Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,148

IF YOU chew first, then swallow.” Etienne sat down next to Chatine in the half-empty lodge and began to scoop food from the brimming platters in the center of the table onto his plate.

Chatine looked up, her mouth crammed full of scrambled eggs. She swallowed and tried not to gag as the partially chewed food pushed its way down her throat. It had been two days since she’d tried to run away, and this morning, her appetite had magically returned. Just like that. She’d woken up with hunger pains deeper and more intense than anything she’d ever experienced in the Frets. Somehow Brigitte must have known, because when Chatine had asked if a tray could be brought into the treatment center for her, Brigitte had said with a curious sparkle in her eye, “How about you join us in the lodge for breakfast?” And that had been the end of it. Chatine often wondered if some of Brigitte’s cyborg circuitry had been accidentally left in, because sometimes the woman seemed nothing short of a mind reader.

As soon as the food made its way down her throat, Chatine lunged for another bite.

Etienne laughed. “How are those wood chips?”

“Fantastique,” Chatine managed to get out, after swallowing and before filling her mouth with a giant bite of what could only be described as crispy baked bread. It was crunchy and buttery and delicious.

“Glad to hear it.” Etienne finished making up his plate and took a very normal-sized bite of eggs. They were the only two people at the table, but the room was filling up quickly.

“Wha dih yoo ga ah tha fah?” she tried to ask, but her words were garbled, and bread crumbs sprayed from her mouth as she spoke.

Etienne raised an eyebrow and made a show of brushing the crumbs from his face. “What was that? Apparently, I don’t speak Hungry Gridder.”

Chatine swallowed and wiped her mouth with her sleeve before repeating the question. “Where do you get all this food?”

“We grow it or make it ourselves. The eggs come from hens that we keep in our greenhouse. The bread is made from real wheat that we grow in our indoor fermes. No Ministère-engineered chou bread here. Everyone at the camp has tasks and assigned duties, but we all work together. We’re completely self-sufficient. Well, except for the zyttrium. That we have to trade for. Hence why you’re here.”

Chatine took another bite of toast and tilted her head in confusion.

“The reason we met,” he clarified. “You. Me. The roof of Bastille. My daring rescue mission? Any of this sounding familiar?”

Chatine swallowed. “Oh. Right.” She was desperate to change the subject. It was bordering far too close to the danger zone. She’d built a fence around that zone in her mind and had made every attempt to steer clear of it. Despite what Brigitte had said, she couldn’t face those monsters. They were too scary. Their eyes too dark. Their teeth too sharp. And if she couldn’t be out there helping find Henri, she certainly wasn’t going to sit around here and think about how she wasn’t out there helping to find Henri.

“Well, anyway,” Etienne went on, “the zyttrium allows us to live the way we want, but unfortunately a lot of it is required to keep our ships and roofs in good repair so we can stay hidden from the Regime. Which is why we have to trade for it.”

“What do you trade?” Chatine asked before taking another bite of bread.

“Mostly our services. You know: rescue missions, stealth deliveries, medical procedures frowned upon by the Regime. Basically, anything people want to do in secret. Usonia was a decent customer for a while. All that drama with Albion. We helped them smuggle a lot of stuff in and out during the war.”

Chatine nearly choked on her half-chewed mouthful of bread. “You’ve been to Usonia?”

Etienne beamed. “A few times. Nice place, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

“Why not?”

“Too far from the Sols. Very cold. I’d get claustrophobic in those bubbles.”

Defensiveness brewed in her gut. She’d spent the last ten years of her life trying to get to Usonia. “It’s not like it’s much warmer here, and what good are the Sols if you can’t see them?”

Etienne tossed up his hands. “Well, well. Looks like I found another button. What’s that one called? Oversensitive Defense Toggle?”

Chatine’s fist clenched around her fork as a thousand rebuttals sprang to her mind at once. But instead, she glanced down at her plate and, noticing it was