29
I wake to bright, artificial lights overhead. For a moment I fool myself into thinking I’m in the Minnow’s infirmary, but the ceiling here is higher and there’s a curtain wreathing me that definitely wasn’t there the last time. I glance down at my arms. An IV connected to a blood bag and something else—most likely painkillers—is hooked into me at my elbow. The hasty bandages Swift must have dug out of her Splinter’s med kit have been replaced with strips of translucent gel. Beneath them, I can see the thick, ropy lines of the claw marks. I lift one hand, first as an experiment, then to run my fingers over the gel. Even with the extra layer, I can feel the swollen ridge that the wounds trace.
I’ll have scars. But it’s better than the alternative.
Stiff and aching, I follow the gashes up my shoulders and over my face and neck. These weren’t as deep, but even with careful attention, they probably won’t heal well. I wobble my jaw, and the cuts on my face twinge. There’s a swell of something like regret building behind my eyes. Maybe it’s vain to be upset, but I’ll never look the same again. I glance around for a reflective surface, but there’s nothing within the bounds of the curtain around me.
“Was that… Is she up?”
I recognize the voice behind the curtain, and I swear my heart skips a beat. There’s a scuffle of movement on the other side, and another familiar voice replies, “Let’s check.” The curtain peels back, and a relieved smile breaks over Swift’s features. “See for yourself,” she says over her shoulder.
She pulls the curtain wider, and I find myself face to damaged face with my brother for the first time in six months. He steps around Swift and gives me the weakest smile I’ve ever seen him wear. I don’t know what to say, and I don’t think he does either.
So I start with the obvious. “You got taller,” I groan, sinking back against the pillows.
“Sorry,” he replies with a shrug. “You got—” He stops halfway into gesturing to my face, and it stings. I don’t want him to go easy on me.
My eyes flick to Swift. “What happened?” I ask.
Tom answers. “I told Mom and Dad that Fabian Murphy was selling off Reckoner pups and that a pirate-born pack had formed in the NeoPacific. They believed me—it explained why Murphy went AWOL this fall and the ecological crisis we were starting to see. We got a satellite commissioned and tracked down the poor beasts. They called in the intel to the SRCese military. And it looks like we got here just in time.”
In time to save my life, I think but don’t say. Not in time for a lot of other pirates. Not in time for Santa Elena.
“Turns out a bunch of trained Reckoners was enough to turn the tide,” Swift says, though I don’t miss the way her lip curls at what my brother’s just said.
“The pack is gone?”
Tom nods. “I mean, the aggressive part of the population’s been wiped out, but… well, some of the others did slip through the cracks. Not sure what we’re going to do about that.”
I close my eyes, trying to let the news relieve me. “And how on god’s green earth did all three of us end up here?” I ask. By all rights, I should be either dead or on the Minnow, Swift should definitely be on the Minnow after everything that’s happened, and Tom’s got no business being out in the NeoPacific at all.
Swift answers faster this time. “After you passed out, Bao and I took care of Medea—”
“—with help from the SRC,” Tom interjects.
Swifts scowls. “The new ships turned the tide, and we were able to put down the Hellbeasts that fought back. And as soon as we were in the clear, I started begging. We don’t have blood on the Minnow, you know. Not the kind of thing we keep on hand. And they weren’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of giving medical assistance to pirates. Tried to argue the point that you weren’t exactly a pirate, and that’s when this one—” She gestures awkwardly to Tom. “—jumped on the line. And apparently they listen to this kid.”
“Well, I said we could treat Cas. I didn’t say—”
Swift rips back the curtain, and I immediately understand why she’s seething. We’re in the medical ward of an SRCese warship, and all of the other beds are empty. Because of course this fleet didn’t come to help us fight the Hellbeasts. It came to fight the Hellbeasts and happened to find us there. “The rest of the Salt?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“When they found out they weren’t getting any sort of aid, they split. Didn’t want to risk getting on the bad side of escorted warships.”
“And the Minnow?”
She grins. “Would never leave one of its own behind,” Swift says, smirking at Tom’s obvious reaction to her words. “They’re lurking in our wake, making repairs.” There’s something else she wants to say, something that hurts, something I’m guessing sounds like They didn’t know where else to go. We don’t have a captain. We don’t even have a successor to the captain.
“Well, I mean, you can’t go back over there until the doctor clears you,” Tom says. “Provided they don’t try to arrest you or anything like that.”
My hand drifts to where my pistol should be, but of course I don’t have it. “I just led an armada of pirates against a pack of ravenous monsters that would have consumed the NeoPacific if left unchecked. The least they could do is thank me.” I pause, my woozy brain trying to catch up with whatever my next thought was. “But why are you here?” I ask, lifting a finger at my brother. “You’re sixteen years old, for Christ’s sake. You aren’t soloing, are you?”
Tom grimaces. “They decided it wouldn’t count as a solo mission, since I’m working with a fleet. There are other trainers here who are supposed to be my supervisors, but I’m assigned as the sole trainer to Isolde of the Midsummer.”
“Right, but…” It still doesn’t make sense. With all of the trainers in the industry, all of the trainers in the Southern Republic of California alone, why send a sixteen-year-old with no prior solo experience?
Then Tom looks at me, and I get it. I know exactly why he got on this boat. Why he must have fought to be a part of the mission.
“You came to get me,” I say, and Swift stiffens, her fingers curling on the edge of the curtain.
Tom nods and takes a step closer to my bedside. “Look, it’ll be very easy to pass off what you’ve done as coercion. Stockholm syndrome or something. We could get you back on shore with almost no legal consequences. Maybe you could even be a trainer again.”
“And they… want me back?” I ask, gritting my teeth against the tide of emotion rising in my chest.
“Of course we fucking want you back,” Tom bursts, running a hand through his hair. “Mom’s been worried sick—she’s going to jump on me for not calling her the instant you woke up. Dad… I dunno, he’ll be harder to bring around, and he’s across the ocean on a mission at the moment, but we can make it work.”
I stare at my hands.
“Right, Cas? We can make it work?”
“There’s… I…” I stammer. My gaze betrays me, flicking toward Swift before I remember not to do that. I only regained consciousness five minutes ago. I can’t be making life-altering decisions. “I need to talk to the SRC. I mean, someone within the SRC. That first. Then…”
It’s enough of a nondecision that both parties in the room relax. But I can’t. Tom’s just thrown a choice in my face that I’ve had no way of preparing myself for. I can go with him. Go home. Wipe my slate clean. But that would mean leaving Swift behind, leaving behind the life I built on the Minnow, leaving behind Bao, even—who knows what the IGEOC would do with him if I’m not there? After he fought so bravely and after all we’ve been through, I can’t stand the thought of abandoning him a second time.
But I burned my life down and walked away once before. A horrifying part of me knows how easy it’d be to do it again.
I glance up at Tom. “You should at least call Mom.”
My return to the Minnow gets more fanfare than it deserves. Despite the objections of the SRCese doctor, Swift and I depart in a light craft driven by one of the soldiers on the boat only a few hours after I wake up. With the blood transfusions complete and my wounds safely sealed by fresh gel strips, there isn’t much else she can do for me, and the situation on the Minnow is more pressing than anything related to my health. My head still spins, both from painkillers and from the hour I spent shouting over an ornery SRCese representative on an uplink channel, and I’m struggling to stay awake, much less upright.
The climb up the exterior ladder from sea level to the lowest deck does its best to tear me open again, even with Swift at my side helping me gingerly up the rungs. I barely get a chance to catch my breath before I’m snagged by a pair of gangly arms. “Varma,” I hiss, my ruined arms limp at my sides as the wounds on my neck scream in protest.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he says, jumping back. “Got excited. Didn’t realize.”
Chuck slugs me on the shoulder, in case I was getting any ideas about special treatment. I crack a grin in her direction, and then raise a stiff, painful salute at Lemon, who hovers over her shoulder. Surprisingly enough, they aren’t the only ones. A good portion of the Minnow’s crew is here to welcome me back. I even spot Reinhardt lurking—probably waiting to see if the gel strips are reusable.
“Throne room,” I say. “We’ve got things to discuss.”
Swift raises an eyebrow. “I’d tell you to get some goddamn rest for once, but…” She slings an arm around my waist and lifts my wrist around her shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. “C’mon, you lot. Let’s let her burn herself out.”
No one takes the throne when we file into the room. Swift sits me on the edge of the dais, and the rest of the trainees settle around us. I lean back against the leg of Santa Elena’s throne, waiting for the rest of the crew to make their way in.
When they do, Swift stands up, setting her hands on her hips as she surveys the crowd. “Been a lot of change around here,” she starts, and a murmur of assent rolls through the crew. “It seems like there’s something we have to work out—not just between the five of us up here, but with everyone on this ship. We threw in our lot for the futures of these oceans, and now the benefits are coming around. But that means we have a choice. We decide where we go from here, and we decide who leads us there.” She glances down at the other trainees and shrugs. “I don’t know how to go about it, but it’s something we need to do.” She sits back down on the dais, and nothing but silence follows her.
“Anyone?” Chuck says after a minute passes. “No one has any opinions?”
But I don’t feel qualified to captain this vessel. And I don’t think any of the other kids sitting next to me feel ready either. They’ve all been training under Santa Elena for years, but none of them anticipated having to fill her shoes this soon.
And it was supposed to be Santa Elena’s choosing. She was supposed to live long enough to make a decision. In private, she told me she’d most likely name Swift as her successor, but it wouldn’t do any good to bring that out into the open when the loss of our captain is so raw.
So instead I push myself to my feet, wobbling a bit as I steady myself against the throne. “The question of leadership isn’t something we can sort out immediately. But we can start charting our course. There are obligations we have to fulfill. First on Art-Hawaii 26—we have to pick up Alvares and the other kids. But after that…”
I take a deep breath.
And I tell them the deal I’ve outlined with the SRC.