Little of where Elliot had been and done warranted news coverage. I did manage to find a minor note in the society section about his being named heir to the Islay, which mentioned that he came from the Saint Petersburg by way of Lady Liberty. He’d completely erased his history, where he’d truly come from—the Sofi. From me. I hadn’t even known he’d gone to the Lady Liberty after he left us. The prospect loomed large that Elliot was now a stranger who’d gotten himself involved in something huge and dangerous.
What I hated was that in a way, it totally tracked. Growing up, when my mother was still alive and the Sofi could afford to fly on her own, though Elliot’s father was technically a servant and my father had always been a horrible snob, we’d treated Elliot as an equal. Then both our parents died—his father and my mother—and everything changed. Docking with the Scandinavian and entering that world was a wake-up call for us both. Where you were born and into what position in society mattered. I received the best royal education, alongside my cousin and the rich of the fleet. Elliot was left on board Sofi to wait on my father part-time—though I fought vigorously against his ever being officially named valet. I didn’t want that life for him. He didn’t want that life for him. Elliot would rant against the trappings of the rich, and I’d agree with him, which was all well and good, until reality came crashing down. He wanted to marry me and escape to a better ship. I had to stay—my family couldn’t function without me, and I didn’t know anything else. My life was safe, and I was easily persuaded to stick to the status quo.
Even though we’d seemed to have buried the hatchet yesterday, the memory of a shockingly hateful and bitter Elliot clung to me like a film. I could see his hurt feelings, his big opinions about the state of the fleet, festering like a wound over three years. I could see him becoming radicalized. But would he really be complicit in attacking my ship? My home? Did he truly hate us that much?
I wasn’t sure. With a groan, I dropped my head into my hands. Then my tab pinged a notification—since I was still logged into the Tribune database, it flashed up at me a breaking-news alert. The headline caught my attention.
FAIRFAX PROPOSES CONTROVERSIAL USEFULNESS MEASURE; SEVERAL SHIPS REVOLT
I clicked into the body and found the actual story less incendiary than the word revolt would indicate, though it was still a pretty dramatic development. Miranda Fairfax, who owned the largest American ship in the fleet, the Lady Liberty, and thus wielded significant power in the government, was proposing that all major ships be required to produce and export a resource that was vitally useful to sustaining the fleet population. Ships that were unable to meet the new standard would be embargoed from receiving the best goods, including and especially food and other luxury items. The Scandinavian’s chief industry was luxury accommodation, and it would not meet the new guidelines, should they pass a vote being held on the Olympus in four weeks’ time. Other ships at risk included the Empire, the Crusader, the Wuthering Heights, and—indeed—the Lady Liberty. I was fascinated especially by the article’s quote from Fairfax:
“I am not a hypocrite, and in fact it is an examination of my own conscience and the inexcusable drain on fleet resources that my own ship represents that has forced me to look inward and forward. The Lady Liberty is fully committed to reassessing our role in the fleet and making changes going forward,” said Fairfax at a press conference held this morning.
It gave me a horrifically brilliant idea. My mother had been Miranda Fairfax’s godmother, which would hopefully give me an edge—I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. But this news gave me the perfect angle to pitch my water-recycling system. It would make whatever ship took it on very useful to the fleet. As long as they paid me the appropriate license fee, I would let them use their ship as the base of operations for the whole thing. My aunt would regret turning me down. Time to see if Miranda Fairfax wanted to go into business with me.
I switched to the messaging app and quickly searched the directory for her contact information, but it wasn’t publicly available. Any contact information my mother had had was lost. So I’d try the general Lady Liberty administrative office contact and hope for the best. I made my case for a meeting in a quick message, being sure to drop my mother’s name and connection to Miranda, and sent it off. It made me feel productive and softened the blow of the four rejections I’d received from other ships in the past few days. I was running out of major ships to which to appeal.
My wrist tab pinged with an invitation from Klara—in lieu of a formal Valg event, she had arranged a dinner party for that evening. I heard Carina’s squeal of delight from the other room, followed by a shriek of “What am I going to wear?”
Forget clothes; how was I going to sit at a dinner table with Elliot for three hours and not explode? I had so many questions and feelings, including but not limited to “Are you part of Freiheit?” and “How could you say yes to my sister?” Either could lead to my throwing myself across the table and throttling him. There was nothing I could do about my sister, short of telling her about the full extent of Elliot’s and my history and admitting to the swirl of feelings I still harbored. And that just wouldn’t do—my feelings were sacrosanct and not something my naive baby sister would understand.
But I could do something about my aunt’s suspicions, my mounting fear that she was right. Resolved, I marched myself up to the bridge, where I found her crouched over her tab screen, brow furrowed. I knocked on the wall to announce my presence.
“Leonie, what a surprise to see you up here. Do you need something?”
“Yes,” I answered, then backtracked. “No. Not exactly. I have an idea.”
Her deep sigh communicated her annoyance. “My dear, I already told you that your little water-recycling idea is not a good fit.”
“Even with the new usefulness measure being proposed?” It wasn’t what I’d come to talk with her about, but I took my opportunity where I saw it. Captain Lind narrowed her eyes at me.
“That measure still has to pass, which I doubt it will, and look at you, keeping up with all the latest news. Regardless, I am not yet that desperate. No one wants to drink, bathe in, or touch dirty water.”
“It’s not dirty,” I groaned. “That’s the whole point. I refined the original designs I found, and it’s truly seamless—”
“Leonie,” she snapped my name like a command.
“That’s not what I came here for, anyway,” I said. “It’s about my renters. The Orlovs and Elliot Wentworth. After we talked, you got me thinking . . . It was really bad form on my part, not requesting that they have background checks. That said, I really don’t think they’re radicals—”
“Terrorists, dear,” Lind cut me off, like semantics were the point.
“Anyway. I’m here because I think you should ask them to submit to a background check. I’m sure they would. We can clear all this up.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. Tipping them off may inspire them to flee. I’ve promised my constituents not only an answer, but justice.”
I barely suppressed an eyeroll at her politicking. “I’ll ask them. Give me whatever I need to get their DNA, and I’ll make up some excuse. I’ll do it today.”