Iral, alive.
The resistance, thriving.
Victory.
Victory. The word hasn’t been associated with Archon for half a decade. And yet, when I heard it from Maxo Iral’s lips, I couldn’t doubt it. This base was supposed to be our ticket off this planet, not something that could resurrect a rutting empire.
My choices are no longer hypothetical, no longer inevitable. My apathy’s been shredded. And one wrong step could get Gal killed.
As a secretary orients me in front of a camera, I realize I’ve lost track of him in the confusion. My nerves snap taut with panic, and I turn my head as the flash goes off. The secretary groans—I give him my best apologetic smile, but I don’t turn back to the camera until I’ve spotted Gal.
He’s in the far corner of the room, talking to two officers. He looks relaxed, at ease—he’s smiling—and I scold myself. Gal’s safe. They think they need him, and now that he’s recovered from the initial shock, he’s back on his game, lying like he’s been doing it all his life.
And in case the worst happens, I’ve already identified three ways of escaping this room.
When the secretary hands me the freshly printed badge, I take a moment to check the photo. My gaze is serious, my mouth unsmiling, but I swear I see the relief of that moment—the relief of seeing Gal safe—forever captured on this little piece of plastic.
I look up, and the secretary catches my eye. “I know you guys probably want to settle in, but if you need to unwind after that, the cantina’s in the building directly across the quad from this one. People usually start trickling in after sunset, and I think there was talk of getting a game of Float or Sink going tonight. You’re both welcome to join.”
“I’ll…uh. I’ll keep it in mind,” I stammer, trying to force down the panic sparking through me. It’s not just that I barely remember how to play Float or Sink. I shouldn’t get friendly with anyone here—and yet I yearn for it. I want to know how every single one of these soldiers got to this base. I want to understand how they could keep their fire going in the seven long years since the war ended while mine guttered and died.
But the mention of a cantina plunges an uncanny ache through my chest. I left so many friends behind when I grabbed Gal and booked it out of the academy. Hanji, Ollins, Rin, Rhodes—it’s them I want to be drinking with after a long, hard day.
And if this dream of retaking Rana and restoring Archon anew goes into motion, they’ll be caught in the crossfire.
My head is starting to hurt. A pair of soldiers ushers me out of the intake office, across a field, and into a dormitory. A swipe of my new card gets me into a narrow dorm room that, like most things here, looks uncannily similar to the ones at the academy. I barely have time to flip on the lights before Gal joins me, accompanied by his own escort. Our wide-eyed, unsteady gazes meet, and I see the way this day is tearing him in half.
Behind us, the soldiers close the door.
Gal’s eyes drop to the bottom bunk. “Looks like they brought our stuff from the ship.” Our packs are stacked together, Wen’s rainbow umbrella propped up against them. The sight of it puts me at ease. No need for an escape plan when that battered, bloodstained, outrageously colorful thing is in here with us.
I grab it by the handle and heft it, testing the weight, then turn it over in my hands. Part of me expects to find secret triggers for even more nonstandard modifications, but another part is barely surprised when I don’t. “She’ll probably want this back,” I muse, pricking my finger on the bladed tip. “Did you see where she ended up?”
When I look up, Gal’s giving me a look I can’t parse. Somehow my knuckles are already tightening around the umbrella’s handle before he speaks. “I told them they could send her back to Isla.”
CHAPTER 17
I’M OUT THE door before Gal has a chance to explain. The soldiers who escorted us here are only a couple paces down the hall, and none of them seem ready for the sight of a manic Umber deserter streaking past them with a rainbow umbrella tucked under his arm. I’m around the corner before they remember they have blasters on their belts.
I was stupid, so stupid. So fixated on Gal, on Archon, that I forgot we’re not the most vulnerable ones here. We had something to offer the resistance, but Wen had no bargaining power whatsoever. And she was still coming down from those hits she took, and she was so quiet during the negotiation, and I got so distracted by Iral. I should have noticed sooner.
I clutch the umbrella tighter as I plunge down the stairwell. I hear voices, footsteps, people in pursuit, and there’s a wild part of my brain that thinks I can take them because I have Wen’s umbrella in my hand. They can’t dump her back on the streets for Dago Korsa to find. I don’t know how she fits into this resistance gambit, but no one deserves to go back to that.
“Hey, kid!” someone shouts behind me.
It only spurs me on.
I spill out of the stairwell and into the ground-floor corridor to find three soldiers squared up with their guns drawn on me. They give me two merciful seconds to react, enough time to throw my hands up in surrender. The umbrella clatters at my feet. “Please,” I choke through a ragged breath. “I have to speak to Iral—someone—the girl has to stay.”
“The girl?” one of them asks.
“Wen. Wen Iffan. They can’t send her back to Isla. She’s with us—she’s part of our bargain.”
“The junker? The Corinthian?”
I bare my teeth, shaking my head. I’ve always felt doomed to let down anybody who dares to rely on me. I can’t let that happen to Wen—not when I know exactly what she’s been through. “She stays, or there’s no deal.”
I’m not sure what their guns are set on. They could have me in the sights of a killing bolt. My arms start to shake, my lungs shuddering as I try to bring my breath under control.
The soldier at the head of the group cocks his head, listening to something in his earpiece. He lets out a deep sigh and says, “Stand down.” One by one, the soldiers lower their guns. “She’s in the main shuttle hangar. We’ll take you there.”
* * *
—
I don’t trust their word until I see her. Wen sits on a crate at the edge of the hangar, flanked by two guards, running her hands over her wrists like she’s been freed from cuffs. Her face lights up when she spots me—not with joy, but with surprise that she quickly smothers with a look of cool regard. “Ettian,” she says.
“Wen.”
“They tried to, uh—”
I take a knee next to her, glancing at the soldiers. “Wen, I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “I should have been paying attention.”