“I like that I don't let it define me,” Noah said. “I feel better than before. Different. I did something. I chose to do this. To seek help, medication, and betterment. No one else. If I didn't have the choice, I wouldn't have…” He shook his head. “Am I making any sense? I don't think I am.”
“You're fine,” I said. “I get it.”
I was conflicted, even still. If Mara had been genetically modified—like myself—her choices would have been removed. In that situation, I wouldn't have been as bothered. Maybe it was because I couldn't change her genetics, or maybe it was because the implant had been installed after her failings—or, her perceived failings—but it wasn't the same as starting with a higher baseline through genetic manipulation.
Success changed people—it bred confidence and contentment. Success couldn't be had in a system with no failure, because there would also be no achievement. A life devoid of recognition would lead to resentment, but recognition had to be earned—there was no shortcut for it. Maybe Noah could help Mara. He had learned his ultimate life lesson, after all. And he did seem to have his shit together.
“All right,” I said with a sigh. “You can explain what's happened, but I'll be here, just in case.”
Noah offered me half a smile. “Thank you, Demarco. I swear I'll help her through this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
REQUIREMENTS
“As of 24 hours ago, Clevon is officially my vice-captain,” Endellion said.
The officer conference room remained quiet. Quinn and Lysander each regarded me with a raised eyebrow, but Dr. Clay and Sawyer didn't even bother glancing in my direction. The table between us seemed like a gap, and I feared they would have objections. Or were they waiting for me to give them a speech? They would be waiting a long damn time.
Lysander returned his attention to Endellion. “Why?”
“Clevon has proven time and again he's a trustworthy and talented individual.”
“He's undereducated.”
“Really?” I asked. “You want to start this?”
Lysander let out a long exhale. “I'm not trying to irritate you. I'm being serious. You obviously don't know your way around a starship. You still stumble with the basics. Why would you—of all people—be qualified to take the position of vice-captain? It's a legitimate question. I'm surprised you didn't ask the same thing when you were promoted.”
I supposed he was right. I didn't have a formal education, and I did have to play catch-up most of the time when Endellion trained me. Still, I couldn't help but get defensive. I hated when people underestimated me.
“I can handle it,” I said. “I've been learning. That's how I spend most of my time—you know that.”
Lysander shrugged. “I concede the point. You do try to educate yourself, and you are usually busy when I see you. But do you really think that's enough? In the HSN Corps, it takes a minimum of five years' experience before someone is promoted to the position of vice-captain.”
“We're not in the HSN Corps.”
Endellion held up a hand, ending our conversation. “It doesn't matter. I've made my decision. We're woefully understaffed, and more officers will only be a benefit, even if they need additional training.”
“This is all just for shits and giggles, right?” Quinn asked. She leaned back in her seat. “In less than a year's time, Endellion will be a planet governor. Then it won't matter who has what position because we'll all be living planetside.”
I had wondered about that. Why bother with formalities when everything would come to an end soon, anyway? But that didn't mean I didn't appreciate the confidence or the responsibilities.
“Of course, this is all a jest,” Dr. Clay said, rolling his eyes. “Anyone with the title of commodore could find a better candidate for their vice-captain. I would venture a guess that Commodore Voight wants Demarco for a specific reason or simply as a project until she leaves the enforcer game for good.”
“Clevon has displayed and cited urges to explore the quadrant further,” Endellion said. She sat with a straight posture, calm like always, but now that we had been intimate, it was hard to see her the same way as before. I wondered what her inner thoughts were. “I might need an enforcer crew when I'm governor,” she continued. “When that time comes, perhaps I can call on Clevon to assist me.”
I hadn't known she wanted that. I mulled the information over and replied with a slow nod. “I do want to see more of the quadrant,” I said.
Quinn tilted her head to the side and gave me a half-smile. “Well, don't expect me to be your starfighter officer. Lee and I have plans.”
“I heard. A million babies.”
She laughed. “Not that many, but a couple, at least. I've seen enough starship battles to warrant retirement.”
Dr. Clay didn't need to chime in, but he added, “And my agreement ends the moment Commodore Voight becomes governor. I won't be staying on this ship a second longer.”
“As governor, I'll have more resources to find crewmembers,” Endellion said, ignoring the comments from the others. “It shouldn't be a problem.”
Again, the officer conference room fell silent. Everyone had voiced an opinion—except for Sawyer. She stared at the table with a blank expression. The others must have taken note of her demeanor because Lysander cleared his throat, drawing Sawyer's attention.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asked.
Sawyer shook her head. “No. I think Demarco would make a fine vice-captain. He's dedicated to the Star Marque, and he's more than willing to learn the procedures.”
“I always thought you would be vice-captain.”
“No.” She returned her gaze to the table. “I'd rather work alone in my room. The position of vice-captain requires too much interaction.”
“One last thing,” Endellion said, steering the conversation back to business territory. “When we reach Midway Station, I'll be attending the hearing for final deliberations regarding planet governorship. All requirements for the position should be finalized then. Afterward, we'll be leaving to cover tasks for Ontwenty until the final vote for my rulership. This is it. The final few months of our voyage together.”
The others nodded and muttered statements of understanding.
Endellion stood. Instinctively, I did, too.
“If there are no further comments, this meeting is adjourned,” she said.
Lysander, Dr. Clay, and Quinn pushed away from the table and shadowed Endellion out of the room. I ambled behind them, lingering back to watch Sawyer. With the enthusiasm of a slug, she got out of her chair and shoved her hands into her jumpsuit pockets. I waited by the door and stopped her when she came near.
“We haven't spoken in a few days,” I said.
“I've been busy.”
“When aren't you busy? That's never stopped you from speaking to me before.”
“I'm busier now.” Sawyer didn't glance up at me. She kept her focus on the door, her shoulders slumped.
“What happened?” I asked. “Don't give me bullshit. I know when you're upset.”
“I'm not upset.”
I almost laughed aloud. “Fuck you, Sawyer. Maybe you don't see it, but you might as well be on fire, that's how obvious your depression is. Tell me what's going on. You know you can trust me.”
“This is the most emotion I've felt in a long time.” She finally met my gaze, her gray eyes searching mine. I loved her freckled face, but not when it was twisted with worry.
“Yeah,” I said. “I can see that.”
Most of the time she had fleeting expressions. Sure, I could get her to blush or laugh, but a few seconds later, she'd be back to normal. All a part of her intentional flaw, but that made any prolonged emotional state something to take extreme note of.
“No one has noticed I've been depressed,” she said.
“You stick to yourself.”
“Hm.”
I stepped up to her and narrowed my eyes. “You going to tell me what's bothering yo
u? If someone's been harassing you, I'll kick their ass.”
Sawyer shook her head. “No. It's Blub.”
All mirth left the conversation. “What about Blub?”
“He got injured during the fighting.”
I followed Sawyer out of the officer conference room and into the corridor of Deck One. She hustled toward her workspace, faster than I had seen her move in a while. I walked in after her. A portion of her desk space had been cleared to accommodate a small, cloth bed. Blub sat nestled on top of the blanket, his fish body resting flat on one side. His mouth opened and closed, and his fins spun in place at a slow rate.
Fuck. The sight of the sad little fish being grounded disturbed me more than blood and mayhem. What was wrong with me?
I leaned over the fish to get a better look. Blub's helium sacs had been ruptured on one side, preventing him from floating. I touched the injured area, and the fish grimaced. If he could have made noise, I swear he would have squeaked.
“He's been like this since the combat with the rebellion?” I asked.
Sawyer nodded. “I've been trying to take care of him, but he's not getting any better.”
“Have you taken him to the infirmary?”
“No. Dr. Clay said he wasn't a veterinarian.”
“Dr. Clay is a jackass. I'll get him to look at Blub.”
I went to pick up the fish, but Sawyer grabbed my wrist and pulled at my arm. I glared at her—why had she stopped me?—but I could feel her trembling, so I said nothing.
“What if Dr. Clay says he's dying?” Sawyer whispered. “I don't know how long… I'm not sure of Blub's life expectancy, and he's been like this for several days.”
What did she want me to say? Shit happens? Things die, get over it? I could have lied. I could have told her everything would be all right and Blub would pull through, even though I had no basis for that whatsoever. None of those options seemed good enough. She thought of Blub as a brother. What could be said about someone's dying brother?
I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever happens, I'll be here for you, Sawyer. Besides, either Blub will be in the loving arms of his sister until he's better, or we'll throw him the best damn funeral a fish has ever had. He's one of the crew. He deserves nothing less.”
Sawyer's lower lip quavered. I tensed. I had never seen her so distraught. Silent tears ran down her face. She wrapped her arms around me and dug her fingers into my enviro-suit. Every breath she took, every beat of her heart—she held tight enough for me to feel it all.
“What's wrong?” I asked. What had I fucked up now?
Sawyer shook her head. She didn't sniff or sob, she just kept our embrace tight, her tears sliding down the exterior of my suit. I patted her back, uncertain what she wanted from me. I wasn't the kind of guy who handled weeping well. I hadn't dealt with it much, but every so often, someone had broken down on Capital Station and talked suicide. I opted to vacate the room during those occasions, but I couldn't imagine leaving Sawyer.
“Look,” I said. “Whatever I've done, I'll make it right, okay? I didn't mean to upset you.”
“You didn't upset me,” she whispered.
“Uh-huh. Bullshit. You've never done this before.”
“It's a lot of things, Demarco. Not just Blub.” Somehow, she squeezed me tighter. “But you're not the problem.”
Sawyer broke away and rubbed her eyes. Although red in the face, she returned to her muted expression and offered me a shrug. I was surprised. Most people didn't wrangle their emotions so quick, but hers weren't like the others. “Thank you,” she said.
“What can I do to make this better?”
“Stay with me,” she blurted out. “F-For a short period. A night. Or at least while Dr. Clay looks over Blub. I know I said I wanted to be alone, but that's not the case right now.”
“Fine. I'll stay.”
Sawyer exhaled and looked away. “Not too long. Maybe not even a whole night. Just a few hours.”
“I already said fine.”
“I…” She shook her head. “Endellion won't be upset?”
“Nothing upsets that woman. It'll be fine.”
“Thank you, Demarco.”
* * *
The Core Symposium was the main parliament building for the Vectin Quadrant. According to the computer on the mag-lev train, it was the first government building to be constructed after the mass transports and the first building to get annihilated during the United-Earth war. Superhuman architects rebuilt the place, and there was no doubt in my mind they were trying to send a statement.
The dome of the building could be seen from space. I exaggerate, but not much. The superstructure held meeting halls, conference rooms, and delegates from all over the Vectin Quadrant. The building had its own goddamn residential district inside, and many of the emissaries and diplomats called it home.
Technology made up every millimeter of the place, from the computer terminal doors to the windows that detected the weather and functioned accordingly without intervention to keep the entire place a comfortable temperature. There was even more utility fog—the twinkling starlight that kept every corner of the building awash in the warm glow of a perfect afternoon.
And time had gone into decorating the place so that it felt alive. Plants, even trees, grew inside, and maintenance kept the indoor gardens lush. Banners adorned the walls, some with pictures of Earth and others with pictures of planets from around the sector. I could have tilted my head back all day, glancing from image to image, and I never would have gotten tired.
I loved the Core Symposium.
Endellion and I waited in the Great Hall behind the last row of seats in the farthest nook away from the main podium. The half-dome room seated thousands. We lingered away from the others. The air tasted of cleaning products and cologne. Speeches from superhuman ministers echoed off the walls. Screens displayed the speakers from every angle, and I didn't have to squint to get a good view.
“Who're we waiting for?” I asked.
Endellion motioned to the next speaker. “He'll be giving the announcement.”
“We could've waited to hear word aboard the Star Marque.”
Although the building impressed me, I hated the droning of politicians discussing legislation that had nothing to do with me. I would have rather spent my free time with Mara and Noah, or Sawyer and Blub.
My thoughts focused on the fish. Dr. Clay had said he would look into it and he didn't think Blub would die, but I still worried. He wasn't the gentlest of doctors.
“I need to speak to Minister Ontwenty,” Endellion said. She glanced over at me. “You look troubled. Worried about what we've done?”
I was surprised she would even mention it, but there was no way anyone here would know what she'd meant.
I shrugged. “No. I'm not a fan of Dr. Clay.”
“He's talented.”
“He said he was busy, but since Mara has left the infirmary, there's nothing for him to do. What the fuck is wrong with that guy?”
“He's conducting his research, Clevon. I've told him to take as much time and resources as he needs.”
“Defect research?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Anything for the defects in our crew, I supposed.
The chime of a faux bell signified the end of the speaker's term. Murmured discussion filled the room as the next superhuman took the podium. Endellion gave the man her full attention. I leaned against the wall, already bored with the spectacle. I wasn't in the mood for the pomp and circumstance of formal talks.
A second chime and silence blanketed the audience. A well-trained routine. It made sense. Their garden party was the time for actual discussion. This was all a formality—announcements and the like.
“Our first order of business regards planet governorship,” the superhuman said. “The requirements for the position of planet governor have been updated to reflect our changing times and to ensure the role of planet governor goes to an individual who is qualified fo
r the rigors of the position.”
Although there wasn't much reaction from the room, I heard a couple gasps.
They'd changed the requirements? I thought that was the reason Endellion and I had assassinated the emissary. Hadn't Ontwenty promised Endellion she would prevent this from happening?
I glanced over at Endellion. She waited, her face set in an unreadable expression, but I had known her too long to think she was unaffected by the news. She didn't even blink. I returned my gaze to the speaker.
The superhuman continued, “In addition to the previous requirements, all neonate candidates for the position of planet governor will require a majority vote of approval from the acting members of the senate. Only once a majority vote has been reached may the neonate candidate receive the title of planet governor. All returning governors who have served their post without reprimand are excluded from this requirement.”
Again, there were whispers.
Endellion turned on her heel and strode for the exit, not even bothering to hear the rest of the announcements. I followed after her, curious about her thoughts, but her hard-set glare warned me she was seething. It reminded me of the time that rebellion thug had cut her arm.
“We're going to speak to Ontwenty,” she said as she slammed her hand on a door computer terminal.
“Yes, Ma'am.”
* * *
“This wasn't how it was supposed to play out,” Endellion said. Her volume doubled. “We had an agreement. I upheld my end. Why didn't you deliver?”
Minister Ontwenty's fancy, two-floor home in the massive skyscraper shook with the heat of their argument. I stood off to the side, just as angry, but I didn't think I should get involved. Endellion wanted to discuss our options, but I would've gone straight to blackmail or extortion. Ontwenty wouldn't have a career if Endellion exposed their plans.
Minster Ontwenty—dressed down and showcasing much of her flesh—rested back in her seat. She sipped from a clear glass and smiled. “Trust me, this was a better outcome than what Felseven had originally proposed. He attempted to up the requirement of title, which would've been impossible for you to overcome by the next election. Obtaining approval from the senate shouldn't be difficult.”
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