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Chapter 30

I'
m cold. I am falling through the sea, down and down. Down to my mother's bones. I don't dare breathe, because my lungs will fill with salt water and I'll sink faster. But it's too hard. I can't fight forever. I take a shallow breath, expecting the burn and the panic, expecting to drown. Instead my lungs fill with sweet, soft air.

My eyes flutter open. Everything around me is a gentle blue, not the wild dark of an icy sea. Something covers my mouth and nose. An oxygen mask. I try to pull it away and realize someone has my hand. I blink through the blurs in my vision. Cassia.

“You're awake.” Relief floods her voice.

I tug down the mask. “What happened?” But even as I say the words, my memory clicks together. The smoke. The light bobbing toward me. We aren't dead, which can
only mean one thing. Someone must have come for us after all.

Cassia places the oxygen mask gently back over my face. “They said you have to keep that on. Your people pulled us out. We're back on your ship. In the medical deck.”

The light keeps changing, and I realize it's the far wall, playing images of flowers on a loop—frangipani, ginger lily, larkspur, jasmine.

“Nethanel says thank you. He's with Milah.” Cassia smiles at me.

I breathe deep. I'm so tired. Maybe I could close my eyes again, only for a little while.

I come awake sharply. “Rubio?”

“He . . .” Her face is unreadable. “They have him down the hall.”

I stare at her, uncomprehending, and then the words begin to sink in. “He's okay? He's not dead?”

She presses her lips together. “They're still working on him.”

“But he's alive?” I try to sit up, and a sharp pain in my arm lets me know I'm hooked up to an IV. “Can I see him?”

Cassia eases me back onto the bed. “We'll know more in a few hours. Just rest for now, okay?”

I drop my head against the pillows. “You have to tell me, all right? As soon as you hear something?”

“I promise,” she says. “If you promise to sleep.”

I close my eyes.
Sweet juice by the levee, bare feet on the sand, swinging hands . . .

The last thing I feel before I lose consciousness is Cassia's soft hand on my forehead.

When I wake again, I'm alone in the blue room. And thirsty. So thirsty. I pull off the oxygen mask, withdraw my own IV, and ease my bare feet onto the floor. A carafe of water sits on the small table at the foot of my bed. I drink the whole thing straight from the jar as I watch the wall cycle through its flowers, and then hug myself, suddenly cold. Where is everyone? Where is Cassia?

I tug on a blue robe hanging next to my bed and pad down the corridor, checking the data sheets on each door for Rubio's name. I find him twelve rooms down from my own.

Name: Hayden Rubio

Age: 19

Condition: Critical but stable

I sigh in relief and scan the rest of the sheet, stopping on the procedural codes. They had to replace his kidneys, and he's scheduled for surgery again next week for . . .

I scroll down and cover my mouth. Guilt overwhelms me.

. . . skin grafts and bionic replacement of his left arm and both legs below the knee. I place the data sheet back in its slot and close my eyes.
This is my fault. If I had tried harder to keep Cassia from dragging him aboard when we escaped. If I had let him get away on Ceres or convinced him to stay behind with the Tsukinos. If he didn't care about me at all . . .

I flee back to my room, climb into bed, and pull the thin blanket over my head. I thought I was doing the right thing. Or maybe not the right thing, but the best thing I could. I thought I was only risking myself, but it was more than that. I was risking Rubio. I was risking what's left of Haiti and the Gyre, stored away in my memory. I was risking all the people whose history would be lost if I died without passing their stories on. I used to think my life only mattered for what it might become someday, for how I could use it, trade it, not for what it has been all along. I was wrong.

“Specialist Guiteau?”

I sit up in bed. Commander Dhar stands in the doorway, shoulders squared and her hands clasped behind her back.

“Commander.” I hug my robe tight around me, not sure what else to say.

“I've been told you asked to see Mr. Rubio.”

My throat is dry. “I . . .” I swallow. “If I can. Yes.”

“Follow me.” She turns on her heel without waiting to see if I'll move from the bed.

As I trail her down the hall, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored glass outside one of the exam rooms and realize what a wreck I am. Red eyes underlined with bags. Uncombed hair. Ashen skin.

Commander Dhar stops in front of Rubio's room and swipes her thumb across the door's controls. I follow her in. Rubio lies on the bed, deep asleep, his head slightly elevated. An intubation line sprouts from the side of his mouth. His eyelids look thin and purple. From where I stand, I can't see his left arm, but the bedcovers lie flat where his legs should be.

I step closer. A tingling sensation runs over my skin—sanitizing nanobots scrubbing away any bacteria I carry. I want to reach out, take his hand, but he's so deep under I don't think he would feel it. It would make only me feel better, and I don't think I deserve to feel better.

“Rubio.” I choke. “I didn't mean for . . .”

Commander Dhar's hand closes on my shoulder.

I look at her. “Is he going to be all right? Can he . . . Will he be able to fly again?”

“Maybe. We'll have to wait and see. The doctors say he'll need six months or so for his body to adapt to his new limbs.”

I bite my lip. “And after that?”

Commander Dhar shakes her head. “It depends on how strong his neural connections are. If they don't atrophy, then maybe, after a while. He might regain enough fine motor control.”

I turn away. I don't want to look at Rubio's broken body. I knew I would have to face the consequences of running off with Cassia eventually. I just didn't know they were going to be this.

“He'll be taken care of, naturally,” Commander Dhar says. “Full DSRI pension. A lifetime of medical care, if he needs it.”

I shake my head. That's not what he wanted. He wanted to fly.

A moment of silence passes. We both stare at Rubio, watching his chest rise and fall as the ventilator pumps air into his lungs in waves.

“This is my fault,” I say.

“Why would you say that?” Commander Dhar sounds genuinely curious.

“I helped Cassia. I went along with it. I should have found a way to get him back—”

“I've seen the feed records,” Commander Dhar interrupts. “It's the correction board's view that you weren't the instigator. Mr. Rubio had multiple opportunities to return to us in the interim.”

I wince.
Correction board.
“It doesn't matter,” I say. “If I had been next to that shuttle instead of him—”

“Don't say that.”

I look away.

“Specialist.” Commander Dhar's voice sharpens. “You're not to say that. It was the
dakait
who did this to him. Not you.”

I watch Rubio's chest rise and fall with the compression of the ventilator pump.

“There are honorable things other than sacrifice,” the commander says quietly. “Surviving. Living. Those are honorable, too. Sometimes that's the harder path.”

Climb, Miyole!
My
manman
stands at the bottom of the ladder. Her ship fights through the wind and slanting rain, its lights piercing the gray. To find me.

“Come with me,” Commander Dhar says suddenly.

I follow her down the corridor to a small, windowless lift I never knew existed.

She swipes her thumb across the keypad, and for an instant, her face cracks into a small smile. “Senior officers' lift.”

We ride down to the commander's office, a small, valve-shaped room filled with a broad bronze desk and white chairs. Antique compasses and telescopes line the natural ridge that slopes up the wall. I eye the ridge uneasily. It reminds me too much that this ship was grown and not built. And of where I now know it was grown.

“Please, sit.” Commander Dhar holds out a hand to one of the chairs.

I do.

The commander takes a chair across from me, on the other side of the desk. We stare at each other. Half of me wants to apologize for what I did, to ask about the correctional hearing and beg for clemency. But in the other half, my blood is rising. Commander Dhar is right. It was the
dakait
who caused all of this, but who let the
dakait
run free? Who bought ships from them and helped them prosper? Who was willing to turn a blind eye as long as it wasn't one of their own suffering?

“We've debriefed Ms. Kaldero.” Commander Dhar breaks the silence. “Is there anything you want to say for yourself?”

I squirm in my chair. There is something I want to say, but not for myself.

“Did you know?” I ask finally.

Commander Dhar blinks. “Know?”

“Where the ships come from,” I say.

Commander Dhar pauses before she answers, and then laces her fingers together, leans forward, and looks me in the eye. “We had every assurance from our distributor that our ships were sourced from fair-wage and indenture facilities.”

I frown. “But didn't anyone check? Didn't anyone want to make sure?”

Commander Dhar looks away and presses her lips together, as if considering the chart on her wall showing the
Ranganathan
's progress through the system. So many moons and planets. So many colonies and outposts. What else does the DSRI not want to know?

“Specialist, you can rest assured that the DSRI will rigorously investigate any future ship purchases,” she finally says.

“That's brilliant,” I say, not really meaning it. “But what about the people being held captive? What about the false indentures at Rangnvaldsson's? There have to be hundreds more places like the ones we found.”

“Yes.” Commander Dhar clears her throat. Her eyes stray to an old star chart hanging on the wall in a gilded frame. “You'll be happy to hear Rangnvaldsson Keramik has been ordered to turn over its records for a full audit.”

“So Petya and all of them, they're free now?”

Commander Dhar nods. “Yes.”

“And you'll help root out the others? You'll send in rescue teams like you did for us?”

Commander Dhar hesitates. “We can only be responsible for our own actions, Specialist.” She gives me a tired look. “The DSRI isn't a police force. And the politics of this situation are complicated.”

“How is it complicated?” My voice rises. “Is it legal to own slaves on Enceladus?”

“No, but—”

“Then why can't you do something?” Tears of frustration spring to my eyes. “Or tell someone who can do something?”

The commander furrows her brow. “I've read your record, Specialist Guiteau. You're young. Maybe too young to understand. This isn't only about what the DSRI wants. It's about Enceladan sovereignty.”

“It's about human beings,” I shoot back. “It's about human sovereignty.”

Commander Dhar stares down at her desk. “You're tired, Specialist. You've been through quite an ordeal. I think perhaps some more rest might be in order.” She taps her desk com. “Might we have an escort for Ms. Guiteau?”

Two wellness orderlies appear at the door. I glare back at Commander Dhar as they lead me away. There's nothing more to say.

Chapter 31

M
y door opens only from the outside. Once a day, the orderlies escort me down the hall to David and his origami cranes, and then let me stop to look in on Rubio on my way back. His color looks better and he's off the ventilator, but still too drugged to hear me say
I'm sorry
. I ask for Cassia, but she doesn't come. Or maybe my messages never reach her.

They bring me meals. I eat them but don't taste them. I watch the flowers fading in and out on my wall until I've memorized the order of their rotation. I sleep. I sleep more.

And then one night I wake to the soft
bong
and hush of air as my door slides open.

I roll over. Commander Dhar stands in the entryway, holding a book.

“What do you want?” I sit up.

“Just to talk.” She gestures to the foot of the bed. “May I?”

I swallow. “Okay.”

“You know.” She lays the book down on the bed, next to me. “I read your notes on the pollinator project.”

“Oh?” I glance down. Is that what she brought me?

“You were right about the solution being a genetic one.” She nods at the book. “I think you'll be glad to hear your subjects are thriving now.”

“Oh.” I don't know what else to say. I'm glad the pollinators are doing well, but being right about them doesn't matter now. All of that feels like another life.

“You're a good scientist, Ms. Guiteau.” Commander Dhar smiles at me. “No matter what else might be said about you.”

I stare at her. “Is that what you came to tell me? In the middle of the night?”

“No.” The commander meets my eye. “I want your opinion on a delicate matter.”

“My opinion?” I raise an eyebrow.

“What if—” She stops.

I look at her sharply. “What if what?”

“There are people on Enceladus who hate what's happening as much as you and I do, correct?” She folds her hands and examines them.

I eye her. “Yes . . .”

She looks up at me. “What if I were to tell you the DSRI allocates a certain amount of disposable income for each mission to be dispensed at the commander's discretion?”

I frown and clear my throat. “How much are we talking about?”

“Enough to fund a freelance team of Enceladans interested in shutting down slavers and investigating indenture fraud.”

I don't say anything, so she goes on. “It wouldn't fix everything, but it would be a start.”

“Are you asking me to be part of that team?” I say.

“Oh, no!” She laughs, sudden and sharp. “I'm afraid your recent misadventure makes that impossible.”

“Am I going to be taken to the correctional board?”

“You would be.” She picks up the book and taps it to life. “Only it seems the DSRI made quite the mistake allowing you on board in the first place.”

“Oh?” My stomach flutters.

Commander Dhar pins me with a look. “How old are you, Specialist?”

“Eight—” I catch the quirk at the corner of her mouth and stop. What's the use in lying at this point? “Sixteen.”

The commander nods. “We can't subject a minor to a correctional hearing, can we?”

“No?” I say.

“No,” she agrees. “But we do have a duty to send her home.”

“Home?” A lump rises in my throat.

“We've already sent word to your guardian and arranged for your transport,” Commander Dhar says.

“When . . . when do I leave?” I ask.

“As soon as our orbital positioning window is open,” Commander Dhar says. “Two days.”

“Two days?” I repeat. “Will Rubio . . . I mean . . .”

“We don't know yet.” Commander Dhar gives me a sympathetic frown. “We'll see.”

The flowers fade in and out—daylily, blue vanda, tea rose, champa.

Commander Dhar clears her throat. “In another five years, the DSRI will be preparing for another mission. You'll be, what? Twenty-one?”

I nod. I can't really imagine myself that age. It doesn't feel possible, even if the math says so. Twenty-one sounds so grown up.

“Well,” Commander Dhar says. “I, for one, would be glad to see you reapply for another DSRI mission when that time comes. Under my command, of course. And with the understanding that you don't steal any more shuttles.”

I look at her, cautious. “Really?”

“Really.” The commander stands. “You don't give up, Specialist Guiteau. And even if I can't say so in my official report, I admire that.”

They finally let Cassia visit me the next morning. She comes bringing news of Rubio, and also bringing Tibbet.

“They stopped to meet with the Tsukinos after they raided Rangnvaldsson's,” she says as she drops the cat on the bed next to me. “Commander Dhar wanted me along since I know them. Like an ambassador.”

“Hello, Stink Beast,” I say to Tibbet. He butts me with his head and rumbles deep in his throat.

“Rubio's awake,” Cassia says. “He opened his eyes this morning. His body's accepting the limb grafts.”

I look up from scratching Tibbet under his chin. “Have you been to see him?”

Cassia nods. “He asked about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He wanted me to tell you he always wanted a biomechanical skeleton anyway.”

A short, shocked laugh bursts out of me, quickly replaced by a prickle in my eyes. I shake my head and wipe at them with the back of my hand. “Rubio.”

Cassia traces a circle on the bed. “What are you going to do when you're back home?”

“I don't know. Be in trouble with Soraya forever?”

She laughs. “After that.”

I hook my finger around hers. “I know I want to go back and see what's rebuilt in the Gyre. But the rest . . . I thought you might want to come with me.”

“Mi . . .”

“I know you'd be away from your family, but it wouldn't be forever,” I rush on. “Only until I'm eighteen, and then we can go wherever we want.”

“Miyole.”

“You said you shouldn't be with anyone while Nethanel was missing, but now that everything's going to be calm again—”

“Miyole.” Cassia leans forward and clasps my arms. “I can't.”

I stop. A small vacuum opens up inside me. “Why . . . why not?” I search her face.

Cassia pauses. She looks down and wets her lips. “Commander Dhar, she told me about her plan. She asked if I wanted to put together a liberation team on Enceladus.”

“Oh,” I say softly. The one thing I can't do. The one thing I can't ask her not to do.

“I just . . . I have to do this. I can't let them keep doing what they did to Nethanel and Aneley and all the rest.”

“I want to go with you,” I say. “We never got a chance—”

Her face crumples. “Don't, Mi. This is already too hard.”

My mind whirrs, trying to figure out a loophole. Some way to stay together. Some way to get out of being sent away from her.

“I could break out of here. We could run away again.”

Cassia and I stare at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. I rock forward. In the history of spectacularly bad ideas, that has to be the worst.

Cassia sobers first. “But then how would there be a liberation team? Commander Dhar is the one paying for it.”

My laughter dries up. I bury my head in my hands. She's right. I don't want her to be, but she is.

In the silence, she moves beside me on the hospital bed and wraps an arm around me. I lean my head against her shoulder. She leans her head against mine, and I close my eyes. I want to feel her skin, the warmth of her, the soft waves of her hair against my shoulder, for as long as I can. I want to kiss her and memorize the pattern of her freckles. I want more time to learn the real her.

“We'll find each other,” she says quietly. “When all of this is done, we'll find each other again.”

I pick up my head so I can look at her. “Promise?”

“I promise.” She presses her forehead against mine.

Our lips come together. I kiss her and kiss her and hold back my tears because I don't want her last memory of me to taste like sadness. I kiss her because I don't know how long it will be before each of us finishes what she has to do. I kiss her because this is how it has to be.