by Audrey Grey
Will saw it happen all the time in the mines.
Sometimes he let his time as a human slip back into memory, like a bad dream he couldn’t shake. A nightmare.
Crayburn followed Will’s gaze. “It would be easy to forget, to take pity on some, to see good in them. But don’t forget what your kind did. When I found you tossed into the mines like a piece of trash, skull split open, you were half-dead. That’s what the fleshers did to you. They’re savage, cruel beasts. It was us who took you in, who made you one of our own to save your life.”
Will nodded, though he wished Crayburn wouldn’t speak so loudly. The flesher at the bar stopped shining the invisible spot and cut his eyes at Will and then back to his crew, as if more tarnished goods might be found there.
“You don’t have to remind me.” Will tapped his head. The metal of his skull was hard beneath his fingertips. “I remember. And I’ll forever be grateful. Just tell me how to prove that.”
“You’re running out of time. If you don’t prove your loyalty to her soon, another week, she’ll change your Ender status from temporary to permanent.”
Permanent. Will’s gut clenched, and he swallowed down a surge of bile that came rushing up. He couldn’t look desperate here. Not in front of his friend and mentor, his father. Especially not in front of Athena’s crew. Clenching his hands over his thighs, Will forced his face into a calm expression. “A week? That’s . . . impossible. I’ve tried everything already. She refuses to grant me a meeting. Her councilors have shot down every request—”
“Find something big, Will. Something the queen can’t overlook. Make her grateful, truly grateful, and she’ll give you your ship back. Your position. Everything.” Crayburn rubbed a finger below his bottom lip, a look of distaste twisting his expression. “Unless you want to be an Ender like your scavenger friends over there, unable to jump. Your immortality just out of reach.”
He glanced at his crew again, still shrouded by haze, but very clearly watching his every move. Lux glared as if she knew what Crayburn was saying. Will balled his hands into fists, ignoring her all-too-frequent look of reproach. He wouldn’t feel guilty for wanting his old life back. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Though he had no idea what that was.
“Atta boy.” Crayburn got up to leave, groaning as he did. “Ah, five more days and I get to jump to my new body. Can’t come soon enough.”
Jumping bodies was an honor reserved for the deserving. Enders like Will’s crew had their jump privileges taken away for various reasons, the worst possible punishment—next to being a scavenger captain, imprisonment, and death.
They were all about the same in Will’s book.
His barstool scraped against the floor as he stood to follow Crayburn, but he shook his head, a frown tugging at his lips. “That room’s for officers and crew only. Hopefully by this time next week, I’ll see you there.”
Will grinned to hide the tightening in his chest, even as heat rose to his cheeks. That was his room. His place. His ship docked in the bay. His men in there laughing under a new captain. A captain so reckless he rammed Athena into the docking station last month and damn near dented her—and got Will and his crew punished.
And worst of all, that was his mentor walking away.
Will had to find a way to make it all right again. Numbness spread through his limbs as he watched Crayburn enter the off-limit room with his off-limit crew, watched as his brother, the new captain, handed Will’s old friend another drink. In his periphery, Leo waved him over, but Will stared instead at the scratches cut in the metal bar, pretending not to notice.
Normally he hated the taste of liquor, but now it went down smooth. He ordered another. Then another, grateful for his father saving him from the embarrassment of having to find another bar.
Then Will requested a pen and began scribbling the symbol from the thing on a square napkin, along with its most recent temperature readings, hoping, praying this would be his salvation.
Chapter 6
3631 AD
Talia
A hundred curious eyes pinned Talia to her spot on the stage. She could feel the lens of the hidden cameras zooming in on her face. Fidgeting with the jewels encrusting the hem of her bodice, she took a deep breath, the way she’d been taught, and fixed a haughty look on her betrothed. “What are you doing, Prince Cassius?”
Ignoring her, he sauntered across the stage to Ailat and took ahold of her wrist. Then he dragged her across the stage toward Talia. Ailat yanked and twisted, but Talia had been inside his vice-like grip, and she knew her friend might as well have been shackled.
“Stop struggling, mock.” The calmness in his voice sent chills racing down Talia’s spine. Ailat immediately became compliant and began following him. The only sign of distress was the twist to her lips, a slight sneer on an otherwise beautiful face.
Stars! Part of her programming included an override function that forced the junior mock to obey any human above Talia’s station. Which, technically, Cassius was. A prince was deemed higher than a princess.
Stupid, senseless law.
Her mind had her racing across the stage to her friend, but her feet remained planted firmly onto the marble floor. The cameras were watching. This would be all over the news in a few moments. Even if Talia cared about her friend, she couldn’t appear that way, couldn’t show the truth of her feelings unless she wanted to ruin the hard work of her parents.
Whatever Cassius was planning, she needed to keep a level head. Show no emotions and your enemies cannot find your weakness, her grandmother once said. So Talia forced herself to watch, her face a cold mask, as the Thorossian bastard dragged a willing Ailat across the floor and threw her at Talia’s feet.
Ailat fell in a puddle of silk. One of the heels on her exquisite shoes had broken off. Her hair was mussed and hung around her face. Slowly, she turned her eyes up at Talia. They bubbled with tears that her programming prevented her from actually shedding.
Talia ground her jaw, terrified at how easy it had become to feign indifference, indifference taught to her by the friend now lying at her feet. “What is this?”
“A test.” Cassius could hardly keep the glee from his voice. “One my people demand before our alliance.”
Demand? Who was he to demand anything? “What sort of test requires the embarrassment of a mock?” Talia cringed at the cold way she said mock. But she had to play along until this charade was over and she could get Ailat to safety.
“Embarrassment?” Cassius scratched at the stubble darkening his jaw. “Do mocks really feel such emotions? I don’t think so. They’re plastic and metal, Princess. Machines. It’s time you show the world you remember that.”
He lifted his broad hand, revealing something shiny nestled inside his palm.
A kill-switch.
For a too-long moment, she blinked at the silver device—the one that was supposed to be used for emergencies and only on mocks that had turned. The one that, once inserted into her best friend, would fry her circuits.
Would kill her, forever.
Think. There must be a way out. Talia wobbled as the floor seemed to dip and roll. Dread pooled inside her belly, and the tiny dreg of air she pulled into her lungs wasn’t enough anymore.
She licked her lips. “We should discuss this in private, Prince.”
“Be careful, Princess. Or the world might think you’re sympathetic to our enemy.”
Enemy. The word was wrong. Ailat wasn’t her enemy. She was Talia’s friend. One who wasn’t corrupted. Why couldn’t they see that? Tension sizzled the air as the entire intergalactic community watched to see where she stood. One wrong emotion and her family would be branded sympathizers. It could be enough for the Thorossians to finally get their wish and overthrow her family, claiming the throne themselves.
Yet, somehow, turning on Ailat was worse. Her only crime was being a mock. A mock who had given her life in service to Talia, had loved her and protected her since the moment Tal
ia opened her eyes.
Chest heaving, Talia searched the crowd, carefully, her movements slow and measured. She found her mother standing stock-still at the edge of the stage, her gloved hands clenching the railing for support. Her eyes were crinkled with pity. But her lips were firm, dissipating any hope Talia had for refusing. If only her father were here—but that was foolish thinking. He wasn’t. He’d left to tend to business, left his daughter with this monster.
Talia suppressed a shudder and tried to breathe as the weight of hundreds of generations of Starchasers crushed her. One wrong move, one wrong choice, and the Starchaser Dynasty could crumble.
Her entire line came down to a choice: her family or her best friend.
You are a Starchaser Princess. Pain is not only expected but welcomed.
Those words echoed inside her skull as she knelt beside her friend pinned beneath the entire world’s measured stare. Talia’s hands were steady, her breathing calm. Pride would have filled her—if not for the fact she was about to murder her best friend—but somehow she felt nothing. Only a hollowness, a deep, aching cavern where her emotions should have been.
She was an expert at pain, after all.
“Hand me the kill-switch.” Her words bounced off the hard walls. Cold words that belonged to someone else.
Cassius grinned as he gave her the terrible device, its sleek, cool weight a shock to the clammy flesh of her palm.
“Please,” Ailat whispered, her lower lip trembling as she stared in horror at Talia. “Don’t do this. I can retire.”
“Open your port, mock.”
The cruelness of Talia’s voice made Ailat’s eyes go wide, and her hand fluttered up to touch her neck. Talia swallowed, the sound a gunshot in the absolute silence. Pinching her lips together, she closed off any feelings she ever felt for Ailat. This was what it meant to be Junior Sovereign. To be worthy.
When Ailat hesitated, Talia said, “Now.”
If this were to work, she had to seem like she hated her mock. And she needed everyone to believe it—especially Ailat.
Talia unfurled her hand, revealing the kill-switch. “I should have done this years ago.”
Ailat blinked. “What?”
“As if a mock could ever teach a human anything. What, did you think we were friends? You’re nothing more than an . . . an oversized child’s toy.”
Talia continued, spewing insults she would never have dreamed saying to her friend. Black spots dimmed her vision and nearly swept her off her feet as Ailat’s face began to change, crumpling like a dew melon left to rot in the Palesian sun. First hurt then betrayal danced across her face. Then anger crept in, hardening her sharp jaw and darkening her blue eyes to the color of storm clouds.
Good, get angry, friend. Use it to do what I can’t and save yourself.
“Now take this and end your life.” Talia held the kill-switch up like a piece of candy, and Ailat dutifully offered her palm, even as her gaze bored into Talia with unrestrained loathing.
No hesitation. Panic clenched her belly. What if she were wrong and Ailat wasn’t corrupted?
As soon as she dropped the device into her best friend’s palm, Talia focused on Ailat’s breath condensing over the metallic surface of the device. Stupidly, Talia’s mind wandered to the vacations spent at Meridian beach. The countless times Ailat dove down into the water to save her companion from drowning.
Ailat had been the better swimmer. Ailat had been the better everything.
Ailat’s fingers closed over the device. For a heartbeat, she and Talia locked eyes. Any shred of loyalty that remained between the friends bled away into cold survival. Ailat’s knuckles whitened as she suddenly squeezed, crushing the thing meant to kill her.
Talia gave a tiny exhale of relief. Before she could conjure fake disappointment for the cameras, Ailat jumped to her feet. At some point, she must have slipped off her shoes, and she swung the sharp heel of her unbroken pump like a dagger as she leapt into the crowd, reminding Talia that Ailat was indeed a machine created to jump farther, run faster, and protect those she loved.
Usually it was Talia who needed protection.
But now she was the danger.
“Grab her!” Cassius cried.
Onlookers, who just seconds before crammed toward the stage for a better look, tumbled backward to escape Ailat’s wild flight. Screams marked her path through the crowd while the word corrupted split the air over and over, a piercing cry. A man . . . a senator from Krenth, reached out to grab Ailat, but she knocked him aside with her fist as she spun her head side-to-side, searching for an exit.
Her darting gaze fixed on the servants’ entrance. She sprinted across the floor toward the steel doors held open by a mock carrying a tray. As soon as he realized she was coming toward him, he dropped the silver platter, glasses shattering, and tried to move. But she knocked him aside like he weighed nothing and then disappeared into the kitchens.
Countless guards followed, grunting as they all tried to fit through the one door at the same time. Idiots. By the time they entered the kitchen, Ailat would be gone. Hopefully.
Talia used the chaos to descend the stage unnoticed, swimming through the panicked river of revelers all rushing toward the front doors. Right before Talia slipped out the entrance, a bony hand wrapped around her arm.
Her grandmother wore someone’s spilled wine and a terrifying smile, her own drink still somehow intact. She paused in front of Talia and took a sip of her drink. “To hell with it,” Grandmother muttered, downing the entire glass. “Now that was a show.”
“You’re not mad?” Talia breathed.
“Dear, our future just died on live broadcast. Trust me. There are no words to describe how I feel right now.”
“I didn’t know she would run,” Talia lied, wishing it didn’t come so easy.
“Tell that to the ore prince your mock just humiliated in front of the entire Seven Planets.”
Talia scoffed, but her thoughts had already switched to finding Ailat. Where would she flee? The burrows? The inner-city? She needed to go there now and start searching.
For once, thank the stars, Talia’s grandmother seemed out of words and left to scrounge up another drink, leaving Talia alone. Crowded amongst the senators’ wives and ambassadors’ escorts as they left the palace, she easily passed through the guards unnoticed. She quickly found a mock escort with a luxury hover lent from one of her ambassador patrons, and she was more than happy to offer her ride to Talia, along with her dark emerald cape and the matching veil. Especially once Talia had given her a few of the fire opals weighing down Talia’s hair.
One alone probably rivaled what the escort made in a year.
Talia should have felt bad about giving up priceless heirlooms handed down through twenty-four generations. But those heirlooms were also giving her a headache. And right now, the only thing she cared about was Ailat.
As light from the twin moons danced across the arcing glass windshield, the first twinges of hesitation slammed into Talia. The few times a year she ventured into the mock side of the city, it was with a guard.
And Ailat.
Going out into the mock-side alone wasn’t just against protocol, it was dangerous and stupid. Only yesterday, she overheard her father discussing the cheaper-model mocks who’d been corrupted and were now wandering the streets. Even disguised, a wealthy girl like Talia would fetch a hefty ransom, enough to get the desperate mocks to the Outer Fringes, where the war raged and they had allies.
Now, she’d have to make do without an entourage or her best friend. But, hopefully, if everything worked out, she’d remedy that last part. And Ailat would understand the need for that cruelty, all those horrible things said. Why the public couldn’t know how much Ailat meant to Talia.
The hover dropped, and Talia braced her palm against the clear wall, leaving a trail of sweat along the glass. If she didn’t find Ailat soon, Cassius or the royal guards would. Already the incident was replaying across the screen separating
the cockpit from the back, and Talia cringed as the broadnet broadcast showed a close up of Ailat. The word corrupted flashed in bright-red letters beneath her friend’s parted lips.
Sighing, Talia sunk deep into the khaki leather of the luxury hover. Knowing what little she did of Cassius, it wouldn’t be long before a hefty bounty was placed on her friend’s head. And once that happened, there would be no saving Ailat.
Chapter 7
3731 AD
Will
Technically, Will couldn’t get drunk. At least, not the sloppy drunk that most fleshers got after pounding four or five shots, where the brain went fuzzy and inhibitions melted away. But there was a certain buzzing inside his skull and numbness in his lips he couldn’t ignore.
His brain wasn’t human, but his other organs were still flesh—and susceptible. After his tenth shot, a drawn-out beep pierced his head, followed by a warning that scrolled across his bio-screen. His liver functions were down, the alcohol in his bloodstream dangerously high.
“Another, please.”
He toyed with the napkin, now a smudged stain of ink, pulling soggy bits of it apart and rolling them between his fingers. The last captain he’d shown the symbol to grunted and set his too-full beer on top of it, obviously under the impression Will was wasting the captain’s time.
In the back of the bar, Dorian was resting with his head on the table, Leo had left to hook up with one of his flings, Jane had left to find a dice game, and Lux was busy staring holes into Will’s head. Probably wondering why he was spending credits they didn’t have to buy alcohol he couldn’t feel all while not bothering to sit with his crew. Little did she know he was actually putting everything on Xander’s tab.
