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But as he continued to sit there, unspeaking, listening to what Cadan was saying, tension wound itself tightly inside her.
If he wants to turn us in, if he won’t even believe as much of the story as Cadan did . . .

“That’s the situation as far as I have it,” Cadan finished. “Elissa is convinced it’s actually the Sekoian government involved in this, but I strongly disagree. However, it’s more
than obvious that
whoever’s
behind it has got some high-up contacts and some pretty sophisticated tracking technology. It’s also more than obvious that Lissa and Lin need our help. I’m thinking our best bet, once we’ve patched up the
Phoenix
, is to get them to the Interplanetary League’s headquarters on Sanctuary so they can claim refugee status under the Humane Treatment Act. It’s going to take some major evasive action, if what’s been happening so far is anything to go by, and we’ll have to use the hyperdrive more than I like, to ensure we’re not in one place long enough for anyone to get a lock on us—”

Which was when Stewart spoke. He’d been staring at Elissa and Lin—mostly Lin—for the last minute, but at this his head snapped back toward Cadan. And now Elissa could read his expression. It was anger—sheer, incredulous anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he said. “Have you gone freaking insane?”

“I have not.” Cadan’s voice was suddenly coldly polite. “If there’s a flaw in my plan, then I suggest you let me know in a more reasoned manner.”

“A
flaw
in your plan?” Stewart gave a bark of laughter. “By her own admission the girl’s on the run with stolen government property, she’s lied her way onto our ship, and you’re planning on
helping
her? I would say that’s a pretty big freaking flaw!”

“Hang on a moment there,” said Cadan. “Did you listen to what I was telling you?”

“I listened.” Stewart pushed himself out of his seat so that he and Cadan were standing face-to-face across the safety rail. “I just couldn’t believe you were really saying it. Sure, she’s a pretty girl, but do you not get what she’s asking of you?”

All at once there was a nasty twist to his voice, and Elissa flinched. Cadan didn’t seem to have noticed, though. He was frowning, intent on what Stewart was saying, not the tone he was saying it in.

“You’re saying—you seriously think she’s right, it
is
government authorized?” Cadan asked.

Stewart made an impatient gesture. “I’m saying it could be. And if it is—God, Cadan, think about what you’d be doing if you helped her! Theft—
grand
theft, if the property’s so valuable they’re sending spaceships to get it back. You know how much clones cost, and they’ve only ever managed partial clones. And now we’ve got
this
.” He jerked a nod at Lin. “As close as you can get to a full-body clone, God knows,
and
it’s telepathic and electrokinetic. It could be a secret government weapon! We’ll end up on treason and terrorism charges before we know it!”

“But”—Cadan gave his head a quick shake as if to clear it—“you can’t think our government would be involved in something like that.”

At the same time Lin said furiously, “I’m not a clone. I’m
me
.”

Stewart flicked a glance at Lin, a glance that seemed to skate over her and move straight back to Cadan. She might as well not have spoken.

“I don’t
know
, Cadan! What I’m saying is, if it is the government, you can’t afford to go on the run with their property. Fine, we’ll make for the Interplanetary League HQ, but for God’s sake, going off-route without SFI’s activated. Security breached at Section ed question permission? At least send them a message that that’s what you’re doing.”

“No.”

“No!”

Elissa and Lin spoke at once, their voices blending so that
for a moment Elissa didn’t realize she was hearing her sister as well as herself.

“Please,” she said. “Cadan, don’t. You don’t have to believe me, but please, please, just in case I
am
right—”

Stewart cut across anything Cadan might have been about to say. “Yeah, if you are right, then you’re a thief, aren’t you? Stop trying to make him feel guilty—stop trying to use him. This is his career here. And mine. And I’m not risking them for you and the freak double you stole.”

Elissa stared at him, speechless for a moment. If she hadn’t known this was the same pleasant young man who’d invited her to the flight deck, who’d flirted with her over the lunch table just a few hours ago, she’d have thought he’d been replaced by his own double. He wasn’t even trying to understand what this was like for her and Lin—and the way he was talking about Lin, calling her “property,” calling her “it,” what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he see?

She tried to speak calmly. “You’re not understanding. Lin’s not a clone. She’s my sister. My twin.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Your
twin
? It’s not even a real word.”

“It
is
a real word. It means double—”

“Double. Yeah, like a—guess what?—
a clone
.”

“
Not
like a clone!” Her voice went shrill, and she forced it back into calmness. It was no good arguing with him. He just wasn’t listening—it was too much for him to handle and he couldn’t grasp it.
I couldn’t grasp it at first, and I’d shared her thoughts
.

She tried another tactic. “Look,” she said. “Like Cadan said, Lin and I are linked. For three years I felt what they were doing to her. I only got it secondhand, and it was the worst pain ever. That’s what you’d be handing her over to. Please.
What does it
matter
if it’s the government or someone else?”

“It matters because
we work for them
! Do you know how long we’ve trained just to get a chance at flying this ship for a pathetic four-day round-trip? Do you know what would happen to us if we helped you evade them?”

“Oh my God!” Elissa’s calmness splintered into a million shards. “This is all about your
job
? This is Lin’s
life
. Do you know what will happen to
her
if you make her go back? Why can’t you grasp what we’re telling you?”

A wave of color rose behind Stewart’s freckles. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elissa overrode him. “You want to see what they did, your precious government you want to report us to?” She flung her hand out toward Lin. “Come show him. Come show determination, c him what they want you for.”

Too late, as she saw the blankness hit Lin’s face and freeze it still, Elissa realized what she was asking. She stared at her twin, a mute apology.
You have to show him. He has to know
.

For a moment Lin just looked back at her, frozen, not moving. Then she came forward to stand next to Cadan at the rail and turned, putting her hands up to lift the dyed-blond hair from the back of her neck.

“
What?
What am I supposed to be looking—” Stewart stopped. And Cadan took one step back, as if the floor had lurched under him.

The hole, neat and clean-edged, stood out against the pale skin at the back of Lin’s neck. Elissa saw it more clearly this time, saw the details she hadn’t seen before. Saw that although the flesh had healed around and inside it, it was shiny with scar tissue, the sort of scar tissue that came from burns, repeated over and over again.

“This is what they do to me,” Lin said, her voice thin and
remote. “Twice a week since I was fourteen. This is what they keep me for. This is why they want me back.”

After a long moment Cadan said, “What—what is it for?” His voice cracked as he spoke, and Stewart threw him an irritated look.

Lin made a little noise that would have sounded like a laugh if there’d been any real mirth in it. “They didn’t tell us
that
.”

“And it—” Cadan swallowed, then continued. “Lissa said it hurts?”

“Hurts?” Lin let her hair slide back over her neck, raised her head to look at him. “Yes, it hurts.” Once again there was a sound like laughter in her voice, but with a note to it that made Elissa go cold.

“That’s it,” said Cadan. “I don’t care if it is our own government behind it. I’m not letting them get hold of her,
whoever
they are.”

“Then what?” Stewart’s voice seemed to explode into the room. “You’re going to go on the run, on the spaceship they own? Cadan, for God’s sake think about this.”

“
Think
about it? Take a look at her, Stewart! Look what they’ve done to her!”

“I saw, thanks.” Stewart’s voice dismissed the horrific wound, put it aside as something merely distasteful that didn’t need to be mentioned. And that was when it fully hit Elissa.

Arguing with Stewart, trying to persuade him—even trying to get his pity for Lin—none of it was going to work. The moment he’d learned she was a Spare, something like a shutter had closed across his mind, cutting him off from the necessity of feeling anything toward her that he would feel for a legal human.

I didn’t really think people would be able to do that. Everyone knows about partial clones
—
it makes sense for someone to see Lin and me together and think she could be a full-body clone. Human-based but not human. Not a person. But I thought that once people met her, once people knew that she was born the same as me
—
I didn’t think anyone would be able to continue thinking of her like that.

She told me people would want her sent back, and I didn’t believe her
.

“And that’s not the point,” Stewart was saying to Cadan. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You’ve got a crew of fifteen here. You’re going to force us all on the run with you?” He came around the end of the rail. “You’re the captain. You have duties to hold to. The crew didn’t sign up for this.”

“I know.” Cadan’s face was grim. “I’ve thought of that.”

“Then what? What are you going to do? Force them to turn their careers to shit with you? Make them traitors too?”

“That’s enough!” Color ran up into Cadan’s face, a flush under his eyes, on his cheekbones. “I’m going to give them the choice, of course. They can stay with me, help me get the ship to Sanctuary—”

“Or what? What if they don’t want that choice?”

Cadan’s face drew itself into grimmer lines. “Then
Shuttlebug One
takes twenty.”

“That’s it? You’re going to tip us out into the lifeboat and keep the
Phoenix
for your pet thief and her freak nonhuman clone?” The venom in his voice was clear now, and Elissa physically flinched, putting an automatically protective arm around Lin.

“I said that’s enough,” said Cadan, his voice like steel.

“Really? Enough? That’s it, is it? Just like that? Four years, thrown away?”

Cadan opened his mouth to say something, then shut it.
He looked at Stewart for a long moment. Then, “If you want to look at it that way. Four years. Thrown away.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Stewart turned on his heel and walked off the bridge. His boots thumped briefly on the stairs, then he was gone.

Elissa didn’t dare speak. She hardly dared look at Cadan.
Everything Stewart said
—
losing his career, committing treason . . . if it’s too much, if Cadan decides it’s not worth it . . .

Cadan’s hand was clenched, white on the rail. For a long moment he said nothing, just stared at where the barrier had slid shut behind Stewart. Then he looked away, visibly gathering himself.

“He’ll come back,” he said. “This has knocked him, and I told him the wrong way, but he’s a good man. He’ll see reason. He’ll come back.”

Elissa didn’t reply. Cadan knew Stewart better than she did. For all she knew, he was right. But that venom in Stewart’s voice, the way he’d instantly dismissed Lin as a clone, a
thing
, something that belonged to other people rather than herself . . . She thought Stewart
was
seeing reason, but it was his own reason, not Cadan’s.

Cadan took a deep breath. “Okay. Now I have to speak to the crew. I won’t ask you to leave—this is your concern now, after all. If you would sit over there?” He gestured to a couple of pull-down seats on the wall around the bridge.

As Elissa and Lin took the seats, Cadan threw open a com-channel and issued a crew-wide instruc determination, ction to come to the flight deck. Then he paused for a minute, head down, hand braced on the console next to the com-channel switch.

Elissa watched him, wrung by helpless pity.
His career, that he’s worked for since he was eleven. And he’s not even hesitating.
He’s just doing one unpleasant task after another. The Cadan I used to know, the one so hung up on his career that he forgot how to be polite, he would never have done this.

Or would he? Was he always like this, and I just never noticed?

The door slid open. Cadan straightened, ready to face his crew.

He made it brief. Partly, Elissa guessed, because they didn’t have time to waste, if they were to repair the ship and get back into another hyperspeed hop. Partly, maybe, for the sake of the crew themselves? But also—
oh, this must be awful for Cadan, right after Stewart’s reaction, Stewart’s accusations, having to explain himself all over again.

“I have to do this,” Cadan said at the end of the explanation, his voice flat. “I don’t expect anyone to agree with me. I don’t expect anyone to stay on board.
Shuttlebug One
is ready for evacuation, and the nearest planet with a Sekoian embassy is less than a twelve-hour flight. The shuttlebug will be leaving in the next half hour.” He paused there, and Elissa saw him swallow before he continued. “Beyond that I can only offer my apologies. It has been my honor to serve as—” He stumbled. “To work with you all. If, one day, I can make reparation—” He got stuck again, and this time didn’t recover.

They were watching him. Some of the faces did mirror Stewart’s. Shock, disgust, anger. Some of them showed only discomfort—a desire to get out as quickly as they could, before their careers got dragged down with Cadan’s.
It’s not just a job
—
it’s a life choice
was one of the SFI recruitment slogans, Elissa remembered. She hadn’t really bought it—of
course
it was just a job—but now, watching Cadan’s crew preparing to leave him, it looked as if it were, after all, literally true.