Unlike their previous fights, this time Kane didn’t try to make peace. He didn’t want to. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he resented Cassia for trying to make him feel like a traitor for having an opinion of his own. That didn’t make him a bad friend; it meant he had a spine. Besides, loyalty was a two-way street, and she didn’t seem willing to travel it. So until she was ready to apologize, he had nothing to say to her.
He’d grown used to the silent treatment—enjoyed it, even—when on the third night as he began drifting to sleep, she ended the stalemate by speaking from the bottom bunk.
“I want to ask you something.”
He grumbled and rubbed his eyes. She’d picked a fine time to break the silence. “What?”
“Will you promise to tell me the truth?”
“If you promise you can handle it this time.”
“It’s about that day in Gage’s compound,” she said, “when I used his mom’s bedroom to talk to Jordan and you waited outside the door. How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to sprain a muscle from rolling my eyes so hard.”
“Did you hear us talk about moving the armory?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Not even your friend Badger?”
“Not even him.”
“Did the rebel commander ask you to spy on me?”
Kane’s heart skipped a beat. How did she know about that? Her general must have caught on to Badger and tortured the information out of him. Or worse, used the truth extractor to learn the names of more rebels…like Kane’s mom. The general wasn’t supposed to use the extractor on citizens of the Rose kingdom, but who knew what rules he bent while Cassia was gone?
“Kane?” she prompted.
“Not directly, but yes. I said I wouldn’t do it.”
There was a long pause, followed by, “Why should I believe you?”
A sharp ache broke out in the hollow behind Kane’s sternum, as if an arrow had struck him from the inside. He would think that after all these years, he’d learn to brace himself, but somehow her words always hit home.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
He huffed in disbelief. “I don’t know, Cassia. Maybe because I gave you two years of my life without asking for anything in return. Or because I’d give you my next twenty years if I thought you wanted me.” He didn’t try to mask the pain in his voice. For once he wanted her to hear it. “But if you don’t trust our friendship, I’ll say this: I do hope the monarchy ends, but not enough to see people die for it. I wouldn’t escalate the fighting with weapons. So you can either believe me or not. It makes no difference to me anymore.”
When she didn’t respond, he added, “Here’s another dose of honesty for you. One of the reasons I’m taking Gage’s job offer is you. You give me whiplash. One minute you’re wrapped around me in my bunk, and as soon as I catch my breath, you stab me in the heart. I don’t know if you like hurting me or if you can’t help it. Either way, I’m ready to get off this ride.”
He rolled over and punched his pillow a few times to fluff it. Nobody spoke after that, but sleep didn’t come easily for either of them. He listened to her quiet sniffles from the bottom cot while he stared at the wall and tried not to think too hard about why she doubted him, about why he cared so much, about what would happen next.
About a future without her in it.
The alarm sounded too soon the next morning.
Kane’s eyelids were lined with sandpaper when he blinked awake. The simple act of swinging his legs over the mattress drained his reserves. He peeked at the bottom bunk and found it empty, so he scraped together enough energy to hurry up and pull on his clothes before Cassia returned from the shower.
He didn’t want to see her.
Their paths didn’t cross in the washroom, and to keep it that way, he rushed through his morning routine. But when he reached for her pink laser blade, he froze with his fingers poised an inch from the handle. He could afford to buy his own blade now, maybe at the mercantile on New Atlantia. Until then, he would forgo shaving.
The scent of coffee reached him before he entered the galley, where breakfast was already made and the table set. A stack of neatly folded laundry rested on his spot at the bench, including the shirt he’d stained, which was now pristine and crisp. A week ago the offering would have thawed him, but now he saw it as another empty gesture, a strip of gauze on a knife wound. But as he wasn’t stupid enough to refuse good food, he scooped himself a bowl of porridge and a mug of coffee, then sat down to eat alone.
He was halfway finished when Renny and Arabelle strode in, hand in hand, followed by Doran and Solara, who were linked at the elbows.
Kane lost his appetite. There was too much love on this ship.
“Hey,” Renny called as Kane gathered his laundry and turned to leave. “About an hour until we touch down. Report to the bridge if you want a bird’s-eye view of New Atlantia.”
“Will do.” Kane had always wanted to see the planet from the sky. Supposedly, it was dominated by turquoise water with only one small continent peeking above the surface. Every acre of land was used to grow crops and graze livestock, so the settlers lived in domed structures built above the sea, with clear fiberglass walls that offered a 360-degree view of the horizon.
For a fringe planet, it sounded like paradise.
Within the hour, he learned it looked like paradise, too. As the Banshee descended below the clouds of New Atlantia, he rested a knee on the copilot’s seat and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the glass for a better view.
All around him, there was only blue—a blanket of strikingly vivid cerulean that glittered beneath the light of two suns. The sea paled to azure in the more shallow waters leading to the continent, and there stretched a thousand miles of green-covered farmland and pasture that seemed to ripple as the wind tossed its crops to and fro. Dozens of structures bordered the shoreline, resembling massive bubbles resting on the water. As the ship flew nearer, he could make out three steel pillars supporting each dome and a horizontal tram chute connecting one building to the next. A single dome stood out from the rest. Set farthest from the land, it was surrounded by an aquatic fence that extended several hundred yards in each direction.
“That’s the hatchery,” Renny said, slowing as he passed over a school of silvery fish visible beneath the water. “They breed imported tuna from Earth. Beyond the gate, it’s dead sea. Not so much as a shrimp lives out there.”
“Dead sea,” Kane echoed. Something about that turned him cold.
They continued to the merchant dome. Renny had scheduled their visit under the guise of picking up a shipment of dried fish, so he landed the Banshee on the adjoining docking pad and used the radio to check in with the warehouse foreman. The plan was for Renny and Arabelle to oversee the loading of the cargo while Kane and the crew found their way to the residential dome where the infected settlers were quarantined. By dividing and conquering, they hoped to make this a quick stop. Staying too long was risky without knowing Fleece’s whereabouts.
“All hands report to the cargo hold,” Renny said through the ship’s com, “dressed to blend and prepared to disembark. You have two hours to find out what’s making these people sick.”
Any illusions Kane had of New Atlantia as a resort planet died the moment he stepped inside the merchant dome. The fiberglass bubble offered more than a panoramic view; it also trapped the heat and stink of everything below it. Vendors, laborers, processed tuna—all baked in a rancid pie. The massive fans built into the ceiling were no match for two suns, and with a seafood packing plant so close, he felt like he was inhaling fish.
Which he was, really.
“What’s the matter?” Cassia asked. She flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes, which were bloodshot and puffy from crying. “You don’t like the smell of money?”
He ignored the twinge of guilt in his stomach and instead peered above heads and storefront banners for the tram chute that would carry them to the residential domes. He spotted a station sign at the opposite end of the enclosure and began leading the way. By the time he reached the platform, the front of his shirt was glued to his chest. He peeled the fabric away from his skin, but the ventilation didn’t help. It seemed sweating was a way of life here.
Doran used a sleeve to blot his forehead. “Maybe the tram is air-conditioned.”
“Yeah,” Solara said with a dry laugh. “And maybe the fish lay golden eggs.”
When Cassia caught up, she brought the scent of a floral garden with her. Kane indulged in a whiff. The perfume microbes in her sweat glands didn’t stop her from perspiring, but they kept her as fresh as a rose in June. The procedure had been excruciating. He still remembered how her parents had forced it on her when she’d turned eleven. Afterward, it had taken three days of his best jokes to make her smile again.
He shook the memory out of his head. He didn’t want to think about that toothy grin, or how his insides had done backflips when she’d given it to him. He glanced at the station map, a series of bubbles connected by red and blue lines. “Where are we going?”
“The third one,” she said, pointing. “It used to be the administration building, but the seals cracked last year and it flooded during a storm. It’s still under renovation, so they’re using it for quarantine.”
“Will they let us inside?” Solara asked.
“It’s all taken care of. I radioed the head nurse and told her why we’re here. We can study the patients as long as we wear protective gear.” Cassia gathered her hair in one hand and fanned the back of her neck, spreading her perfume through the air. “I told her it’s biological warfare, not a contagion, but she didn’t believe me. She said all the infected settlers came from the same apartment building.”
Kane found that last bit interesting. “Maybe this isn’t the same sickness.”
“Or maybe the victims are being targeted,” Cassia said. “The whole apartment complex was for hatchery workers, mostly young single guys who roomed together.”
“Huh.” Solara paused to blow down the front of her shirt. “Who would want to infect a bunch of bachelors?”
“A bunch of irritated bachelorettes?” Doran offered.
“What about the settlers who disappeared from New Haven?” Kane asked. “Did they have anything in common?”
Doran and Solara shared a long glance. “Actually, yes,” Solara said. “Now that you mention it, they were all young, too. In their twenties, I think. But not just men. Almost half of them were women.”
Kane wondered what it meant. At home the only common link among the sick was that they spent a lot of time outdoors. “Maybe these workers caught it from the hatchery instead of the apartment building.”
“Maybe,” Cassia said.
A whistling noise announced the arrival of the tram, which eased to a stop in front of the platform. Its doors parted to reveal several empty cars, cooled by nothing more than an oscillating fan. Kane chose to remain standing when he entered the car. If the commuters of New Atlantia were half as sweaty as he was, he didn’t want to share their seats.
They continued through two more stations before stopping at the administration dome. A recorded voice from the tram speakers warned, “Construction zone, no admittance. All personnel must present credentials upon exiting the station.”
The four of them stepped onto the platform, but there were no guards to check their identification. Kane didn’t see anyone at all. Shielding his eyes from the blaring sunlight, he scanned the corridor leading toward the office park in the distance. Aside from a few piles of demolition materials, scattered tools, and the thick scent of mildew, nothing existed here.
The effect was eerie—an abandoned dome above a dead sea.
“This way,” Cassia said, her boots crunching over pebbles of drywall as she strode ahead of him and brushed his shoulder. “They’re using the governor’s manor as an infirmary. It’s supposed to be right behind the courthouse.”
He absently rubbed his upper arm and followed along, watching the domed walls instead of the path ahead of him. It felt surreal to walk at sea level and listen to the water lapping steadily against the walls…especially now that he knew about the leaks. He couldn’t shake the sensation of being trapped beneath a glass bowl. He tugged at his shirt collar and glanced at Doran, who was claustrophobic, to see if he felt the same way. But if Doran was anxious, he’d hidden it well, strolling by Solara’s side and occasionally leaning down to blow on her flushed neck. Kane had just dismissed his fear as an overactive imagination when he saw something that stopped him cold.
On the floor about ten yards away, a pair of boot tips protruded from behind a stack of pallets. Each motionless sole tilted limply outward, indicating the owner was unconscious. Or worse. He hissed a command for the group to stop, and as they turned around, he pointed at the boots and whispered, “I think that’s the station guard.”
After glancing around to ensure they were alone, the four of them crept toward the pallets, silently picking their way around construction debris until they reached the boots. Kane was right—they were attached to a guard, a middle-aged man with a purple face and a wire garrote wrapped around his throat.
Cassia gasped and crouched by the man’s side. While she felt for a pulse, Kane knelt down and untwisted the garrote. He checked over his shoulder as he discarded the wire. He was no expert, but the attack must’ve been recent, because the wire had drawn blood and none of it had dried.
“He’s barely alive,” Cassia whispered, and then drew a breath to inflate the man’s lungs.
Kane stood up and shared a wide-eyed look with Doran and Solara. He knew they were all thinking the same thing: Necktie Fleece was somewhere in this dome, and none of them had brought a pulse pistol.
“The tram,” Solara whispered.
Doran shook his head. “It won’t be back for at least fifteen minutes.”
“We can hide until then,” Kane said, gesturing at the endless piles of demolition refuse. “There are plenty of places.”
“What about him?” Doran asked with a nod at the guard.
Kane was about to suggest taking the man with them when an engine’s roar drew his attention to the west end of the dome. A gust of warm air followed, smelling of salt and sea. It seemed someone had docked a ship outside and opened the landing pad portal.
“I’m losing him,” Cassia panted, sweat trickling down the sides of her face as she pumped the guard’s heart. “Help me.”
Solara dropped to her knees and took over the chest compressions while Cassia probed the man’s neck for a pulse.
Kane told Doran, “Stay here and keep watch. I’m going to check the landing pad.”
“Not alone,” Cassia said. “Take Doran with you. I’ll keep watch.”
Nodding, Kane jogged away with Doran’s footsteps echoing behind him. Kane picked up the pace, choosing speed over stealth. There was no reason to quiet their boots now that the ship’s engine drowned out the sound. They’d nearly reached the west exit when Kane noticed movement from outside the dome wall, and he ducked behind a massive waste receptacle, motioning for Doran to join him.
Together, they chanced a peek at the docking pad.
A small passenger-class vessel had landed so close to the entrance that its loading ramp almost touched the dome doors. Men of varying heights and builds had formed a line and were shuffling up the ramp into the ship. Judging by their matching uniforms, these were the quarantined hatchery workers. Though their feet dragged, the men didn’t seem to be under duress. One of them stood out from the rest, dressed in gray. The ship’s pilot, perhaps. He stood at the base of the ramp and handed something to each worker who passed.
“What’s he giving out?” Kane asked.
“I don’t know,” Doran said. “But whatever it is, they seem to want it. Money?” He craned h
is neck. “No, wait. It looks like they’re eating it.”
From this distance, Kane couldn’t tell. “Let’s get closer.”
They zigzagged from one hiding place to the next until Kane didn’t dare go any farther. He and Doran crouched behind a cleric’s desk and took turns poking their heads above it. The view from here was perfect. Kane didn’t recognize the ship, but there was no mistaking its pilot now that the man’s scar was visible—thick and jagged in a horizontal line across his throat.
“It’s Necktie Fleece,” Kane murmured.
Doran leveled an index finger toward the ship’s ramp, where the last two men were boarding. Necktie offered them a thin, palm-size cylinder, and they plucked it from his hands, eagerly bringing the device to their lips and huffing a series of deep breaths. “They’re not eating it. They’re breathing it.”
“Inhalers?” Kane asked. “But why…” He trailed off as everything began to make sense. “The cure is airborne. That’s why my mom felt better after she slept outside. There was something in the air that night.” He thought back to the disappearing settlers on New Haven. There was no sign of a struggle because they’d left willingly. “Fleece is making people sick and giving them the cure if they’ll come with him.”
“Come with him where?”
That was what Kane didn’t understand. Maybe Fleece had partnered with slave traders. That would explain why he wanted young men from the hatchery. Strong laborers fetched the highest price, followed by young women for the bordellos. He watched the last man enter the ship. As the boarding ramp retracted, it occurred to Kane that he should tell Renny what’d happened. He tapped the com-link fastened to his shirt. “Renny, we’re not alone. Necktie Fleece is here.”
“Copy that,” the captain said. “Where are you?”
“In the quarantine dome. I just watched fifty guys board his ship. It’s some passenger-class vessel, but I can’t make out the name.”
Just then Necktie Fleece paused on his way to the pilot hatch, snapping his gaze to Kane as if he’d overheard the entire conversation. Kane ducked below the desk, but it was too late. He hissed a curse and peeked up again. Fleece was climbing into his ship, but Kane knew better than to assume he was safe. The prickles along the back of his neck urged him to run.
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