He was a refugee, twice over.
At least during the forced evac of Wraeta he hadn’t been alone. Even as they’d walked for seven days to the nearest port, there were entire families alongside them, babies they all took turns holding, other kids to make up games with. It had been the most arid season in decades during that exodus. They’d arrive at each stop covered in a layer of dust so thick, people joked they couldn’t be told apart. It’s why they’d called them dusties.
Now Aly had nowhere to go and no one to walk beside him. He thought about calling Jeth, but if he powered on his cube, he might as well surrender: Half the Kalu army would be on both of them like white on rice. A part of him wanted to hustle to a far-off planet and just disappear, but Vincent’s voice kept coming back to him. But if one of us doesn’t make it, he’d yelled as they burned through the atmosphere. His dying wish was for Aly to go to the United Planets; he’d been sure that they would help. Then again, he’d also believed Princess Josselyn might still be alive, so he was probably out of his mind.
Still, with no money, no plan, and no other options, Aly was headed to Portiis, to find Vin’s contact. Aly had no idea how he was supposed to find Lancer, or where he would even start, but he’d have to figure it out on the fly.
It had been almost a week since the Elieido exploded, though he’d been hoping that Princess Rhiannon might resurface at any point, miraculously alive. He’d had daydreams of official pardons, of receiving an apology from the Regent himself and the DroneVision producers of that damned awful show.
But if Rhiannon Ta’an were alive, she would’ve showed up at the party by now, if only to fend off the war that with every day looked more inevitable.
Now they’d been holed up in cargo for a whole day. It was always pitch-black, so much darkness it was like a physical force, a mouth ready to swallow him. But he knew his way around well enough; there were a lot of broken machines that looked like old medical equipment that would probably sell for scrap on the Outer Belt. He’d taken some apart to distract himself, without tools, unscrewing bolts for hours until his fingers bled.
He’d managed to sneak some food off the service cart between shift changes once, when it was parked for five minutes, unmanned, just outside of the cargo hold. A small window of time, but enough to stuff his pockets with meal pills, fancy dehydrated nuts and fruit, and a bottle of water. It wasn’t much—barely enough to survive on, in fact—which was exactly why he’d figured out someone else was stealing too.
Stealing from Aly this time.
He’d thought he was alone with Pavel and the lady who made the annoying announcements about approaching solar wind and cubes going offline, and she wasn’t even a lady so much as a digitized voice that sounded vaguely feminine. No. There was someone else in the cargo hold with him. Last night when he’d left his stash out, they’d lifted a portion of it.
He wasn’t risking everything just to feed some stranger. He still had another ten days before the loop hit the Heryl Quadrant, where Portiis was.
As big as he was, Aly was decent at staying quiet. Geared up in camo, a slow advance crawling across terrain on his belly—that had been his idea of a good time when he was in boot camp.
He didn’t have to wait long before he saw a figure, a silhouette, moving toward his camp, weaving around the crates and the old pieces of equipment. He hoped to god the guy didn’t have a weapon on him. He held his breath. Just a little closer. A little closer . . .
When he was in striking distance, Aly launched to his feet, grabbed a handful of the guy’s jacket, and threw him up against the wall. “You little taejis,” he said, covering the kid’s mouth. “Don’t even think about yelling. If some poor conductor comes running, it’ll be the end of both of us.”
The kid struggled, swatting at Aly’s hands. Whatever excuse the little punk was trying to make came out in a muffled plea. Finally, he calmed down.
“I’m going to take my hand away, and if you—GAHHH!” Aly yelled out in pain, pulling his hand back.
The kid had sunk his teeth into the pinky edge of Aly’s hand.
“Don’t threaten me,” the voice said. A little soft, and a little high. A girl. He stumbled back, releasing her. He almost felt bad. Almost. His hand stung where she’d bit him.
“Or what?” he asked, his anger still sparking. He heard Pavel approaching. “Light, Pavel.” Pavel flipped his beam on just as Aly yanked the scarf off the girl’s head.
She flinched and put her hand up to block her face. “You got another setting on that thing?” she asked Pavel.
“Apologies! Dimming by forty percent,” Pavel said as the light softened. “Is this acceptable?”