to steer the conversation where she wanted, “you did an excellent job picking them out, Leo. Evgenia and I became fast friends last night. We’re about the same size, and she said she has the latest fashions from the Saint Petersburg and Empire, and that I could borrow them while they’re here. And can you believe the insane luck that they know Elliot and brought him along?”
“Elliot?” Father chimed in, suddenly interested. “Wentworth?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Carina nodded vigorously. “Your old valet! Apparently he migrated over to the Saint Petersburg, but now he lives somewhere called the Islay?”
“Technically he wasn’t a valet,” I said against my better judgment. I regretted it immediately.
“Don’t be obtuse, Leonie, of course he was my valet,” Father said, a hawkish warning layered beneath his look of light censure.
“His father was your valet,” I plowed forward as calmly as I could manage. “Elliot performed some of his duties after he died, but he never fully took on the role.” We’d have to have been able to afford that, was what I didn’t say. Elliot was far more than an underling my father had ordered around. He’d left to make something of himself, after I’d broken off our engagement and refused to go with him.