I jump when Trey touches my elbow. He lays a soft kiss on my cheek when he sees that I can’t find any words for what I’m seeing.
He speaks instead: “The fighting is taking place on the opposite side of the city. We’d have trouble getting there from here. We’re undermining the Alameeda resupply, wreaking havoc on their ability to fight effectively.”
“How are you doing that?” I ask, but swiftly turn my attention to the wall near us when the twinkle of cascading water ceases.
In lieu of a fireplace, a stunning waterfall is the focal point of the space. The green-tiled water feature positioned between the two smoke-filled window walls has stopped working abruptly. From somewhere beneath the wall, a series of knocks sound. Drex moves to the wall, knocking back on it. Another series of knocks sounds from the other side. Drex smiles. He touches several of the green, jade, and white glass tiles on the wall.
There is a change of air pressure in the room as the wall recedes to show descending steps. Fenton emerges from the dark depths of the staircase tugging on the ends of the silky threads of a sky blue parachute. He’s covered in grit and has smears of gray greasepaint on his face. His snow-white teeth shine against his matte gray lips as he grins. “Success! The satellite uplink worked! Trey’s program hacked their drones, loaded them by supply-bot with sanctum amps, and flew ’em into their formations.” He produces a perfect red apple from his pack and takes a huge bite of it, noshing, and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Anyone hungry?” Behind Fenton, Hollis drags part of the parachute covered with food into the room. Fenton smiles and adds, “We brought down a chow ship along with several others.”
Hollis scowls at Fenton. “Help me bring it in, ya jackwagon!” The Cavars all converge on it, bringing the prepackaged food into the room, tossing various items around as each calls out his selection from the treasure trove.
“Did you bring back the satellite uplink?” Trey asks Fenton.
“Yeah, we got it. It was close, though. Gibon is bringing it up now. They targeted the building and reduced it to rubble after we jumped off the roof. The glide suits worked well.” He extends his arms, showing us the chameleon-fabric squirrel-like jumpsuit he’s wearing. “I’d like to get my hands on a Riker Pak, though,” he admits, referring to the jet packs the Alameeda use.
“They’d be helpful,” Trey agrees, “but your glide suit doesn’t leave a heat signature that they can trace. They’re blind when we don’t use technology.”
“But they go boom when we do,” Wayra interjects with another smug smile. He moves forward and bumps his shoulder against Trey’s in some kind of sign of camaraderie.
Gibon comes up from the depths of the tunnel beneath the water wall carrying a small dishlike apparatus with him. He has greasepaint on his face as well. He selects a fancy bottle from among the plethora of others in the parachute. Walking to the elegant kitchen, he goes to the commissary unit and collects two elegant glasses. He depresses a notch on the side of the bottle, and a spout emerges from its neck. He pours the brown liquid into the two short glasses. Meeting my eyes, he extends a glass out to me, knowing I’m watching him. I leave Trey’s side, going to him in the kitchen. I take the drink he offers me. Lifting it up to him in silent salute, he mimics my movement. “To Dylan,” he says, raising his glass to our fallen friend.
“To Dylan,” I agree with a sad smile. We each put the glass to our lips and drink together. It’s definitely alcohol and it definitely makes me cough a little.
Gibon drains his glass in one swallow. He sets it on the stone countertop. “I should’ve had his back,” he says like a confession.
Looking down into my glass, I swirl its contents with a twist of my wrist. The cuff of the sonic sayzer peeks out from beneath my sleeve. “It was chaos, Gibon. We barely got out alive,” I reply. I take another small sip of my drink.
“I messed up.” He pours himself another glass of the brown liquid. “It’s not like that was my first day on the job and I overslept or something. He got smoked and I did nothing. They blew him out of the sky.” He tucks the alcohol away with one swallow.
“The Alameeda picked the world up and dropped it on us, Gibon. You protected us.” I nod at the Cavars hustling around in the Great Room.
“You’ve got it wrong. You saved them,” he says with a frown, “and me. There is no Ship of Skye now; it’s gone, and we’d be gone with it if not for you.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I change the subject by saying, “You’re kind of amazing at driving a hovercycle. Do you think you can teach me how sometime?”
His violet-colored eyes soften. “I’ll teach you how to fly anything you want.”
“I think that’s my job,” Trey says as he enters the kitchen and stands next to me.
“Is it?” I ask him with a raise of an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to overload you with too many tasks. You already have to teach me how to swim and climb enormous trees. I was just trying to lighten your load.”
He puts his arm around my waist, drawing me to his side possessively. Smiling in a predatory way, he murmurs, “You’re my intended consort. It’s my pleasure.”
I silently finish his sentence: And no one else’s.
“Well, you’ll have your work cut out for you then, won’t you, because I’ve never driven anything before. I never had a bike, or a scooter, or a car,” I reply. Gibon chokes on his liquor, coughing as he looks from me to Trey incredulously.
Trey shrugs and says, “She’s from Chicago.”
Gibon wipes his arm on his sleeve. “So I’ve heard. I just never—you’ve never even driven a flipcart?” he asks, as if it would be a crime not to have done so.
“I don’t even know what that is,” I reply honestly, taking a larger sip of my drink and paying for it with a wheeze.
Jax approaches our little party. He hands ration packs to Trey. “Here, you might want to take a couple of these. We’re packing up the rest. Are you hungry, Kricket?” he asks me.
The alcohol is making me feel light-headed. It’s not unpleasant; in fact, it’s kind of nice. I look toward the bottle. “I think I want some more of that.”
“Negative,” Trey says right away, taking my empty glass from me. “You’ve recently been dehydrated and malnourished. You need food. Come with me.”
Trey leads me to a formal dining area. I sit in a chair that he holds out for me. He brings us both a plate and sits right beside me. Breaking open the ration packs, he unloads the fare onto both plates. As we begin to eat together quietly, Drex approaches us. He stops in front of me, laying down a package of cocoa-covered wafers tied with a ruby-colored ribbon in front of my plate. He also lays down a large, shiny metal object that looks suspiciously like brass knuckles. With a respectful nod to Trey, Drex moves away from the table. I stop chewing in confusion.