pushes the curtain back enough for me to glimpse the young man in the bed. His blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail. His arm is in a sling, and there’s a thick bandage on his forehead.
My body tenses. It’s the young official on Cady’s ship, who came from the Surface city.
The curtain shuts again, blocking him from view.
Uma continues guiding the needle under my skin, in and out, but I barely feel it anymore. Mal was on a gurney yesterday, covered in blood after the medics pulled him from the recon mission wreckage. He was unconscious because of me.
The nurse draws the curtain open again a minute later, and Mal steps out from behind it, fixing the collar of his shirt with his unwounded arm. He’s dressed in a tight gray suit and knee-high boots, like Sam and other Core officials used to wear. Mal must’ve had the outfit on underneath his armor.
“You sure you feel strong enough to walk?” the nurse asks.
“I feel strong enough to lift a mountain,” Mal says. “Though I’m not sure my left arm agrees.”
The nurse laughs. “If you say so. Make sure you let someone know if you change your mind. Feeling weak or dizzy after what you went through wouldn’t be unusual.”
“Understood.” Mal’s gaze falls on me as he heads for the door out of the sick bay. The softest frown creases his brow. I quickly return my focus to Uma’s hand guiding the ink needle.
He was unconscious when he saw me last, so there’s no way he’d recognize me from yesterday. But if he’s worked in the Surface city for a long time, he might’ve seen me. He might’ve yelled at me a hundred times, or hurt me, even. I have no way of knowing. Most officials wore their helmets when they were on patrol.
Out of the corner of my eye, Mal disappears through the door. Thank goodness.
“You okay?” Logan asks, looking at me strangely. I wonder what my face looks like.
“Yeah.” I grimace. “The needle’s just hurting a bit much.” It’s not a complete lie.
“Almost finished,” Uma says. “Keep holding still.”
I shouldn’t be afraid of Mal, since he’s on our side, but it’s hard to believe he’s really different than all the other officials I’ve met. It’s hard not to worry that he would do something to me if he discovered I’m the reason he almost died yesterday.
Hopefully he won’t find out.
* * *
Logan and I leave the medical bay half an hour later. Distant voices echo in the corridors, and a low rumble comes from the flight port ahead. People were just starting to load the ships with equipment when we passed through there earlier.
“We should get something to eat,” Logan says, wincing as he flexes his wrist. “I bet everything’s almost ready for departure.”
“Hopefully,” I say, rubbing my own wrist. The skin is raw and red around my new citizenship tag: S88472. The two changed numbers are slightly thicker and darker than the rest, but hopefully most officials won’t look closely. The code just needs to fool their scanners.
As we approach the port entrance doors, an odd smell drifts into my nostrils. I sniff the air, unsure what it is or if I’m making it up. But it smells a lot worse than engine oil.
“Do you smell that?” I ask.
“I smell something,” Logan says, picking up his pace.
We walk through the open doors into the port. I freeze in my tracks.
Thick, black smoke billows from the open engine cover of one of the Davara jets. Figures run through the hazy air around the ship, smacking at the smoke with dirty rags.
Logan curses, hurrying forward. I follow him, looking frantically around for something we can use to help.
But by the time we reach the ship, the people already helping seem to be stopping. It looks like they have it under control. There are no flames in sight, only smoke.
Paley and Fiona are here, both of them looking exhausted. But they can’t have been working long to put out the fire, or one of them would’ve sounded an alarm and Beechy would be
My body tenses. It’s the young official on Cady’s ship, who came from the Surface city.
The curtain shuts again, blocking him from view.
Uma continues guiding the needle under my skin, in and out, but I barely feel it anymore. Mal was on a gurney yesterday, covered in blood after the medics pulled him from the recon mission wreckage. He was unconscious because of me.
The nurse draws the curtain open again a minute later, and Mal steps out from behind it, fixing the collar of his shirt with his unwounded arm. He’s dressed in a tight gray suit and knee-high boots, like Sam and other Core officials used to wear. Mal must’ve had the outfit on underneath his armor.
“You sure you feel strong enough to walk?” the nurse asks.
“I feel strong enough to lift a mountain,” Mal says. “Though I’m not sure my left arm agrees.”
The nurse laughs. “If you say so. Make sure you let someone know if you change your mind. Feeling weak or dizzy after what you went through wouldn’t be unusual.”
“Understood.” Mal’s gaze falls on me as he heads for the door out of the sick bay. The softest frown creases his brow. I quickly return my focus to Uma’s hand guiding the ink needle.
He was unconscious when he saw me last, so there’s no way he’d recognize me from yesterday. But if he’s worked in the Surface city for a long time, he might’ve seen me. He might’ve yelled at me a hundred times, or hurt me, even. I have no way of knowing. Most officials wore their helmets when they were on patrol.
Out of the corner of my eye, Mal disappears through the door. Thank goodness.
“You okay?” Logan asks, looking at me strangely. I wonder what my face looks like.
“Yeah.” I grimace. “The needle’s just hurting a bit much.” It’s not a complete lie.
“Almost finished,” Uma says. “Keep holding still.”
I shouldn’t be afraid of Mal, since he’s on our side, but it’s hard to believe he’s really different than all the other officials I’ve met. It’s hard not to worry that he would do something to me if he discovered I’m the reason he almost died yesterday.
Hopefully he won’t find out.
* * *
Logan and I leave the medical bay half an hour later. Distant voices echo in the corridors, and a low rumble comes from the flight port ahead. People were just starting to load the ships with equipment when we passed through there earlier.
“We should get something to eat,” Logan says, wincing as he flexes his wrist. “I bet everything’s almost ready for departure.”
“Hopefully,” I say, rubbing my own wrist. The skin is raw and red around my new citizenship tag: S88472. The two changed numbers are slightly thicker and darker than the rest, but hopefully most officials won’t look closely. The code just needs to fool their scanners.
As we approach the port entrance doors, an odd smell drifts into my nostrils. I sniff the air, unsure what it is or if I’m making it up. But it smells a lot worse than engine oil.
“Do you smell that?” I ask.
“I smell something,” Logan says, picking up his pace.
We walk through the open doors into the port. I freeze in my tracks.
Thick, black smoke billows from the open engine cover of one of the Davara jets. Figures run through the hazy air around the ship, smacking at the smoke with dirty rags.
Logan curses, hurrying forward. I follow him, looking frantically around for something we can use to help.
But by the time we reach the ship, the people already helping seem to be stopping. It looks like they have it under control. There are no flames in sight, only smoke.
Paley and Fiona are here, both of them looking exhausted. But they can’t have been working long to put out the fire, or one of them would’ve sounded an alarm and Beechy would be
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