I sit at the big table while I eat, because there’s something really appealing about being alone right now. On the plus side, I find that I actually like the paste. My mother refers to fishgalen as food for the poor, and ever since my dad passed away, the palace chef stopped serving it, focusing mostly on proteins imported from all over the system. No expense spared.
I sigh. Everything they say about me is true. I really have been terribly spoiled.
But I’m not about to let myself sink back into self-pity. Instead, I start cutting up pieces of the loaf of bread, maybe to put together some fishgalen sandwiches for the crew, while I try to unravel what I know and don’t know about current technology in the hope of getting some answers.
The Corporation has always been secretive about what they can do. And they control all the tech. The vast majority of the population live in a virtually technology-free world, though the Ruling Families have access to some. We have comm units that allow communication between ourselves and also between planets. We have motorized vehicles and access to ships for inter-planetary travel. But everything comes from the Corporation. It’s a convoluted exchange between the Ruling Families and the Corporation, in which we sort of control their activity but they possess and delegate all resources. And I wonder now, for the first time, just what we have to give them in return for those resources.
I remember Ian saying that he’d heard of prisoners on the Caelestis dying after being forced to touch the heptosphere. And yet, when the delegates were in the lab, Dr. Veragelen was encouraging all of us to touch it. Why would she even do that, knowing we might die? And how did she plan to explain it if Rain or I did? We were the two highest-ranking officials on the Caelestis when it exploded.
The more I think about things, the more nothing makes sense. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to untangle the muddled strands because then I would see clearly and I might not like what comes into focus. In fact, my entire belief system might unravel. It already feels like my life has.
Exhausted and still a little hungover—maybe even buzzed again from my drink with Max—I rest my head on the table and try to clear my mind. But the second my eyes close, I’m dozing.
I’m not sure what wakes me up.
But when I open my eyes, I hear voices, so I head out of the galley to see what’s going on and almost bang into Gage and Max. They’re laughing hysterically at something, and Gage is waving some kind of wand around.
“What are you up to?” I ask as they pass right by me.
“Casting spells,” Gage answers, pointing the sleek wand straight at me. “Surrender or I’ll turn you into a slogg.”
I turn to look at Max, brows raised.
He shakes his head with a grin. “We’re checking the ship for bugs. But Gage, here, was inspired to cast spells by some old fairy tale he read.”
“Yes, well, surely there’s someone else on board who would benefit from being turned into a slogg much more than I would,” I tell him in my poshest princess voice. Because if you’ve got it, why not flaunt it at a time like this?
“Yeah, but Ian fights dirty,” Gage comments. “As evidenced by the state of Merrick’s face.”
Well, I certainly can’t argue with him about that one. “How much have you done?” I ask, thinking about volunteering to take over, as the two of them seem a little punch-drunk.
“We’ve done the airlock and the cabins and…well, everywhere except the galley and the bridge.”
I shake my head but lean in the doorway and watch as Gage methodically walks the corridor, waving the wand slowly up and down the walls.
“I assume you’ve repurposed some hunter/seeker sensor, but where did you get enough aluminum alloy for the base?” I ask. “I haven’t seen any on the Starlight until now. I’ve been trying to figure out what she’s made of, and it’s definitely not an alloy I know.”
Gage narrows his eyes at me. “I liberated some parts from a Caelestis drone that happened to fall into my toolkit. Why do you ask?”
I shrug, but my cheeks heat. “I like science.”
“Noted,” Gage says. “But this isn’t science—it’s magic.”
He whips the wand into Max’s face, and—credit where credit is due—Max does a pretty perfect imitation of a man turning into a slogg. Even I can’t help laughing.
“I take it you haven’t found anything yet?” I ask.
“Not a thing,” Gage replies. “Not that I expect to. No way someone bugged this ship. But Ian won’t believe me until I search every single centimeter of it.”
He walks into the galley, wielding the wand like a sword. In the meantime, I look at Max, who is still smiling. “Looks like you two were having fun,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “Gage does an amazing impression of—” Then he breaks off, like he just remembered who he’s talking to.
Which, of course, only makes me want to know more who Gage was impersonating. “Of?” I prompt.
But Max just shakes his head. Unlike Ian, he really does know when to keep his mouth shut.
I glance into the galley just in time to see Gage finish up his sweep. “Come on, just the rest of this hallway and the bridge to go,” he says.
I follow them back. And watch as they repeat the process in the bridge while everyone looks on. No beeps. No alarms. Not even a blinking light to indicate a problem.
Gage puts the wand on the back console and slumps into a seat. “I did say it was unlikely,” he mutters. But he still seems annoyed that he couldn’t find something.
“Damn.” Ian runs a hand over his face. “So how the fuck did they find us, then?”
“Maybe they’ve developed a way to track alien artifacts,” Gage tries. “I know they were working on some sort of prototype.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s not the case, or we’ll never lose them again.”
Max picks up the wand for himself, tosses it in the air, catches it, then points it at Gage’s head. “Prepare to be—”
It beeps.
Everyone goes still and turns to look at Gage.
Max moves closer, waving the wand over Gage’s head. The beeping gets louder.
Gage frowns. Then his expression clears. “That’s not a bug,” he says, brushing the wand away. “It’s my neural chip. We all have them in the Corporation. They’re implanted when we join up.” He glances around and frowns. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“You have a chip in your head?” Ian asks. “A neural chip?”
“Yeah. What’s the big deal? I told you—we all have them.”
“And what do these chips do, exactly?”
“All sorts of cool stuff, but you don’t get access to most of that until the higher levels. Initially, they just use them for keeping track…” He trails off, his eyes widening. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit, indeed,” Ian mutters. “And you’re supposed to be the intelligent one in this little group. Fucking fuck, man.” He runs a hand over the top of his short hair—I’ve noticed it’s a habit of his when he’s thinking or pissed off about something. “So, you have a neural chip in your head that they can use to track you?”