She didn’t answer. He wove among the tables and then disappeared back into the warren of tunnels through the asteroid to his life, to his job, to his responsibilities that weren’t her.
For a moment, the lodge was silent. The spotlights shone in her eyes, and she had to blink to see around them. The boys at the bar and the girl dancing with the Kindred guest were watching her.
She tapped the microphone and coughed at the cloud of dust.
It looked vintage, like the kind radio announcers in old movies spoke into, and yet there were no wires. An artificial reconstruction, just like the spotlights shining in her eyes, and the smell of sticky-sweet drinks being served at the bar. She shifted in the gold dress, unused to how it hugged her body.
Before her, the Kindred audience was cast in shadows. More had arrived, and now the sounds of a dozen guests waiting filled the silence. All were dressed in artificial human clothes. The only exceptions were two Kindred soldiers in black uniforms, heading out toward the savanna. Sweat trickled down her back as she cleared her throat again.
“Wishing on a star, never thought I’d come this far. . . .” Her voice reverberated around the corners of the room louder than she’d expected. The two bartenders stopped what they were doing and turned in surprise, like they hadn’t heard real singing in years.
“Across the night sky, never knowing why . . .”
The sounds of a vehicle roared in the distance; chairs squeaked as the Kindred guests twisted toward the savanna, more interested in the most recent hunt than in her song, and for some crazy reason, this angered her.
“Wanting to stay strong, surrounded by monsters . . .”
She knew she was pushing it, but they ignored her. Apparently, Cassian was right: for all their brilliance, subtext in song was lost on them.
The gong sounded, signaling a returning expedition. But then it sounded again. And again, haphazardly, as though someone was falling against it. Someone shouted, though Cora couldn’t make out the words. A few of the guests jumped up and ran to the French doors to see what had caused the commotion. She stood on her tiptoes at the edge of the stage, trying to see over the guests’ heads.
And then, suddenly, the guests parted. The two uniformed soldiers she’d noticed earlier came striding up the veranda stairs with a human boy between them. He was tall, with medium-brown skin and short hair, and he wore a safari uniform with leather driving gloves and, dangling around his neck, a set of driving goggles.
“It isn’t time yet!” he yelled, as he fought against the guards. “It’s too soon!”
Cora threw a look to the bartenders, who watched apprehensively, not making a move to help the boy. Three other kids came up the savanna stairs, including the same scrawny-limbed boy and girl as before, their safari uniforms caked with even more dust, eyes just as wide as they watched the boy being dragged off.
The boy locked eyes with the blond bartender. “Dane! Tell the others. We’ve all been lied to and—” One of the guards jabbed a device into the boy’s side and he slumped, unconscious. The two guards dragged him to a red door behind the bar. One of the bartenders started to follow, but the other one—Dane—held out a hand to stop him.
For a second, the entire lodge was silent.
Cora looked around in confusion, hoping for an explanation. The guests seemed shaken but not entirely surprised. They whispered among themselves, faces wearing exaggerated masks of pity for the boy.
A dishrag flew at her, and she jumped.
“Sing, songbird,” the bartender named Dane commanded. “Distract them.”
But she could only stand there, lips parted. No sound came from her throat. No lyrics came into her head. It was too much, all of it. To be abandoned here, thrust onstage, witness to whatever awful thing had just happened to that boy. And on top of everything, who was Cassian to say that she was supposed to set humanity free?
Dane rolled his eyes and jerked his head for her to step off the stage. He put on some recorded music and ordered the dancing girl to get up there. As soon as she did, the guests seemed to forget about the incident, returning to their drinks and conversations and slow dances.
“You’ve got ten minutes to pull yourself together,” Dane threatened Cora. “And then you sing when I tell you to sing.”
The guest with the sunken eyes had been close enough to hear their conversation. His head was cocked in her direction now, as though he could see straight into the offstage shadows where they stood. He smiled slightly.
She hugged her arms, feeling cold despite the humid air, until a hand reached out from the shadows and pinched her.
6
Leon
IF THERE WAS ONE thing Leon liked, it was a full glass of vodka.
Not the fancy stuff, no. It was quantity he was interested in, and Bonebreak had plenty. As a black-market trader, Bonebreak seemed to be able to get his hands on anything from Earth or any other planet. The more Leon drank, the easier it was to overlook the fact that Bonebreak had a seriously ugly hunchback and breath that smelled like something had died. Also, that he wasn’t human.
Leon tipped the dusty bottle toward the Mosca. “Cheers, mate.”
“Cheers.”
The Mosca’s voice came in fits and starts from behind his mask. In the two days that Leon had known Bonebreak, he hadn’t seen his face once, or the faces of any of Bonebreak’s underlings, who scuttled around the corners of the room. After Bonebreak had passed out drunk the night before, Leon had tried to pull off the mask to see what was underneath, only to find it was sewn into the edges of the creature’s face with thick black wire.
Leon tilted the bottle up, then frowned. Empty already. “I need another bottle,” he said. “This one must, uh, have had a leak.”
Bonebreak groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. He scuttled around the various crates, poking and prodding through the contents. He’d set up his smuggling operation in the back half of a shipping node on a lower level that no one seemed to even remember was there, judging by the dirty halls and neglected lights. There was a bored-looking, low-level Kindred official who staffed the front of the node, collecting shipments for the level’s few residents, and accepted Bonebreak’s steady supply of bribes to get first dibs on the shipments’ contents.
“Ah. Here.” The Mosca unearthed another bottle of vodka, this one still shiny and new. “From the latest supply run.” He held the bottle to his mask and breathed audibly. “Smells like Earth. Rotting plants and burning coal.”
Leon shifted uneasily. “So how long ago was this run, exactly?”
“Recent enough.”
“The Kindred said Earth was destroyed right after we were taken. Humans ruined it or whatever—some climate-change shit. That true?”
Bonebreak snorted behind his mask, making a sound like a wheeze. “The Kindred think they can explain the universe with their mathematics. They forget the universe was here long before mathematics was. As were we. And so we shall be long after they are all dust in space.” He swiped a gloved finger along the dust-composite crate, coming away with a chalky powder.
“So . . . Earth’s still there? For real?”
Bonebreak held up the vodka. “Where else would I have gotten this?”
Images filled Leon’s head of his sister Ellie’s apartment back in Auckland. A cramped place that always swarmed with every kid in the neighborhood, it seemed, but suddenly he missed all that chaos. “Maybe the next time you go back, you could give me a lift. You know, a little favor among friends.” Leon scratched his ear, playing it off casually.
Bonebreak snorted. “Nice try. The last ship bound for Earth left four rotations ago and won’t be back for, oh, forty human years.” He admired the bottle. “You are stuck with us.”
An uneasy feeling set up shop in Leon’s head and wouldn’t move out. The Kindred swore Earth was gone; the Mosca swore it was still there. He didn’t trust either species, but if he had to pick sides, he supposed he’d take the one with the booze.
; He reached for the bottle.
Bonebreak held it just out of his reach. “Not yet. You see, my hospitality is finite.”
Leon knew an endless supply of potato chips, vodka, and a crate to sleep in was too good to be true. He’d been waiting for the catch ever since he’d fallen on Bonebreak’s head two days ago and discovered the Mosca’s smuggling den by accident. While running from Kindred guards, he’d pried open one of their mind-control doors with his bare hands and found a room full of human artifacts: picture books, cloth diapers, even a crib. Baby shit. He’d hidden in the crib for two days, until he’d thought he’d go crazy if he had to stare at pink penguin bedding any longer, and then suddenly woke up to find himself in the utter dark, breathing chalky air, caged inside the crib, which had been crated up and was moving. He nearly broke his hand punching his way out, only to find himself in a system of claustrophobic tunnels that eventually spit him out onto a hunchbacked alien in a red jumpsuit with a mask sewn into his face. Bonebreak’s underlings had seized him.
At his scared face, Bonebreak had just cackled. Do not worry, boy. Any enemy of the Kindred is a friend of mine.
Now, Leon blinked at Bonebreak’s opaque mask, wondering what the trader was going to demand in exchange for not turning him in to the Kindred.
“I know how this works,” Leon said. “So just skip the part where you claim you’re looking out for my best interest. We’ve got guys like you back home. My uncle, for one. So tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it.” Leon puffed up, but Bonebreak only leaned in, letting out a low hiss.
“Do you know why I am called Bonebreak, boy?”
Leon deflated a little. “Uh . . . I can guess.”
“Can you? Good. I suggest you use your imagination so I do not have to demonstrate. Leave the arrogance to the Kindred, and you and I will get along much better. There is only one reason I haven’t turned you in.” He kicked out a thin booted leg and prodded Leon’s knee. “Humans have a certain flexibility of tendons that we Mosca lack. A flexibility that permits you to . . . what is the word? Ah. Crawl. That is why you are still alive. Because your bodies allow you to crawl, and ours do not, and that is a useful skill in a station full of very low tunnels.”
Leon narrowed his eyes at the hunchback Mosca. “No way I’m going back in those tunnels. It was rank as hell, and it’s too easy to get lost with all those twisty corners. I’d probably suffocate trapped between levels and rot.”
“That is unlikely.” Bonebreak stroked the chin part of his mask. “The debris-cleaning traps would kill you long before you’d suffocate.”
“Traps?”
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill you already. They’re stationed at random intervals, set to be triggered by anything other than an official package. They release a burst of flammable gas that incinerates anything that shouldn’t be in the tunnels.”
“Like me,” Leon added.
Bonebreak cocked his head. “Like you—if you are not careful.”
Leon scrubbed his face, grumbling to himself about all the ways he was going to die on this station. “So you want me to risk my life to steal for you, eh? Crawl around booby traps like some spy shit?” He scratched his chin. “What’s in it for me?”
Bonebreak cackled again. “Your life.” Bonebreak’s underlings, huddled around the edge of the room, cackled too.
“Yeah, well, I can do a hell of a lot more than crawl, see? I escaped the Kindred. I didn’t even know the traps were there, and still avoided them. I’m good. And I’m not risking my life for a few stale potato chips.”
Bonebreak eyed him with contempt. “What do you want?”
Leon paused. “I want you to radio those supply ships out there, the ones going to Earth. I want to know . . .” He pictured his sister, Ellie, and his nieces and nephews who used to play Godzilla with him, and his dad who he’d never visited in prison, not even once. “I want to know if my family is . . .” His throat seemed clogged all of a sudden.
But then a wave of anger swept him up, and he turned away. No. It didn’t matter if Earth was still there. Did he really want to know if his sister and his nieces and nephews were dead? “I want a place on your crew. A proper bed, not a damn crate. I’m sure you can smuggle that out of somewhere. And I want half of what I steal for you.”
Bonebreak stared at him from behind the mask. “A quarter.”
“Deal.” Leon reached for the bottle of vodka, but Bonebreak held it back.
“There is one more thing. To be a part of our crew requires a sort of . . . initiation.” He held his hand open, and one of his underlings skittered forward and placed a curved, jagged-looking sewing needle there. Leon’s stomach shrank.
Bonebreak slowly threaded the needle with the gummy black wire that held their masks to their faces. “We’ll start with a small piece of shielding on the upper arm, since you can breathe without the aid of a mask. The thread is coated in cobalt toxin; it keeps the skin from grafting to it. It’s only moderately poisonous. We’ve never actually used it on a human before, but you’re a big fellow—I think you’ll be fine.”
Leon paced, eyeing that heinous needle. Bonebreak wanted him to be exactly what he had been on Earth: filth. A criminal. A bad guy. The Kindred had thought he had potential to be something more—damned if he knew why. Cora had thought so too.
He looked out into the blackness of the shipping tunnel. Somewhere, it connected to them. Cora. Mali. Lucky. Nok and Rolf, wherever the Kindred were keeping them. Lucky would have put on his damned white knight suit of armor and gone to rescue them all.
But Leon wasn’t like Lucky.
Leon wasn’t a hero.
And anytime he had ever tried to help someone, he’d only ended up hurting them more. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and drank until he could barely remember Cora’s name, or Mali’s pretty face, and let the Mosca set a molded piece of shielding against his shoulder.
Bonebreak raised the needle.
No—he wasn’t a hero. He was a smuggler. And, apparently, now an official member of Bonebreak’s crew.
7
Cora
CORA CLAMPED A HAND over the place on her arm where she’d been pinched, and spun to find herself looking at a girl dressed in safari clothes, with long black hair tied in unkempt braids, and a permanent scowl.
“Mali!”
Dane tossed Cora a warning look from behind the bar. She dropped her voice, fighting the urge to throw her arms around her friend. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
Mali wore the same safari uniform as the other kids, but with a driving cap over her braids, and thick leather gloves just like the boy they’d dragged away had worn. As soon as Cora saw them, uneasiness bloomed in her stomach. “Is everything okay? What happened to that boy?”
“I do not know,” Mali said. “Cassian puts me here early today. He makes me a driver. The boy they take away is also a driver. His name is Chicago. He teaches me to steer the trucks this morning. They go on a track, the same circle again and again until we find an animal to shoot. The guards come for him and he starts yelling. The other safari guides look scared, but they tell me to pretend nothing happens.”
Cora glanced toward the bar. The Kindred with the sunken eyes was still watching her with that creepy smile.
“Have you seen Lucky?” Cora asked. “What about Leon? Nok and Rolf?”
“I hear nothing about them.” Mali suddenly latched onto Cora’s wrist with clawlike fingers. “Do you remember your promise.”
Cora’s arm stung all over again. “Promise?”
“Anya.” Mali’s short nails dug deeper into her skin. “My friend. We make a deal in the cage: I help you escape and you help rescue Anya.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Cora said, biting through the pain. “But it isn’t like we can just stroll over there and get her. We’re trapped.”
Mali squeezed even tighter.
“Fine!” Cora hissed. “If there’s any way to do it, then we will. Now, stop clawing me.�
�
Mali released her and then gave her flat smile, friendly again. “Good. We will talk more. After work.”
She started to leave, but Cora jerked her chin at the Kindred with the sunken eyes. “Hang on a minute. That Kindred keeps looking at me. Do you know who he is?”
Mali scratched at a bug bite on her neck. “His name is Roshian. Makayla tells me about him this morning. Ignore him. He is harmless.”
“Makayla?”
“The one who dances.”
Before Cora could ask more, Dane beckoned her back onstage, and she didn’t dare disobey him again. The platform was smeared in fresh blood from the hyena. She looked back at the audience. Roshian had started dancing again with Makayla, stepping on her toes hard enough to make her grimace.
Their eyes met over the girl’s shoulder, and he smiled again. Ignore him? Even if she could, there were thirty more just like him. Watching her. Judging her. Maybe just waiting to drag her off too, like they had Chicago. She stepped up to the microphone again, but this time her voice was shaking.
Back home, her dream had been to become a songwriter. She’d secretly scrawled lyrics in her journal after her parents had gone to bed, about what it was like to be trapped in the life of a senator’s daughter. She’d close her eyes and imagine a stage where she could sing what she wanted to, make people understand through her lyrics, be free in the spotlight to sing the words in her heart.
Now she had a spotlight.
And all she could think of was the bruises and watery eyes of the other kids, injuries she and Mali would probably have soon too.
As she grabbed the microphone, the last thing it felt like was a dream.
“HONORED GUESTS, THE HUNT is closing.”
Cora’s throat was hoarse by the time the hostess finally announced that the Hunt was closing for the evening. The lights dimmed, and the few remaining Kindred guests departed. The dark-haired bartender cleaned the lounge in a rush, tossing her a rag to wipe the last traces of the animals’ blood off the stage.
When she finished, the other humans had gone. She looked up at an eerily empty lodge. Clipped footsteps came from the direction of the veranda, where the hostess appeared. Cora started—though she was dressed in the same costume, it wasn’t Issander. Now Tessela wore the safari dress, and as she approached Cora, she gave the hint of a smile.
The Hunt Page 4