“On my way,” she replies, pushing her shoulders back, voice crisp. Back on duty, Captain Chase once again. Whatever Merendsen has to tell her, we need to hear it more than ever.
“There’s one more thing, Captain.”
“Sir?”
“They’re rounding up all the civilians over in the mess hall for a security check, scanning their genetags.” He pauses, the silence hanging heavily. “If you see any, you should send them that way.”
She looks across at me, her gaze worried. “Got it, sir. Thanks for the heads-up,” she replies, voice even.
My mind’s still thick with fog—McBride’s name beats against my skull like a drum. But then Jubilee’s yanking my sleeve down more, better hiding the spiraled code of my genetag tattoo. Then she plants a hand between my shoulder blades, and with a shove, she gets me moving.
We break into a jog toward the launch bays. An explosion echoes in from the swamps, a shuddering reminder of McBride’s madness. And we’re about to lose our only connection to LaRoux Industries, our only chance to find out what’s killing Avon.
The girl is searching for her November ghost. She is so certain that it’s here, somewhere, in the endless halls and chambers. It’s never left her before, and a ghost shouldn’t care what planet she’s on. She’s been searching for hours. The orphanage is emptier on the inside than it is on the outside, and she’ll never search all the rooms.
In one of the dormitories is a miniscreen, smuggled in by one of the other children, old-fashioned but durable. The room is empty, but someone has left the screen on to crackle and jar the silence. On it, a woman is talking about a war ending on some planet far away, as hovercopter footage of destruction and refugees scrolls by.
The girl looks at the screen, and the city is November.
But when she moves closer, she realizes it can’t be her November. The city on the screen is healing, buildings being rebuilt, children there in the street lighting firecrackers. It looks like a toy, a model, a copy of where she used to live; images on a screen will never be real for her.
The November inside her was torn apart, and it always will be.
And the November ghost is gone.
MY BODY’S PROTESTING THIS ABUSE. The constant fighting, running, hiding. Not enough sleep, and too much grief. I can feel it burning through my blood as I run harder, aiming for the launch bays. If I’m not there to pilot Merendsen’s shuttle, I’ll lose my chance to find out whether he heard back from Lilac—and judging by the urgency in his tone, I’m sure he did. We have to have that information. I haven’t even told him or Flynn about Commander Towers yet. What could I possibly say?
I focus on my aching muscles as I run. I’m trying not to think about Molly; I’m trying not to imagine him at gunpoint, still refusing to tell McBride where I am.
My eyes water from some mix of grief and cold air, and I lift a hand to dash the sparks of moisture away. I can hear Flynn half a step behind me—when I speed up, he speeds up with me. A couple of weeks ago I would’ve been surprised he could keep up. Not anymore. I never thought life in the swamps was a picnic, but I didn’t know how closely his training—because it was training, even if he wasn’t in uniform—resembled mine.
Our route takes us past the mess hall. What looks like half the civilian population of the base is in there, the long line snaking around between tables and benches. A couple of uniforms make their way along the line, and in anticipation the civilians are rolling up their sleeves to offer up their ’tags for scanning. Security only caught one of the perpetrators at Molly’s. Everyone else who’s not military has to prove they’re supposed to be here.
The launch bay is a series of long, low, massive hangars that only stretch to two stories aboveground but drop underground to hold all the vehicles, military and civilian alike, associated with the base and the town. One of the curved roofs is open, a sign that a craft’s about to take off—or just did.
We skid to a halt outside the door, and I turn to Flynn. “Okay. Remember your cover story as Molly’s cousin. You’ve got every right to be here. Act like you’re thinking of leaving Avon now that Molly’s—” My voice cracks, and over the tangle of emotions rising in me, I choose anger. It’s easier to deal with. “Now that Molly’s gone. That should delay them scanning you awhile.”
He nods. “Got it. Where do I go once you’re shuttling Merendsen away?”
I’m still catching my breath. “You hide. Maybe in my quarters, if they don’t search the base. I don’t know where you go after that—back out into the swamp again. I don’t know.”
I don’t know. Some of my least favorite words in the galaxy, and I’ve been saying them a lot lately.
The launch bay’s always busy, but today it’s absolute chaos. Flynn joins a group of civilians milling about in the passenger area, blending in like he was born to, and I resist the urge to look back at him as I head toward one of the traffic controllers, a short middle-aged man I recognize. There’s an engine warming up nearby and I’m forced to shout.
“Merendsen?” I holler, leaning close. “The guy from TerraDyn here to evaluate security?”
The controller peers past me, then throws a gesture in the direction of a shuttle four or five down from me. “Better hurry—everyone’s taking off soon.”
I catch Flynn’s eye back in the crowd, signal my destination, and then head toward a group of uniformed officers near the shuttle. Merendsen’s there—I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his familiar features.