“Embedded? Kricket is spying?”
“No,” Jax says, grimacing. “I wouldn’t term it quite that way.”
“Explain,” Trey growls.
“She started off as a ransom, an exchange given for Astrid, who was caught and held by Strikers near the Isle of Skye. New Amster has no intention of rescuing Kricket, though. A plan was formulated early on, but it’s been scrapped.”
“Why?”
“Kricket is shaping up to be something of a distraction to the Alameeda—something for them to fight over. If she can provide information to New Amster then that’s a bonus, but given her intelligence, they’ve found that simply inserting her in the fray has sent the Brotherhood into chaos mode . . . and New Amster is rather enjoying it.”
“Why would they use her like that?”
Jax glances at Astrid before looking back at Trey. “If the Brotherhood is fixated on Kricket, they aren’t looking anywhere else. New Amster is a rebel base. They plan to fight the Alameeda and all its allies.”
Whatever Jax is saying gets through to Trey and it acts as a tolling bell to a sleeping giant. Trey turns away from Jax and grasps the tabletop by his bedside, hunching over it. He lifts it up and bashes it against the floor a couple of times before he throws it clear across the room. The soldiers near the door duck out of its way. It crashes into the wall, splintering into a thousand pieces. He rounds on the other New Amster soldiers, the closest being Raspin.
Jax catches him before he can attack Raspin. “Wayra,” Jax says imploringly, “a little help?”
“Why?” Wayra retorts, but he grips Trey’s shoulders anyway. “We should kill all these wackers!”
Jax grunts, not faring well against Trey, even in his weakened state. “Because then . . . we leave her alone in a fight she can’t possibly win!” he snarls.
Wayra and Jax struggle to keep Trey away from Raspin, until Wayra forces Trey back against the wall. “Brother,” Wayra pants, “we’ve got this.” He looks into Trey’s eyes as if they’re the only two here.
“She’s all alone, Wayra.” Trey’s voice sounds sinister.
“So we do what we do. We find her on our own and we get her back.” Releasing his arms, Wayra grasps Trey by the shoulder and he hugs him to him, saying, “Baw-da-baw, Trey.”
Trey’s hand clenches, but his arm around Wayra’s shoulder hugs him back. “Baw-da-baw,” Trey replies as he stares coldly at Astrid over Wayra’s shoulder.
I can’t stay any longer. An ice-water wind blows mercilessly through me. The pull on me to return to my body is undefeatable, and it has me fading into the darkness like a colorless star. I give in to it and snap backward faster than a Jetstream to return to my body.
Taking possession of myself once more, I struggle to inhale a full breath. My lungs are deflated, like a bagpipe with no wind. I open my eyes to a prism of bleeding colors in the bright sunlight, and I close them again. I’m conscious enough to understand that someone is carrying me—Kyon. I’m jostled and bumped against his chest as he runs with me in his arms. The light that shows red through my eyelids suddenly dims, and I hear his shoes clap against the stone floor.
He lays me on a soft mattress. We’re now in our bedroom. The next thing I feel is a hard slap to my cheek. I open my eyes and see him above me. Lifting my hand to my swelling face, I groan, “Yeah, I felt that.”
“You’re back,” he says. He exhales in relief. He gazes down at me like he’s glad to see me.
“Worried, were you?” My voice is gravelly as I quake with cold. I feel frozen from the inside out.
“You have to gain some control over your ability, Kricket, or it will kill you.” He’s sort of handsome when he’s concerned, I think begrudgingly. He gathers the blanket on the bed and tosses it over me, covering my trembling limbs.
“I’ll work on it if you agree to stop hitting me,” I say, rubbing my stinging cheek. My skin is freezing and I have vanilla ice cream breath. There is something in my mouth. I spit it out into my hand. Looking in my palm, I find a sliver of a vanilla bean, only it must be the Etharian version because it’s the size of a coffee bean. I let it fall into the folds of the blanket.
“I was told that the taste of vanilla would sometimes bring your mother back from the future,” Kyon explains. He picks it up and throws it outside onto the patio.
“So you shoved a bean in my mouth?”
“I’ve been carrying them with me since last night. I thought it might help bring you back. Did it?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. I’m starting to thaw. “I liked it better than the slap.”
He flops on the bed next to me, and we both lie shoulder to shoulder looking up as the waning sunlight moves across the ceiling. My teeth stop chattering. I glance at him; his shirt is wet with sweat.
“Did you carry me all the way back from the gazebo in the woods?”
“Yes, and you weigh a ton,” he lies. “I’ll have to stop feeding you pancakes.”
I study his cameo-perfect profile. His blond hair covers mine. “What happened?”
“You’re asking me? I’m not the one who just came back from the future.”
“You found me on the ground in the gazebo?”
“Yes. It will be dark soon. You should’ve been back sooner. I went looking for you.”
“Were you worried?” I ask with a frown. “I thought you said we’re safe here from attack.”
“A lot of things can happen here. There are other ways to get hurt.”
“Oh.” I shrug that off. “I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly,” he scoffs, gesturing in my direction.
“I’m all right,” I murmur.
“A few more moments away from your body and you wouldn’t have been. I tried everything I knew to get you to come back.”
“Clearly. The bean was genius,” I tease him.
“You were gone a long time. You must have seen something very important.”
“I didn’t see anything,” I lie.
“And I didn’t just hit you.”
I need to change the subject. I turn toward him, drawing my legs up. “Why do you hate your dad?”
He shows no emotion as he says, “You didn’t seem to like him much, either.”
My laughter is hollow. “I tend not to like people who want to kill me. It’s this rule I have.”
“He wants to kill me too. He wants to kill anything he can’t control.”
“He can’t control you?” I ask.
“Not anymore. Not for a very long time.”
“So we’re allies in that.”
“In what? In staying alive?” he asks with a small smile.
“Yes,” I say softly.
“If you’d like,” he replies.
“I’d much rather go home.”
“You are home.”
I turn away from him and look up at the ceiling once more. “That’s funny—this doesn’t look anything like my apartment in Chicago.”
“You’ve outgrown Chicago,” Kyon replies. He leans over and kisses me quickly on the cheek. He rolls to the edge of the bed and stands. Peeling off his damp shirt, he tosses it on a nearby chair. He turns to me, and I get an eyeful of his ridiculous physique. He looks fake—someone had to have airbrushed his abdomen or something because it’s too perfect. I can feel myself blushing. I look back at the ceiling again.
“I’m going for a swim. Do you need anything before I go?”
I shake my head no.
“You’re sure you’re feeling better?” he asks.
“I’m good.”
“I’ll be back, and then we can dine together.”
“Fine.”
He leaves then, and I crawl up to the pillows on the bed. Resting my head against one, I stretch out beneath the blanket, bringing it up to my neck. While Kyon is distracted, I should probably check out the house for weapons and places to hide, but I’m beat. I feel like I’ve been run over and my head is achy. I reach under my pillow, finding that the knife I�
�d stashed there this morning is still there. I shove it back under the pillow and close my eyes.
“Kricket.” Kyon’s deep voice penetrates my groggy mind.
“What?” I groan, trying to cling to sleep. I squint at him and see that it’s dark outside.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, stroking my hair.
“You’re waking me up to see if I’m hungry?” I ask soporifically.
“Yes,” Kyon murmurs.
“You’re so mean,” I grumble. “I was sleeping! I never get to sleep on this stupid planet!” I sigh. “Someone is always chasing me, or hitting me, or waking me up. This planet is so rude.”
Kyon laughs. “So you’re not hungry?”
I turn away from him and bury my head beneath another pillow. Kyon stretches out next to me and slides me to his chest. I would pull away, but I don’t have the energy to fight him. I feel like I’ve been awake for days. “Go to sleep then,” he whispers near my ear.
I try to ignore him.
“You’re safe here.”
I sigh heavily and turn over to face him, saying “Shh!” as I cover his mouth with my hand. I can feel him laughing beneath it. He pulls my hand away from his mouth and threads his fingers through mine. He rests his chin against the top of my head and doesn’t say another word.
CHAPTER 5
DAWN GOLDEN
My eyes open to brilliant sunlight streaming into the bedroom. The white curtains beside the archway that leads to the sea billow in the late morning sun.
“Are you awake now?” Kyon asks. He’s lying beside me with his head on a couple of ivory-colored pillows. I panic for a second when I see him, but then I remember where I am.
“Yes,” I say, stretching. I’m still in the same clothes as yesterday, which makes me feel better. He didn’t try anything criminal last night.
“Do you feel well? You slept a long time.” He turns away and sets a tablet on the table beside him, giving me a view of his back. My eyes skim over his bare skin. Do I feel well? No, I don’t. I hate the disturbing feelings he inspires in me: fear¸ hatred, attraction . . .
I rub my eyes. “I usually don’t sleep as long as most Etharians. I’m used to shorter days and nights. I get tired more often.”
“That will change over time. Are you hungry now?” he asks.
“I’m starving,” I reply, sitting up against my pillow.
He frowns, and right away I can tell that he’s taking me way too seriously. “Do you feel faint? I’ve already ordered you some pancakes. You should’ve eaten last night!”
I hold up my hand to stave off a bigger freak-out. “I’m not really starving, Kyon. It’s just an expression. I’m moderately hungry.”
He pauses, considering what I just told him. “Your idioms are confusing,” he replies.
“I know,” I murmur, “but they’re a habit. It’s hard to change them. So when I tell you I’m starving, I just mean I’d like to eat soon.”
“How did you survive on Earth? No one there says what they mean.”
I scoff. “Like it’s any different here.”
“I say what I mean.”
“And you mean what you say.”
“Is that wrong?”
“It is when it’s in direct opposition to me,” I reply.
“You don’t know what you don’t know, Kricket.”
“Does anyone really know what they don’t know, Kyon? And you’d be surprised what I know.”
“Would I?’
“Mmm.”
“What do you know?” he asks.
I lean near him and whisper secretively, “It’s very dark in Pretty Town.” I straighten again. “You can quote me.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re dark,” I reply.
“And you think I’m pretty?” he asks. He doesn’t know if he should be offended or flattered, but I think he’s leaning toward the former.
“Are those the pancakes?” I ask, avoiding the question as a gleaming hovercart glides into our room and comes to rest at the side of the bed. “Are we eating in bed?”
“You showed such a propensity for it last night that I thought you might enjoy dining here. Afterward, I can show you the rest of the island.”
The cart opens up, jettisoning two silver-colored, floating trays. One stops in front of me. When I touch it, the lid opens, revealing a huge stack of pancakes. I glance at Kyon. He has an equal stack of pancakes on his plate. He picks up his fork and says, “You know these aren’t very good for Pretty Town.”
I nearly choke. When I can speak once more, I murmur, “I think Pretty Town can handle it.”
When we’re finished eating, Kyon shows me how to nudge the tray away. It glides to the hovercart and inserts itself inside. The hovercart floats away then, probably headed for the dishery. I head for the Commodus, and then into the shower in the lavare. From there I get made over in the dressing room. I emerge from behind the white doors wearing a black two-piece bathing suit with a matching, flowy wrap skirt and an ivory scoop neck top.
Kyon has his back to me as he stands in the archway, watching the sea. He must have showered outside or went for a swim because his hair is wet, but it’s pulled back from his face. He has changed into loose-fitting dove-gray swim shorts and a soft white shirt. Turning to face me when he hears me approach, his eyes fall on my hair. It was braided by the robotic beauty-bots.
Kyon touches the small of my back and guides me outside onto to patio. “The boathouse is this way,” he says.
Before I step onto the sand, I ask, “Is it safe?”
“For you.” He waits for me to step down on the white sand. When I do, he takes me down to the beach. I slip off my sandals and we walk along the shore together. The sand is hot, so I wade into the water and splash around to cool off.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, gesturing to the water.
“Teach me what?”
“To swim,” he says in a low tone.
I look out at the water and then back at him. “You mean you can teach me to swim in the water that you tried to drown me in?”
“Yes.”
I shiver involuntarily. “No thanks. I’m good,” I say and take a few steps.
He grips my arm. “You will learn to swim. It’s not a request. You can’t have any weaknesses.”
I can’t square him or what’s happening here. Is he serious? He’s been hunting me for months, preying on all my weaknesses. Now he wants to teach me to swim so I won’t be weak? He’s as mercurial as they come. I shrug, noncommittal.
He continues the tour of the island, taking me to the boathouse. It’s constructed of huge timber logs and steel joints. Inside, there are four boats suspended in the air on hydraulic lifts. Two of them can probably carry forty people or more, and the other two are smaller, made to be fast, judging by their aerodynamic designs. Each has the capacity to carry only three or four people. He owns two black, bullet-shaped hydrocycles that resemble hovercycles, but they travel on the surface of the water. He also has a berth where a submarine floats on the lapping waves. It resembles a stingray with undulating wings and a slippery skin with marine mammal markings on it.
“Which one do you like the most?” I ask, gesturing to the menagerie of toys before me.
“Which boat?” he asks. “This one.” He points to the long rowboat with oars that’s shelved on the wall beside us. It’s silver with black rally stripes on the hull.
“Why?” I move closer to the sleek rowboat. It’s archaic in terms of Etharian standards, a kind of boat that someone who’s well versed in rowing would use to train. There are no automated parts to it. I run my fingertips over an oarlock. It feels like steel.
“Because it requires strength,” Kyon says behind me. “It can hurt you, but it can also set you free.”
For some reason, I wonder if we’re still talking about the boat. “What would someone like you need to be free of?” I wonder.
“Questions, for one,” Kyon replies.
“What’s wrong with questions?”
“You like questions? I have one. What did you see our first night here?”
“Excuse me?”
“You left me with just your body on the beach. You projected into the future. I want to know what you saw there.” His arms form a cage around me, resting on the hull of his favorite boat.
I stare up into his blue eyes. I find it hard to swallow all of a sudden. There’s no way I can tell him any of it. If I do, it would be as if I put a gun to the head of each person in Amster and fired. Kyon will slaughter them all with impunity.
“I didn’t see much,” I lie.
“You were gone a very long time. I think you saw plenty.”
“I saw your Alameeda Strikers stack wounded civilians in the streets of Rafe and burn them alive.” I hurl the statement at him. It’s my only weapon.
His eyebrows draw together as he scowls. “They’re not my soldiers. If they were mine, I’d be leading them out of Rafe.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re your soldiers.”
“How can you say that?”
“You have but to claim them as your own. By not doing so, every day you’re allowing Rafe to die. Only you.” He believes what he’s saying.
“I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”
“You will.” He turns away from me, toward the entrance. “I’ve had enough of you for now. You can see yourself back to the house,” he says over his shoulder.
“You think you have me tamed, Kyon?”
Kyon turns with a cold look in his eyes. “I plan to bring you to your knees again, Kricket.”
“I hate you!” I rasp. “I wish someone would just kill you!” Icy air exhales from my mouth like smoke from dry ice. I try to stay in my body. “Why is this happening?” I whisper as my spirit involuntarily leaves my body.
My consciousness rises up into the air as my body collapses onto the wide planks of the boathouse floor. My head bounces off the floor with a dull thud. Kyon runs to my side, kneels down next to me. I float above him, bewildered and silent, unable to stay in this moment.
Even separated as I am from my physical self, I feel fiery heat in my nonexistent bones. Thunderous air rolls under my feet, propelling me into the future. In less than one second, I’m on the other side of the island by the small thatched-roof cottages that crouch in the tree line just off the white-sand beach. Darkness falls like it would if viewed in time-lapse photography. The waves crash against the shore until they cough up dozens upon dozens of black wetsuit-clad swimmers. These men emerge from the surf and form a small huddle on the shore.
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