I maneuvered around stacks of boxes and decaying furniture to my mother’s trunk, kneeling on the floor and prising open the lid. I blinked hard, deliberately, as if to clear my vision. Then I did it again. Nothing changed—the trunk was half empty. My mother’s dresses were gone. Tightness seized my chest.
There had to be a logical explanation. Carina or Father must have moved the dresses when the Valg Season started, to air them out. Yes, that was it, surely. First I searched all the racks behind me, but I didn’t find them.
I left the storage room, drawing deep breaths to calm myself. Panicking was silly. I’d let my father’s paranoia get to me, as if someone would have stolen them. There was nowhere for them to go, so they must be on board. My money was on Carina to have messed with them and forgotten to tell me. The door to the cargo bay appeared on my periphery. Yes, very likely she would have taken them down there. There was more room, better air.
I pressed fingers to the cargo-room bio-lock, anticipating the click-whoosh of the doors. Instead I ended up checking the door with my shoulder as I charged forward. Ow. I rubbed the sore spot with one hand and tried the bio-lock again. No click-whoosh. I was locked out.
Instinctively, my fingers flew to my wrist tab, but then I remembered. I could access security protocols only from the tab unit in the maintenance hold. I’d have to go up there, see who changed the security permissions on the cargo hold. Then I could figure out why.
I ignored the cold that slithered up my back as I made my way upstairs and flew through the kitchen, past the family rooms, and toward the aft end. Nothing looked out of place in the maintenance hold, least of all the tab unit, screen black from sleep. I touched the screen, bringing her awake, and chewed my lower lip nervously as my fingers dangled over the keyboard to input my administrator password. With a deep inhale of breath, I quickly keyed in the code and hit enter. I held my breath until the home screen winked open in front of me. A laugh escaped as I rapidly exhaled.
Almost everything was in order, including and especially resource management—lights, heating, water, electricity—all still under my master control. But someone had tampered with the kitchen-pantry bio-lock (What?), as well as the cargo hold. I opened the permissions console for the pantry first, typing in a short string of code. Dink-dink, the tab chirped with dissent. Someone far more sophisticated at computer code than I was had locked me out.
Elliot. The question was why? Were Elliot and the Orlovs really so worried that I might violate their privacy, rifle through their private belongings? The cargo hold I could maybe understand, but surely nothing in the pantry could be so private. Preserved food, powdered milk, coffee. Basic necessities of life.
I needed to talk to Elliot, just ask him straight why he’d changed the security permissions, and on those rooms in particular. I reminded myself that he’d passed his background check. They all had. The explanation was surely a reasonable one.
And then there was the matter of the dresses. I was not looking forward to searching the ship for them. I imagined it would involve a lot of sweat and muscle strain.
I checked the time. People would be stirring by now. I headed back out into the ship, my feet carrying me on instinct to the kitchen. Coffee called me. I quickened my step, practically tasting the blessed sharp bitterness on my tongue already.
“Oh, good, Leo, you’re up.” Klara appeared from the study, cutting me off in the corridor, steps away from my caffeine hit. “We’re all ready to go over to the Lady Liberty. You should get dressed.” Her eyes scanned my PJs and bare feet with apparent disdain.
“Isn’t it a bit early?” I asked, craning my neck around her toward the kitchen. I was so close.
“Elliot woke us all up, said it’s important to make our way over early. I assume he’s keen to get breakfast on board, as am I.”
“I just need coffee—”
“There’s no time. The best breakfast spots will already have a line by nine a.m. You can get coffee there.”
No, I couldn’t, since my plan was to head up to Miranda Fairfax’s office and sit outside until she saw me. There was no arguing with Klara, who walked off shouting to Nora to grab her jacket. Downstairs, I found Carina lacing up her boots. When she saw me, her eyes went wide with horror at my sleep-mussed hair, unwashed face, and slouchy sleep set. She leaped into makeover mode, getting me presentable in ten minutes flat.
It was another awkward boarding, as it seemed each of us wasn’t speaking to another member of the party. Carina marched along in front to avoid Elliot, I followed close behind to avoid blowing up at said-same boy, Evgenia wasn’t speaking to Klara (“for her deep-end stunt,” she said to me), and Klara didn’t deign to speak to Nora, even on a good day. She was coming along to carry Klara’s bags, as she planned on shopping.
The Lady Liberty was among the largest and most populous ships in the fleet, housing about two thousand people across six luxury decks. Each level, named for a notable American from the Old World, was circular, like a planet’s rings, rotating around a central lift column. We had docked and come through security on the very bottom level, and we exited the customs sector and moved into the central lift bank.
“Our friend lives on the Roosevelt Level,” Evgenia said, pressing the lift button. “Elliot and I would like to go see him first thing, but you ladies can go have breakfast, do some shopping while we—”
“No, I want to meet your friend!” Klara trilled, flashing her widest grin at Elliot. “And the Roosevelt Level . . . how colorful.”
That was her code for “plebeian,” but she didn’t let her smile drop, even if it became a bit strained.
“And you mustn’t skip breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day. It’s on me, since Elliot got us dinner last night.”
“Uh, sure, yes, you’re right,” Elliot said, exchanging a portentous glance with Evgenia. Maybe an apology?
Klara clapped her hands. “Excellent. We absolutely must go to the Left Coast in the California Ward. Their huevos rancheros are to die for.” The lift dinged, signaling its arrival. Klara breezed in first, snapping at Nora to follow close behind. Then Evgenia went, and Carina.
“The space in here is tight. You take the next one, Leo,” Klara singsonged, sweet as sugar. Just when I was bemoaning Klara winning another point in our little war, Elliot, who had been stepping over the threshold, hopped back out.
“I’ll go with her,” he said. Klara’s protest was cut off by the doors promptly closing. I thought I saw Carina jamming her thumb into the close-door button.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, hitting the call button once their lift had shuttled off. I fought the flutter in my stomach at his choosing to come with me, reminding myself that he’d messed with my ship behind my back. “I was going to take my own lift anyway, to the Gates Level. It’s above Oprah, so now you’ll have to backtrack.”
“Why are you going to the Gates Level?”
“To meet with Miranda Fairfax, remember?” The next lift arrived and we stepped inside, drifting to opposite ends of the too-small space, facing off as the lift rose rapidly. My ears became tight with pressure, and I swallowed hard. The Lady Liberty was massive, so even at speed, this would be at least a two-minute trip. Plenty of time.