beds—I’m occupying one, with the squad around me. Fin’s on the other, working on his suit again, his tool kit scattered across the mattress. There’s a single smudgy window, our stuff piled up underneath it.
Tyler answers without being asked.
“I checked in alone after we hightailed it from the docks,” he explains. “Pulled the rest of you in the window. Less chance anyone’ll remember us that way. We should be safe here for a while. I paid with unmarked creds.”
“So we have a little time.” Scarlett sinks down to the edge of my bed. “We can afford to take a breath.”
She glances around the room, studying us each in turn, and I realize that the big-sister protectiveness she used to keep for Tyler is growing to encompass all of us. Zila is back to helping Fin with his suit, and he’s wincing every time she moves his knee. Kal’s a statue by my side, and Tyler’s lost in thought. Or memory.
I know he’s thinking about Cat every few heartbeats. We all are.
This defeat is a victory, she told me before she vanished forever into the hive mind of the Ra’haam.
But it doesn’t feel at all like that right now. We’re on the run from the Terran and Betraskan governments—even the legion that bears my name is against us now. We’ve lost our most valuable asset in the Longbow, we’ve got almost no weapons and even less money, and we have no idea where to turn next.
“So what do we do now?” I ask softly.
Tyler’s staring at the floor, scarred eyebrow curved in a deep frown. I can see he’s trying so hard to lead us, and I ache for him every second. But sometimes it feels like the only reason we’re still moving is that none of us realizes we’ve already been mortally wounded. We haven’t realized we’re supposed to fall down.
“Food,” says Scarlett, clapping her hands together in the uncomfortable silence. “When in doubt, eat your way out.”
“I like the way you think,” I sigh.
Scar unearths the meals I packed, and with a pretty convincing show of fake cheer she bustles around, dubiously reading out the names on the sachets and distributing them with a flourish. I score a foil pack of Beef “Stew”-n-MashTM, with no explanation on the packet of the quotes around the Stew.
“WOULD YOU LIKE A NUTRITIONAL ANALYSIS OF THAT?” comes Magellan’s voice from my pocket. “BECAUSE IN SOME CULTURES, A MEAL LIKE THAT WOULD BE CONSIDERED AN ACT OF WAR, ESPECIALLY—”
“Silent mode,” we chorus, and it’s enough to raise a ghost of a smile all around.
Fin shakes his head. “I know those old model unis were a little buggy, but that thing really wins the prize.”
“Yeah,” Tyler sighs. “It was never the same after Scar installed that persona beta off DealNet.”
Kal blinks at Scarlett. “You accessed upgrades for your uniglass from a shopping channel?”
“No,” Tyler says. “She accessed upgrades for my uniglass from a shopping channel.”
“It came with a free handbag.” Scar shrugs. “And it was your old unit anyway, you baby.”
Tyler rolls his eyes and changes the subject. “How’s the exosuit, Fin?”
“Fine,” he says.
“This summation is incorrect,” Zila says almost immediately. “Fin’s suit took significant damage on Octavia III and is still in need of serious repair. Further, Finian himself requires time in low or zero gravity to rest and recover. He has pushed his body several days past his usual limits.”
Fin’s got his mouth open by the time she’s halfway through her speech, but nothing’s coming out. Finally, he manages to speak through gritted teeth.
“I’m fine. I can handle it. And maybe you should mind your own business.”
Though it’s sometimes a little hard to read his expression through those black contact lenses he wears, there’s no mistaking the death glare Fin is shooting Zila right now. Our squad’s Brain studies our Gearhead for a long moment, then turns to Tyler, her face as blank as ever. But there’s something in the way she blinks and tugs at her dangly gold earring—today’s are shaped like gremps—that’s a little less bulletproof than it used to be.
I mean, we’re all a little less bulletproof than we used to be. But for Zila, this hint of a thaw has to be unnerving.
“I am the team science officer and medic,” she says, addressing Ty directly. “It is appropriate for me to report to my Alpha on the condition of team members.”
“It’s okay,” says Ty, gentle. “Thanks, Zila.”
Finian, however, seems to be completely ignoring Zila’s advice for bed rest. He