“Now, hold on just one minute there, little miss disembodied voice.” Thorne strode into the engine room and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, ‘hideous’?”
This time, the temperature spiked. “Who’s that? Who’s speaking?”
“I am Captain Carswell Thorne, the owner of this fine ship, and I will not stand to have her insulted in my presence!”
Cinder rolled her eyes.
“Captain Carswell Thorne?”
“That’s right.”
A brief silence. “My net search is finding only a Cadet Carswell Thorne, of the American Republic, imprisoned in New Beijing prison on—”
“That’s him,” said Cinder, ignoring Thorne’s glare.
Another silence as the heat in the engine room hovered just upside of comfortable. Then, “You’re … rather handsome, Captain Thorne.”
Cinder groaned.
“And you, my fine lady, are the most gorgeous ship in these skies, and don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”
The temperature drifted upward, until Cinder dropped her arms with a sigh. “Iko, are you intentionally blushing?”
The temperature dropped back down to pleasant. “No,” Iko said. Then, “But am I really pretty? Even as a ship?”
“The prettiest,” said Thorne.
“You do have a na**d lady painted on your port side,” added Cinder.
“Painted her myself.”
A series of inset ceiling lights flickered and released a dim glow.
“And really, Iko, this is only temporary. We’ll get a new auto-control system, and we’ll get you a new body. Eventually. But I need you to watch over the ship, check the reports, maybe run a diagnostics—”
“The power cell is almost dead.”
Cinder nodded. “Right. I knew that part already. Anything else?”
The engine hummed all around her. “I guess I could run a full system check…”
Beaming, Cinder crawled toward the door, meeting a pleased-looking Thorne when she stood back up. “Thank you, Iko.”
The lights flickered out again as Iko diverted her energy. “But why are we on this spaceship again? And with a convicted felon? No offense, Captain Thorne.”
Cinder grimaced, too exhausted to tell the story, but knowing she couldn’t keep it from her companions forever. “All right,” she said, sidling past Thorne and into the hallway. “Let’s go back to the cockpit. We might as well be comfortable.”
Sixteen
Scarlet called a hover to take them into Toulouse, nearly draining her account of Gilles’s latest deposit. She sat opposite Wolf during the ride, her pistol digging into her back as she watched him. In such close quarters, she knew the pistol was all but useless to her. After all, she’d witnessed Wolf’s speed more than once. He could have her pinned and half choked before she’d loosened the gun from her waistband.
But it was impossible to feel threatened by the semi-stranger across from her. Wolf was entranced by the rolling farmlands passing by, gaping at tractors and cattle and decrepit, crumbling barns. His legs jogged ceaselessly the whole time, though she doubted he realized it.
The almost child-like fascination was at odds with him in every way. The fading black eye, the pale scars, the broad shoulders, the calm composure he’d had as he nearly strangled Roland, the fierce brutality in his gaze as he’d nearly killed his opponent in the fight.
Scarlet chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering which side of him was an act, and which was real.
“Where are you from?” she asked.