by Alexa Donne
“If only we had time for me to explain myself through song.”
“We could have sung a duet, you know.”
“Next time. There’s a karaoke night in a few weeks. We’ll show everyone.”
And then the buzzer called time. I waved Daniel goodbye and then turned to the app on my wrist tab. My finger hovered over yes, but then panic spiked through me. What if he said no? What if he said yes? A mutual match was the last thing I needed right now. I couldn’t conscientiously object to the whole Valg thing, to the idea that marriage was necessary to solve my problems, while also actively participating. No, I needed to focus on my other plans, on getting a meeting with one of the other ship captains. Not dating.
I hit no on Daniel, and the eight boys who followed. Then, finally, the twenty-fifth guy left my room—two marathon hours of social and emotional torture complete. But we weren’t done! No, there was a dessert bar and cocktails and forced mingling for another hour. Everyone seemed to be happily conversing with someone—Carina was talking to Theo; Klara to Elliot. I hung back by the dessert table, availing myself of every variety of macaron, while I avoided speaking with Daniel again. It would be too awkward later when he realized I’d rated him no. He was nice, and it seemed cruel to lead him on.
Unfortunately, that left me wide open for Captain Lind to swoop in like a hawk diving for prey.
“Leonie, darling,” she began, pressing her lips together tighter than a finger vise, “may I ask you something rather . . . indelicate?”
I braced myself for impact as she leaned in close.
“Did you run any background checks on your renters? What do you know of them?”
It wasn’t what I was expecting. “Uh, no, I didn’t,” I said. “Their business is transports, and they were able to procure the necessary visas, so I didn’t question them. Should I have?”
“Don’t get so defensive. I’m not interrogating you,” my aunt retorted. “But in light of the terrorist attack the other evening, it is my duty to investigate every avenue and every new person on board. As your guests went through you privately to rent your ship and join us on board, it represents a loophole in our security. I’ve personally vetted all the other Valg participants from off-ship . . .”
She let that hang, a tacit accusation that my renters had to be the missing link. “Don’t call it a terrorist attack,” I said. “It was a protest. They made a statement.”
“Freiheit hacked our system from the inside and started a fire. Locked us in.”
“And then let us out.”
“Leonie, you are terribly naive.”
Normally her condescension would have bothered me, but I was too preoccupied by a thought twisting in the pit of my stomach. The same day that Elliot arrived, we’d been hacked. And he had seriously leveled up his hacking skills since I last saw him. Elliot hated the rich and inequity in the fleet. Oh, no.
“Are you okay, Leonie?” Captain Lind asked in a way that was gentle—for her, at least.
“Leo,” I corrected her absent-mindedly. I took a deep breath, schooling my features. “I’m fine. To be honest with you, I didn’t think it was necessary to run a background check on my renters, since they came on Elliot’s recommendation. He’s practically family. And you had him help you with the speed-dating app, he told me? So clearly you trust him . . .” This was me taking a page from Daniel’s book, trying my hand at being an actress. I must have done well enough, as my aunt seemed to back down, though I didn’t entirely trust that she wasn’t acting herself.
“Yes, sure, that makes sense,” she said, flashing me a tight smile. “Thought I’d ask.” She rapidly changed tacks, tone going brighter than a light bulb. “Now, how did you enjoy speed dating? Do you have your eye on any particular bachelor?”
Keeping up my airy façade for the rest of the hour was tedious, as all I itched to do was get back to my quarters as soon as possible. I needed to do that due diligence I most certainly hadn’t done before the Orlovs arrived, or since Elliot’s return. I needed to look into my new friends, into who exactly Elliot Wentworth had become. I was scared by what I might find.
“Attention, everyone!” Captain Lind called out, the end of the evening finally upon us. “Check your Valg app in an hour’s time to see your results! Anyone you say yes to, tonight or over the course of the Valg, you’ll gain access to your compatibility scores with and be able to browse their profile more in-depth. We’ve made sure to leave tomorrow free of formal Valg activities so you are able to connect one-on-one with any matches. Good luck, everyone, and good night!”
“So, how was it?” Carina bounded up to me, looking so hopeful that I hated to disappoint her. I’d get an earful if she knew I’d rated everyone a no, just in case.
“Great,” I pretended, forcing a veneer of cheer into my voice. “How about you? Anyone promising?”
“Oh, yes, everyone was so nice! I had some really fun dates, including rock climbing! Klara! Elliot!” She waved vigorously, calling them over. I braced myself for impact, pasting on a smile.
“How did it go for you guys?” Carina asked.
I felt Elliot fall in next to me as we made our way back to the lift, but I refused to look over.
“Went well enough,” he said. Suddenly I heard caginess in every syllable, deceit lingering behind every line. I risked a glance to my left and found a perfect poker face.
“Come on, Elliot, spill about all the girls you wooed. How many did you say yes to and who was your favorite?” Klara cut in, demure. She’d clearly given him an opening to compliment her, and I caught her look of annoyance when he didn’t. Wait, was Klara into Elliot now?
“A gentleman never tells.”
“Well, we’ll find out in an hour who you said yes to, won’t we?” Klara clenched her teeth as she said it.
Elliot escaped us at the first possible opportunity, heading aft toward the Sofi as soon as we stepped off the lift. By the time we got back to the Linds’ quarters, it was nearly eleven—hardly late by any stretch, but after a long day, I was exhausted. First thing in the morning, I’d start digging into Elliot, look for anything that tied him to Freiheit.
“Leo, you can’t go to bed yet,” Carina scolded when I tried to turn in. “We have to wait for the matches.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d have none, but regardless, I humored her. We waited another half-hour, and just as my eyelids were drooping perilously low, both Carina’s and my wrist tabs pinged. My sister squealed with delight, rushing to check. I was in no such hurry. She read off each name, and they were as numerous as I suspected—Ludwig, Philip, Min-ho, Oliver, Michel, Kaito, Theo, Elliot.
Elliot. His name repeated, rang in my ears.
Elliot said yes to my sister.
My ears rushed with blood, drowning out the sounds of my sister’s delight at all her options, at Elliot being one of them, especially.
Finally, I looked down to my own wrist tab and my notifications. I knew there were no matches waiting for me, but it gave me something to do, a distraction.
Even so, I couldn’t help but feel hollowed out, disappointed at the message:
You have no matches.
Eight
I slept poorly and rose early to start my research. I didn’t know what my aunt expected me to be able to discover on my own, given that the average resident was very limited in terms of access to fleet records. But still I found the Orlovs’ business page and advertisements in the Fleet Tribune—they specialized in ferrying people to and from vacation spots, as well as moving food and supplies between the major ships. I found Evgenia in multiple party notices from the fleet’s finest, usually arm in arm with Elliot, posing for the camera. Which brought me to my true quarry.
Little of where Elliot had been and done warranted news coverage. I did manage to find a minor note in the society section about his being named heir to the Islay, which mentioned that he came from the Saint Petersburg by way of Lady Liberty. He’d completely erased his history, where
he’d truly come from—the Sofi. From me. I hadn’t even known he’d gone to the Lady Liberty after he left us. The prospect loomed large that Elliot was now a stranger who’d gotten himself involved in something huge and dangerous.
What I hated was that in a way, it totally tracked. Growing up, when my mother was still alive and the Sofi could afford to fly on her own, though Elliot’s father was technically a servant and my father had always been a horrible snob, we’d treated Elliot as an equal. Then both our parents died—his father and my mother—and everything changed. Docking with the Scandinavian and entering that world was a wake-up call for us both. Where you were born and into what position in society mattered. I received the best royal education, alongside my cousin and the rich of the fleet. Elliot was left on board Sofi to wait on my father part-time—though I fought vigorously against his ever being officially named valet. I didn’t want that life for him. He didn’t want that life for him. Elliot would rant against the trappings of the rich, and I’d agree with him, which was all well and good, until reality came crashing down. He wanted to marry me and escape to a better ship. I had to stay—my family couldn’t function without me, and I didn’t know anything else. My life was safe, and I was easily persuaded to stick to the status quo.
Even though we’d seemed to have buried the hatchet yesterday, the memory of a shockingly hateful and bitter Elliot clung to me like a film. I could see his hurt feelings, his big opinions about the state of the fleet, festering like a wound over three years. I could see him becoming radicalized. But would he really be complicit in attacking my ship? My home? Did he truly hate us that much?
I wasn’t sure. With a groan, I dropped my head into my hands. Then my tab pinged a notification—since I was still logged into the Tribune database, it flashed up at me a breaking-news alert. The headline caught my attention.
FAIRFAX PROPOSES CONTROVERSIAL USEFULNESS MEASURE; SEVERAL SHIPS REVOLT
I clicked into the body and found the actual story less incendiary than the word revolt would indicate, though it was still a pretty dramatic development. Miranda Fairfax, who owned the largest American ship in the fleet, the Lady Liberty, and thus wielded significant power in the government, was proposing that all major ships be required to produce and export a resource that was vitally useful to sustaining the fleet population. Ships that were unable to meet the new standard would be embargoed from receiving the best goods, including and especially food and other luxury items. The Scandinavian’s chief industry was luxury accommodation, and it would not meet the new guidelines, should they pass a vote being held on the Olympus in four weeks’ time. Other ships at risk included the Empire, the Crusader, the Wuthering Heights, and—indeed—the Lady Liberty. I was fascinated especially by the article’s quote from Fairfax:
“I am not a hypocrite, and in fact it is an examination of my own conscience and the inexcusable drain on fleet resources that my own ship represents that has forced me to look inward and forward. The Lady Liberty is fully committed to reassessing our role in the fleet and making changes going forward,” said Fairfax at a press conference held this morning.
It gave me a horrifically brilliant idea. My mother had been Miranda Fairfax’s godmother, which would hopefully give me an edge—I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. But this news gave me the perfect angle to pitch my water-recycling system. It would make whatever ship took it on very useful to the fleet. As long as they paid me the appropriate license fee, I would let them use their ship as the base of operations for the whole thing. My aunt would regret turning me down. Time to see if Miranda Fairfax wanted to go into business with me.
I switched to the messaging app and quickly searched the directory for her contact information, but it wasn’t publicly available. Any contact information my mother had had was lost. So I’d try the general Lady Liberty administrative office contact and hope for the best. I made my case for a meeting in a quick message, being sure to drop my mother’s name and connection to Miranda, and sent it off. It made me feel productive and softened the blow of the four rejections I’d received from other ships in the past few days. I was running out of major ships to which to appeal.
My wrist tab pinged with an invitation from Klara—in lieu of a formal Valg event, she had arranged a dinner party for that evening. I heard Carina’s squeal of delight from the other room, followed by a shriek of “What am I going to wear?”
Forget clothes; how was I going to sit at a dinner table with Elliot for three hours and not explode? I had so many questions and feelings, including but not limited to “Are you part of Freiheit?” and “How could you say yes to my sister?” Either could lead to my throwing myself across the table and throttling him. There was nothing I could do about my sister, short of telling her about the full extent of Elliot’s and my history and admitting to the swirl of feelings I still harbored. And that just wouldn’t do—my feelings were sacrosanct and not something my naive baby sister would understand.
But I could do something about my aunt’s suspicions, my mounting fear that she was right. Resolved, I marched myself up to the bridge, where I found her crouched over her tab screen, brow furrowed. I knocked on the wall to announce my presence.
“Leonie, what a surprise to see you up here. Do you need something?”
“Yes,” I answered, then backtracked. “No. Not exactly. I have an idea.”
Her deep sigh communicated her annoyance. “My dear, I already told you that your little water-recycling idea is not a good fit.”
“Even with the new usefulness measure being proposed?” It wasn’t what I’d come to talk with her about, but I took my opportunity where I saw it. Captain Lind narrowed her eyes at me.
“That measure still has to pass, which I doubt it will, and look at you, keeping up with all the latest news. Regardless, I am not yet that desperate. No one wants to drink, bathe in, or touch dirty water.”
“It’s not dirty,” I groaned. “That’s the whole point. I refined the original designs I found, and it’s truly seamless—”
“Leonie,” she snapped my name like a command.
“That’s not what I came here for, anyway,” I said. “It’s about my renters. The Orlovs and Elliot Wentworth. After we talked, you got me thinking . . . It was really bad form on my part, not requesting that they have background checks. That said, I really don’t think they’re radicals—”
“Terrorists, dear,” Lind cut me off, like semantics were the point.
“Anyway. I’m here because I think you should ask them to submit to a background check. I’m sure they would. We can clear all this up.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. Tipping them off may inspire them to flee. I’ve promised my constituents not only an answer, but justice.”
I barely suppressed an eyeroll at her politicking. “I’ll ask them. Give me whatever I need to get their DNA, and I’ll make up some excuse. I’ll do it today.”
Captain Lind considered me for a beat, tapping her fingers on the tab console. “Fine, you do that, and in the meantime, I’ll interview the two transporters, for good measure. Max and Ewan Orlov?”
I nodded and obtained an advanced tab model from her. It had a small indentation at the bottom, the size of an index finger, which collected DNA and then interfaced directly with the highest-level fleet records.
“Don’t go poking around on that thing,” she scolded. “I’ll be checking the search records after you’ve returned it, and don’t think I won’t jail my own niece for malfeasance.”
Certainly I did not put that past her.
As I left the bridge, relief swooped at my insides—this would get everything sorted out by morning. Elliot and the Orlovs would pass the background check, surely, and I’d have to deal only with my other tormented feelings regarding Elliot, the Valg, and my sister. But then when I actually got to the Sofi and faced the deed of asking my new friends to undergo the procedure, I found my body superheating with shame and dread. I might as well march up to them
and say, “Hi, I don’t trust you.” What if they took such great offense that they left?
I hesitated outside the Sofi’s aft entrance, pacing the Scandinavian’s dark loading bay, rehearsing what I might say to make the request sound less accusatory. Evgenia caught me mid-stride as she was exiting the Sofi and I was trying to enter.
“Leo!” she exclaimed, turning a near collision into a hug. Then she pulled me inside and started walking me into the ship, apparently changing her mind about wherever she was going. “I’m assuming you came for something to wear?”
“Uh, no? Why would I need something to wear? Weren’t you going somewhere?”
“Oh, it’s nothing—I was just going to avail myself of something from the med bay. I have a headache. And I meant for the dinner party tonight! I told Carina to tell you that the invitation was open to both of you, anytime. I have more clothes than I could possibly ever wear.”
“We’re not exactly the same size,” I said, but she waved me off and bustled me past the maintenance hold and security bay, into the main artery of the ship, and into her room. Which was usually Carina’s room.
“You’re a bit bustier, wide in the hips, but I’m sure we can find something! Ooh, what’s that?” She finally noticed the DNA tab in my hand.
“Oh, um, it’s for background checks,” I said. “I just got an earful from my aunt for not having you guys submit them before you arrived to rent out the ship. Apparently I’m in breach of protocol.” A pared-down version of the truth came to me in the moment. Evgenia blinked at me, the smile seeming to fall from her face.
“Are you okay?” Suspicion snaked its way up my spine.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “It’s just . . . drunk-and-disorderly conduct wouldn’t preclude us from being here, would it? I, um, may have had a few incidents in the past where I had a little bit too much, and might have stripped naked and run about a ship or two?”
“It happened more than once?”
“Maybe?”
I was relieved that it was something so minor, and also deeply ashamed at myself. That my first thought had been that, of course, they were guilty.