“The Smithsons are claiming you’re responsible for the crash,” Alex says.
“You know that’s not true, Alex,” I say.
“Of course I do, Laurita,” he says. “But I can’t prove it.”
“You’re under twenty-four-hour guard, with restricted bioware access,” Faye says, hands on her hips. “And I swear, Laura Cruz, if you’re lying to me about what you were doing on that bridge, I…”
But tears crest on her lashes. She turns away fast, tilting her head back and wiping her lower lids with her fingers. Each sniffle feels like a dart thrown straight at my heart.
“Faye?” I ask softly.
“Her father didn’t make it,” Alex says.
“Oh god, Faye, I’m—”
“No,” she says, pointing a finger at me without turning around. “I’m not grieving him until this is over. For now, we’re pretending everything is normal.”
“I’m still sorry,” I say.
“I feel worse for you,” Faye says. She turns back to us. “Dr. Smithson wants you disconnected, Laura.”
I shudder. The dregs of Panamerican society are sometimes referred to as the disconnected, people who’ve committed federal crimes great enough to have their bioware removed or disabled. Sometimes they’re people who’ve done self-surgery to slip away from the law. Or those who are so poor, they sell their equipment on the black market to survive.
Without bioware, a citizen can’t captain ships, or raid, or even work in the mecha bays. Everyone aboard any Panamerican starship must have registered and updated bioware. Our ships can’t calibrate correctly without being able to read the bioweight aboard.
Basically, Dr. Smithson wants to ground me for life. No, she’s asking to end my life, my career, my chances at becoming the person I’m meant to be. And for what crime? I had the audacity to date her son. I overheard the details of how she planned to use her own influence to gut my mother’s reputation, thus allowing her to seize the Cruz family’s collections.
And, perhaps, because Dr. Smithson thought I could be a pawn.
“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” I say, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I shake my arm to wake up my bioware, only to be greeted by a big red Access Denied on my ioScreen. They must have shut the system down while I was in the medpod. “Where’s my mamá?”
“In a meeting,” Alex says. “Along with the ship’s surviving officers and the crew from the John Muir.”
“How’d she take the Smithsons’ allegations?” I ask.
“Let’s just say there was a reason the conversation couldn’t stay in the medbay,” Faye says with a smirk.
Sometimes I can’t believe how quickly Faye can hide behind an emotional mask. She’s like a chameleon, slipping in and out of emotional states, sometimes with no warning. Yet it’s still so comforting to hear her voice, to be around people I’ve known my whole life.
“They don’t call Dr. Cruz the Lioness of Baja for nothing,” Alex says. “Your mamá’s fierce.”
“I need to talk to her,” I say. Tuck will tell Mami about my subjugator, and I’ll tell her about what the Smithsons said on Launch Day. Their plans to discredit our family in order to seize the Declaration of Independence will come to light. But the John Muir’s a much greater prize, one they will fight hard to steal from my family. “Actually, Tuck and I need to talk to her together.”
“Who’s Tuck?” Alex asks, bracing both his hands on my medpod.
“The guy who brought me into the medbay,” I say. “Tallish, dark hair, looks grumpy all the time … he slipped out before I had a chance to introduce him.”
“Oh, you mean the handsome one,” Faye says, then cocks her head from side to side. “In a brooding sort of way.”
Alex wrinkles his forehead. “You would think an attitude makes a guy more attractive.”
“He’s a little too pale for my taste,” Faye says, making a popping sound with her lips on the word pale. “But Laura does have a thing for gringos—”
I smack her arm. “Hey, it’s not like that, okay?”
Faye ignores me, leaning over the medpod to whisper to Alex. “I heard he carried her in his arms out of the tram and to safety.” She presses the back of her hand against her forehead. “Just think! It’s so Romeo and Juliet. Two people from different sides of time—it’s so romantic I could die.”
Alex chuckles, shaking his head. His locs swish against his back. “Gorda, you do know what happened to Romeo and Juliet, don’t you?”
“Aren’t they just like … the quintessential fairy-tale romantic couple?” She looks to me. “Were they real?”
Groaning, I flop back on my bed as my cheeks burn like furnaces. I yank the covers over my head. “Ay, ay, ay, Tuck only carried me because my toes were broken,” I say through the fabric. I wiggle my toes to make sure I’m healthy again. “I could barely walk.”
“So it’s true!” Alex says, pinching my leg through the comforter. “The proud Laura Cruz let some guy carry her busted ass to safety.”
I narrow my eyes under the covers, thinking of the few steps I did walk, and the way Sebastian grinned at me as I bled on the tunnel’s procrete flooring.
“Our little girl’s getting so big, Alex,” Faye says dramatically. “Capturing ships and the hearts of boys lost on the other side of the universe—”
“It’s not like that!” I moan through the comforter.
Faye pulls down my blanket. “You know he was like, born on Earth, right? But in a way that’s kind of hot. How many girls have boyfriends from another age of humanity?”
“I gotta admit, it does fit our history girl,” Alex says, grinning at me.
“¡Ay!” I say, laughing as I sit up. “I told you, it’s not like that.” I can’t say I’m entirely opposed to the idea, though. Tuck’s clever—and not just because he saw past my layers and straight to the subjugator at my throat. Under all the sweat and dirt and blood, there’s a brave, intelligent boy with razor-sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders. He’s courageous. I admit he’s in excellent shape, too, with lots of toned muscle under that stiflecloth. Tunnel running’s been good to him, if not mentally, at least physically.
But those hazel eyes of his always look so sad, even when he’s laughing. I wonder what I’d do with such a lonely boy, one who carries a broken heart in his chest and pretends it beats the same as everyone else’s.
“We need to find him,” I say, kicking off my comforter. I rip the gauze off my hands, and then yank the needles out from under my skin. Gems of blood well from the backs of my wrists. “Find him, and get him to Mami.”
“Great idea, chiquita”—Alex motions to the men outside my door with his head—“but those pendejos aren’t letting you go anywhere.”
I’d almost forgotten about the mercenaries outside my door. They’re going to make saving the John Muir and extricating myself from this web of lies more difficult. Especially since I’ve got enemies in every arena. In front of the ships’ crews, the Smithsons disparage my reputation. Online, I face a hacker who’s bested me on several occasions. In the tunnels, there be monsters.
Even now, perhaps especially now, only saving the ship will prove my innocence. I know what the Smithsons’ case against me must look like from the outside. Climbing the Narrows. Hacking Mami’s chair. Being on the bridge when the ships crashed. I played right into their hands.
Now I’m going to have to outwit them—and a mysterious hacker—to save myself.
Which means I have to escape.
Faye sets her hands down on the medpod, her bioware flashing at me. Like a spark, it sets an idea on fire in my head. I’m looking at a loophole, and I think I know how to exploit it.
“Do you know what Tuck looks like?” I ask, turning to Alex. “Do you think you could find him for me?”
“Claro, there aren’t too many people on this ship,” Alex says, reaching out to take my hand. He sandwiches it between his own, his skin dry and warm. “You trust this guy? Is he goi
ng to follow me easy?”
I nod. “Tuck saved my life. I helped him restore power to the ship. He’ll help.”
“Right, then,” Alex says, giving my hand a squeeze before standing up. “I’ll find him. You staying with her, Faye? Someone should.”
Yes, Faye, I think. Someone should most definitely stay with me.
“Sure,” Faye says, plopping into the chair next to me. “Though I would so love to go with you and get a better look at Laura’s new boy.”
“He’s not my boy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You can’t own a person, Faye.”
Alex flashes me a grin, knocks on the glass door, and slips out when the mercenaries open it for him.
When the door settles back into place, the privacy frost coating the glass again, I drop back on the medpod with my legs crossed under me. “Bioware, please,” I ask Faye, my hand out.
“What? Why?” she asks, twisting her lips into a neat little pout.
“Because I’m worried one of the Smithsons might be the black-hat hacker who crashed our ships,” I say. “If that’s the case, their guard will be down now that my bioware’s out of commission.”
“Well, in that case,” she says, offering me her wrist. “But you’d better not be lying about the terrorism allegations, flaca. Otherwise, I’m going to get jail time for this, and I will never forgive you if I don’t get into Frida Nacional because I spent time in an orange jumpsuit. There’s no way I’m going to some subpar art school, just because you needed a fix. ¿Comprendes?”
I click my tongue at her. “You know me better than that, Faye.” I bring up the command menus inside her bioware, tunneling into Mami’s bioware in seconds. “All I want in the world is the freedom to live my life and raid ships.”
“Laura, you are free. I mean, besides all this.” She gestures to the men at the door.
I look Faye straight in the eye, swallowing hard, but have no answer to that.
Using her bioware, I locate the GPL tags for all four mercenaries outside, plus Faye’s. Sorry, cari. I increase the users’ serotonin levels to the highest threshold possible. Bioware secretes a whole range of biochemicals, ones it distributes via nanomechs in the bloodstream to keep the human body stable and healthy. Usually.
Switching to a different menu, I input Mami’s passcodes and release the locks on my own bioware devices.
The nodes in my arms flash red, then turn their usual, pulsing sky blue. I rub my wrists, heaving a relieved sigh. Several ping messages appear when I shake open my ioScreen. Most messages are well wishes from friends and family; expressions of shock flow in, too. A few of them are accusatory, angry. I ignore them all, except for one in the middle. It contains an image.
I click the message. A map appears on my ioScreen, one so old it takes several seconds for my bioware to convert the file type.
At first, the data doesn’t make sense to my drug-addled brain—but then I realize someone’s drawn a path through what looks to be Yosemite National Park, one starting in an area marked Medbay and ending at Spider Cave.
I clap my hand over my bioware node. The words I can get you to the bridge, Laura, flow back from my dreams.
You’re the only one who can save her now.
A small chill runs down my spine. Is this another trap? I wonder. Who was that woman? And how did she get into my dreams? Could my black-hat hacker have co-opted an old image from the John Muir’s files and set a trap to condemn me once and for all? I try to find a record of the sender on the ping network, but there’s nothing. No trace.
Not even a hacker could gain entrance to my dreams. But if not a hacker, then who?
If I stay here, I won’t have a chance to save the John Muir. If I go, at least I’m not under surveillance, locked out of my own bioware and hopeless. As the old saying goes, it might be a chance I have to take.
“Does your mamá know you can override her system commands?” Faye asks as I slide on a pair of fitted khaki pants, part of an outfit Mami probably left for me. I find a reddish scar on my thigh, where the shrapnel hit me. The flesh is almost fully healed now, que bueno.
“Does your mamá know you engaged your bioware’s birth control protocols?” I shoot back.
“Flaca, she showed me how,” Faye says, rolling her eyes. “You are the only girl I know who’s squicked out by sex. Ask Tuck, I’m sure he’d be happy to—”
“Faye!” I half shriek, throwing a pillow at her.
She laughs and catches it easily, then points an index finger at my face. “See? You’re so uptight, Laura. It’s like you’re afraid to make a mistake, but how are you supposed to learn if you’re not”—she pauses, yawning so big she flashes teeth—“making … mistakes…?”
“I’ve made plenty of mistakes,” I say. The whole last year of my life with Sebastian was one long mistake. “I’m going to end one now.”
She yawns again. “What are you talking about?”
I wish I knew for certain. Leftover grapes lie on a plate near my medpod, and I shove a handful into my mouth. My nerves are jumping so much, I almost swallow them whole. I clip a bra behind my back, and then pull a clean tank top on.
Faye yawns again and stretches, languidly. “I’m so tired all of a sudden.… Laura, did you do something…?”
Socks next. Then a newish pair of boots. Finally, I grab Mami’s jacket and slide it on. For luck. She’ll kill me when she realizes it’s gone, but I don’t know what I’m going to find out there in the park. I need some part of her to go with me.
One by one, the guards slump to the ground outside. Their plasma rifles clatter to the ground.
“Laura Cruz, you little…” Faye doesn’t finish, resting her head on the gurney with a sigh.
“I’m sorry, Faye,” I say as I take my bow and quiver from the room’s corner. “I know you’ll be pissed when you wake up, but this way nobody will think you’re involved.”
I take a moment to remove the Declaration of Independence from my quiver and leave it rolled up on a nearby table for my parents to find, partially hidden beneath my discarded hospital gown. It’s the only way for me to say trust me, without pinging them to tell them I’ve escaped. I refuse to implicate my parents or family in any way.
If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it alone. It’s not the way my parents taught me to solve my problems, but if I don’t move now, the Smithsons may try to use me as a tool against my family. I refuse to let that happen. I wish I had time to wait for Alex and Tuck, but I’m not certain how long the guards will be unconscious, or how much longer the John Muir will survive.
I need to go.
Lo siento, Mami, I think, shutting off the room’s lights. I know you’ll be disappointed in me, at least for a little while. Dad, I hope you understand.
Slipping from the room, I sneak past the nurses sitting at their desks, absorbed in their work.
Then I run.
USS JOHN MUIR NPS-3500
DEEPDOWNS: SECTOR THREE
TUCK
I run to the edge of my universe. To a place where the air gets cold and breathing becomes a blood sport. I gulp air, but still feel punch-drunk from the lack of oxygen. My fingers turn blue and my tongue feels clumsy.
The ship’s so quiet here, the silence hums in my ears. Tuneless. Dejah’s not around to check on me. The mourners don’t venture into these rooms, so far from their colony in the bridge and sources of food and heat in other sectors.
It’s just a dying ship and me.
From the observation deck in Sector Three, I get a good look at the crash site. The ship’s deepdowns arc in a great curve around the terrarium. Laura’s ship carved a canyon in the Muir’s flank near the aft decks. The nebula’s light throws millions of pieces of debris into relief. Shattered parts of the ship spin like tops in zero gravity. An eerie fog engulfs the site, one made from the air and water expelled by the crash.
The wreckage tears me open, too. I knew saving the Muir would be difficult. But this … we’re not coming back from devastati
on on this scale. The pressure in the deepdowns drops by the hour. My HUD’s readings and projections look dangerously low, our problems accelerated by Dejah’s disappearance.
I’m not sure how long I stand on the observation deck, just watching the ship exhale irreplaceable air into space. Long enough for my feet to go numb and for the tips of my fingers to turn blue. The cold dulls more than the nerves in my skin. It puts my ragged heart on ice. Helps me not to think about it for a while, ’cause other things hurt more.
What’s it like, having family so happy to see you? All I’ve ever been to the adults in my life is an inconvenience—first to the father who left, then to Mom. Aren’s okay, but we’re not family. Not in Laura’s sense of the word, at least. More like partners in survival.
“Tuck, do you copy?” Aren asks, speak of the devil. “Where are you?”
“Yeah, Aren,” I reply. “I’m in Sector Three, observing the crash site.”
“You didn’t have authorization to head back into the deepdowns,” Aren says, not trying to hide his annoyance.
“Yeah, well, I don’t get authorization for a lot of things,” I say. He snorts. “What’s going on?”
“She’s gone, Tuck.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” I ask, my heart rate kicking up a notch.
“Laura Cruz. She’s disappeared. I need you at the Ahwahnee, stat, for a ship-wide meeting and search.”
“I’m on my way,” I say, turning to run before I even finish the message to Aren.
It’s only then that I realize:
I’ve come to care about a girl I barely know at all.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I walk into the Ahwahnee Hotel’s makeshift council chamber inside the old dining room. Late for the meeting, of course. I don’t want to be caught up in the group’s bureaucratic stupidity—I want to be out looking for Laura.
I stopped into the medbay on my way here, just to check for clues. A note. Anything. But all Laura left behind were four unconscious guards, a woozy girl, and some mysterious artifact the adults are now bickering over. One of the nurses said Laura left the Declaration of Independence behind, but that’s got to be a load of bullshit. Where would Laura have hidden the Declaration, if she had …
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