Marked (3 page)

IN THE END, THEY DISMISS ME. THEY CUT HANK AND ME FROM
the circle, all but shoving us out the armory doors. Honestly, I'm relieved. Rust if I want to stand around while they finalize my extradition.

Miyu is waiting for us, helmet in hand. “I trust that went well?”

Hank chews on an answer, poking around in the turf with the toe of his boot. “It could've gone more smoothly.”

“Let's just say,” I reply, “if my goal was to dig my own grave, I overshot. There's a hole big enough for all of us now.”

“I see.” Miyu gestures toward the far end of the launch yard, where her vac's grounded. “In that case, maybe you'll welcome my news and come aboard sooner than later.”

I take a step back. “Come aboard?”

“I told you. I have a message for you.”

Hank is impatient. “About that. I got your transmissions. You said you'd be coming, but you never said why. What exactly do you have to say?”

She looks at me. “Your uncle, James Anderssen. He left something for you. In a vault, in the city of Manjor. Before he disappeared, he made my mother promise to keep everything you'll need to access it. It's critical that you come with me. She sent me here to see to this myself.”

“Manjor? In Bisera?” I gape. “What did he leave for me?”

“I thought you already knew.” She's as taken by surprise as I am. “I'm talking about your inheritance.”

“I've seen the feeds. Benroyal looted the company. Locus is frozen now. There's nothing left.”

“No.” Miyu shakes her head. “Locus Informatics is gone, but the fortune isn't.”

“What?” I gasp.

“He left it for you. James left you everything.”

Hank and Miyu and I find the Larssens in the infirmary.

“You okay?” Hal asks me.

My nod's a little shaky. “For now. Where's Bear?”

“He's working the launch yard. Regular patrol,” Mary says. I don't reply, but raise an eyebrow as she slides a
tray of bloody instruments under the sterilizer panel.

“Emergency appendectomy.” She tilts toward the curtained patient area, where the air smells like heat and disinfectant. “Captain Nandan's boy. He'll be fine.”

My foster mother says it casually, like this kind of procedure's nothing. I know better. “Thought you didn't handle the knife. Back home, you always referred surgeries to someone else.”

“And who, exactly, would I refer patients to now? There's no one else here with better medical training than Hal and me. The boy needed his appendix removed, so I did it. The scar won't be pretty, but he'll live to show it off.”

When Mary crosses the room, Miyu and Hank move out of her way.

Mary shoves a pile of clean linens into my arms. “We do what we have to do to save a life or preserve a limb,” she says. “Sometimes we fail, and sometimes it's not enough, but the gamble's worth taking. I don't fear the hard choices, Phee.”

When I don't answer right away, she adds, “Fold those, please. Then stack them on the shelf. The one below the oxygen cells.” Then she crosses the room again, stopping at the sink.

For a second, I nearly slip into my old role of clinic assistant. Then Hank clears his throat, and I remember
why I hustled through the door in the first place. Our fate's twisting on the hook, yet a few words with my foster mother and I'm completely derailed. I start to drop the crisp whites onto a nearby gurney, but Miyu steps in and takes over. She's a quick, efficient folder. Mary's going to like her.

“I don't have a lot of time,” I begin. “The Cyanese council . . . I don't know what they're going to do. They could be coming for me any second.”

Immediately, Hal moves to my side. Mary's still at the sink, but I see the muscles in her shoulders pull tight.

“And what did they say?” she asks quietly, her back still turned.

Hank answers before I have the chance. “They discussed the rebellion. They questioned Phee, and to say she spoke her mind, that'd be putting it mildly. Now they're weighing their options.”

Mary shifts, not quite turning around, her hands still anchored over the lip of the sink. Slowly, she nods.

“If it comes to it . . .” Hank looks at me. “I won't let them take you. One way or another, by reason or by force, I'll convince them to let you go on your own. And I'm not standing by while the Cyanese deliver you or anyone else, gift-wrapped, to Benroyal. If we have to, we'll cover your exit. You can leave with Miyu or—”

“I'll take them,” Miyu says quickly. “I've got plenty of room, and I can get them back over the border quietly enough.”

“How soon can you be ready?” I ask.

“How fast can you pack? I've already refueled, and the vac is on standby.”

“Is there another option?” Hal asks. “We can't just leave the infirmary. What about all our patients? What will you do if we're gone?”

“We've talked about this,” Hank says, looking at Hal, then Mary. “You knew this day might come.”

They say nothing, and for a moment, the room is so still, as if it's holding an exhale. But I can already taste the anger. It builds, a hard little knot in my throat. “Wait. You all
knew
? About the hearing?”

“I'm sorry,” Hank says, far too calmly. “We didn't want you to worry. We thought the council visit might turn out to be nothing. It would've just upset you.”

“You knew the Cyanese were coming for me? And you didn't bother to tell me?”

Finally, Mary turns and faces me, silencing Hank with an upturned palm. “This was my doing, Phee. I made the decision. If we'd have told you, you would have—”

I close the distance between us, almost shouting. “I would've what, exactly?! You think I can't handle—”

“I think you're not yourself!” Her eyes flash hot and her jaw's set. “I think you're shaken up. The ambush wounded you much more than you're willing to admit, and I think that if we'd have told you the Cyanese were staging a hearing, for all we know, you would've run off and gotten yourself . . .”

She trails off, studying me. My jaw is clenched too, just hard enough to keep me glassy-eyed but tearless. I was so scorched at the council. At all their backbiting and indecision. But this is so much worse. Somehow, Mary is the bigger betrayal.

She knew. She kept this from me because . . .

“You think . . .” I can't say the rest out loud.

You think I'm fragile.

“I think you're human,” she answers.

The infirmary doors fly open.

It's Bear, bursting in like a thunderclap.

“Captain's looking for you.” Panting, he looks at Hank. “They're leaving. Tonight. Packing up all their gear and preparing for launch.”

“Who's leaving?” Hal asks.

“The Cyanese. Two of their three vacs are ready for takeoff. I heard them give Nandan their heading. They're going back to Raupang, their capital.”

The third vac. They must be leaving the last escort for me.

“I have to go,” I blurt, moving toward the doors. “Hank, we don't have much time. How long do you think you can stall them?”

Bear stands in my way. “Stall who? What are you talking about?”

I read the change in him, even as he asks. His eyes, his body language, the mixture of confusion and fear on his face—he's already shifted into defense mode.

For a second, in my mind, I spin it all out. Hank will do his best, but they won't cut me loose or leave things to chance. They'll take me by force. The Larssens will fight it, and Bear . . . if he doesn't fall, he'll follow, another prisoner. The Cyanese officer will send us on our way, back to Castra, back to Benroyal. There will be no apartment in the Spire for us now. No custom rig to parade around the track. No, I'm certain King Charlie's prepared another prison for me. If he lets me live at all.

I can leave now. Alone, for the Larssens' sake. They can stay, protected in the Strand, even if I can't. Better to take my chances with Grace Yamada's daughter than be taken alive at Parabba's word.

“There was a hearing,” I finally answer.

“A hearing?” Bear's still taken aback.

He didn't know. A hot-needle flood of relief rushes through me. No betrayal in him, as if there ever could be. I nod. “They questioned me, and argued. They're divided about the rebellion and whether they should support it any longer. Well, mostly, they seem divided about me. I think they're going to extradite me back to Castra.”

Bear shakes his head. “No. I mean, are you sure? I just spoke with Captain Nandan. The Skal's going to send real support, more troops and supplies than before. Two battalions here by next week, and I heard more are on the move. They'll be on the border, just west of the Strand, at the ready, in case things escalate too quickly.”

“That can't be,” Hank says, but he's already pulling on his headset. “Shield One, this is Broadsword, come in?” He wanders off, and for the longest moment, we're frozen as he checks in with headquarters.

“Say again?” he says. He listens, then finally answers, “Copy. Out.”

Dumbstruck, he pulls the headset off again and returns, staring at us. “You can all stand down, at least for now. No one's going anywhere.”

EVERYONE ON BASE IS IN HIGH SPIRITS, AND UNDER THE PALE
poppy moon, the bonfires are roaring. Bellies are full and eyes are hazy with nectar-laced hooch, distilled in the barracks two tents from mine. Every glass is clinking, filled to the brim with rosy certainty. For the first time, in all the laughter and gossip and talk, my name doesn't shrink in suspicious whisper. For once, it's spoken in ease.

I stick downwind, at the lonely end of the blaze. Far from Bear, who's on the opposite side, surrounded by fellow pilots. Zaide's not there, and I'm ashamed to feel so relieved. The rest, they laugh and lean in and tip back their glasses. Sober, Bear's the calm center of it all, and I'm lost. I wish I knew how to elbow my way in, to get past the wall of drunken chatter to reach him.

“Excuse me.”

I clench up, spooked to find Miyu at my shoulder.

“Apologies,” she says, staring into the fire. “I didn't mean to—”

A flock of officers pass behind, jostling us. Miyu and I nearly knock heads, and I shift to keep my balance as they crowd Captain Nandan, hanging on his every word. It's not just the usual gang, a bunch of Biseran ex-military like himself. I recognize one of Hank's Castran recruits, and at least two of the Cyanese soldiers from this afternoon's hearing. Finally, the huddle settles down. Thankfully, a few paces beyond us.

Miyu finishes her thought. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“You didn't,” I lie, forcing a tight smile. “But keep working on it. You're almost there. Next time, you might even waylay me. Put me right on the floor.”

Miyu's nowhere near amused. It's as if her to-do list's a thousand miles long, and I'm just slowing her down. She reaches into her pocket and pulls something out. “Here,” she says, thrusting it my way.

I look down. It's an envelope, folded in half.

“What is it?” I say, reluctant to take it.

“I promised I'd give this to you. It's from Mr. de Chevalier.”

“Auguste? My team manager? I mean, he used to be . . .”

She nods, and I run my thumb along the smooth angle of the sealed flap. It's heavier than it should be. There's more than a note inside. “Is he okay?”

Too near, Nandan's group erupts. Someone's told a joke and half of the rest roar approval. I flinch, unprepared for the burst of manic laughter.

Miyu tilts into my line of sight. “You all right?”

I shake off the vague sense of unease. “You were saying . . . Auguste?”

“He doesn't work for Benroyal anymore. He was fired after your last race.”

“And my crew?” I swallow. “Gil and the rest?”

“Gil bounced back. He's crewing for Agritech now, and some of the others, I think. But Mr. de Chevalier . . . he's had a hard time.”

Every word's a dagger sunk in my chest. I abandoned my circuit team, knowing full well there'd be a reprisal. Maybe I had to, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear it. “How did you get this?” I study the small envelope.

“Grace looks in on him. She sends someone, from time to time. He asked her to take this and deliver it, should an opportunity arise.”

“So he knows I'm alive? Does he know I'm here?”

“I don't know what he knows.”

Captain Nandan steals my focus. I can't block out his voice. He starts in on the Cyanese officer beside him, jaw-jacking about how his own ancestors were the first to settle the Strand.
Built the oldest monastery here, just a stone's throw from that ridge,
he says.
The ruins still stand.
It's a story the rest of us have heard a thousand times.

I sigh. Miyu shifts uncomfortably. I look back at the message in my hands.

“Perhaps I should leave and let you open it,” she says. “Give you some space.”

The breeze shifts, and my lids flutter, stung by the hot billow of sparks. “No,” I tell her. “It's fine.” I turn the envelope over, smooth side up, and my heart beats wildly. In the glow, I read the steady, flourished script.

Ma chère

I open the envelope, careful not to leave more than the smallest tear. Inside, there's a folded piece of paper. As I open it, a scrap tumbles out. I snag it in my palm as the laughter around me turns to simmering talk. Nandan's still droning on about the monastery.

“What is it?” Miyu asks, staring at my catch.

At first, I don't recognize the thick, silky fabric. But after flipping it over, I see what Auguste left for me. Benroyal's racing logo, the Phoenix-winged patch sewn into my old racing uniform. My
first
uniform, black and
sleek and nearly indestructible. The one I wore at Sand Ridge Speedway, when I scored my first win.

When I was still whole and brave and fearless.

I hold up the patch, almost touching it to my lips. I inhale. I can still smell the dead heat of the speedway, the smoke of my wreck in every stitch. I glance down at the paper, now unfolded. Again, Auguste's spare and elegant scrawl.

La légende

He'd called me that once. But most often, I was his “Spitfire Girl.” I doubt he'd say the same, if he saw me now.

Shaken, I tilt away from Miyu. I can't help it. A tear tries to well up in the corner of my eye. Miyu's kind enough to let me be. Wordless, she slips away with a gentle nod.

I step closer to my share of the blaze and tuck Auguste's gift into my pocket. My mind lets go; I drift out and lose sight of everyone else. As the flames climb and crackle, I stare into them, until the heat kisses my cheeks and stings my eyes. Fingers of smoke reach out before twisting into the night sky. So many stars above the haze. I see Cash there, in the glimmer dark. I always see him. My hand over his, blood seeping through our fingers.

There's a vicious snap as a piece of kindling shifts. I startle like it's a gunshot.

I squeeze my lids until my heart stops racing. My breathing slows, and I sink into invisible grief.

I stand by the fire for a long time, even as most of the soldiers and their families trickle away, their tired faces still candle-bright and hopeful. Behind me, a soft hiss as an ember's trampled. A deep, warm exhale. I turn, and Bear is at my shoulder.

“Funny,” he says. “No matter where we go, trouble finds us.”

There's a glimmer there, in his eyes. A little piece of us, still shining.

“Trouble finds
me,
you mean.” I pull on an old smile. “If you were smart, you'd stay away. Ditch me altogether.”

He's quiet, and suddenly I'm wrecked. The Bear I used to know wouldn't hesitate.
Never,
he'd declare.
I'd never leave you.
But I'm not sure I know this boy—this man—standing beside me. He turns up the collar of his jacket, scaring off the evening chill. When he finally grins, it takes me by surprise.

“Maybe,” he says. “Can't say.”

I huff. Just a little. “Can't say? Well, for sun's sake, don't reassure me or anything.”

“Hmm . . .” He strokes his chin, smiling even wider. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

I laugh, on edge. This new, cheeky self-assurance, I don't know what to do with it.

Our eyes meet, and I mark the smaller things; the hundred little changes in him. How much shorter his hair is these days. Military cut, perfectly trimmed. But even clean-shaven, he can't quite lose the day's-end shadow of dark blond whiskers. They roughen him up, sharpening his once gentle face.

He coughs when the breeze sends another cindery plume our way. “Earlier, I stood in the chow line with Yamada's daughter, Miyu. She seems all right.”

“Oh?” I strain to keep my voice light. “And what did you two talk about?”

He ignores my question. Looks me dead in the eye. “Have you decided?”

“Decided what?”

“Are you going with her, or staying here?”

Bear makes it sound like a critical fork. As if choosing one forever excludes the other. “Manjor isn't so far. Wouldn't take more than a few days to get there.”

Just the idea makes him sigh.
This
look, I know. This is my pacer, trying to talk me out of a rust-fool route.

“What?” I shrug. “Why shouldn't I?”

“It's not safe in Manjor. You realize how many IP troops have moved into Bisera since the last race, right?”

“I know that. But we're talking about my inheritance, Bear. James probably left me the better part of a fortune.”

“That's right. A
Sixer
fortune. Bet the money's all tied up in trusts and stocks and you'd have to deal with corporates and contracts and never mind the risk of leaving the Strand right now.”

“We could do a lot of good with those kinds of credits.”

“We need more than credits. We need allies, and training, and time. We need a safe place to regroup.” With both hands, he points at the charred ground. “
This
is what we need.”

He is so sure, and it's the biggest change of all. This absence of uncertainty. We have traded places.

“I know you think I'll always follow you, but I can't keep doing this. I can't.”

“Bear, what is wrong?”

“You wanted me to leave Castra. You begged me to join this revolution. Well, you know what? I have, Phee. I'm not going to Manjor. Not when I have a job now. Flight command's clearing me for duty in two more weeks. I'll have my own fighter and I'll get assigned a copilot . . .” He trails off, like he's too strangled to get the last words out.

Copilot.
Partner.
I've been replaced. Rust, how the notion cuts me to the heart. We stare at each other, both trying to mask our wounds. I am jealous; he is furious and impatient. I swear, he practically growls at me. “I just don't understand why you'd even consider crossing that border again. Not when . . .”

“When what?”

He pauses a second too long. He looks me in the eye again, before finally spitting it out.

“Not when there's a billion-credit bounty on your head.”

I am too distracted to push through the forest of poppies and climb tonight. Instead, I skirt the stalk-line, running my hand along the tangle as I pass. This will be the first night, since arriving, that I've abandoned my nightly ritual of visiting the highest blooms.
Getting above,
finding that place where I can whisper to unfurling petals and all-knowing stars. But I don't have the energy to spare, not when I'm this furious. I'm exhausted, but there's no way I'm going to bed.

At headquarters, Zaide lets me in, no questions asked. But inside, when I ask to see the direct feeds from Castra, the rest of the night crew tries to turn me away, giving me some bull-sap about protocol and how I'm not an officer, and how I'm not supposed to be in the communications room at all, and how about I wait until the morning, when they can check with Hank first. But I won't leave, and just when the shift leader's about to call Hank, Commander Larken steps into the hive.

While everyone else salutes, fists over hearts, I gape at him.

“You didn't leave,” I say.

“I'm staying for the time being.” He says it likes it means a thousand years. And the way things are shaking out, I'm afraid he might be right.

Zaide clears her throat. “Commander Larken, Van Zant would like to pull up some direct feeds, and they were just explaining Lieutenant Kinsey's orders. No one but officers are allowed in HQ. Should I call him? Perhaps he'd want us to make an exception?”

“That won't be necessary.” He raises a hand. “I'll take care of it.”

She takes a step back, affirms. I'm not sure why she'd stick her neck out for me, but I'm grateful.

“Thank you,” Larken adds. Zaide shoots me a sympathetic look, and I try a little harder to hate her less. No, that's not fair. I don't hate her. I only hate the space she occupies. This is what it's come to: I resent her, the way Bear resented Cash.