“We have a proposition,” Santa Elena starts. “Wait, not necessarily a proposition—strike that. ‘Proposition’ implies that you can either accept or decline, and I’m really not giving you a choice here. We have … an arrangement.”
I can’t focus on anything but the pup, the happy, warm baby Reckoner curled in its sac. It’s nearly ready to hatch, the swell of its body pressing against the membranes that hold it. Its head is nearly tucked into itself, the droll reptilian beak flush against the sac walls. It’s a terrapoid.
Just like Durga.
I can’t think straight, can’t even begin to piece together what’s happening. Reckoner production is highly regulated. It needs to happen in a controlled environment like Mom’s lab, where every stage of growth can be monitored and any embryos with defects can quickly be eliminated. It shouldn’t be possible for pirates to create a Reckoner without that kind of equipment. It shouldn’t even be possible for them to obtain one.
But here lies proof to the contrary.
“We’re a little tired of going up against beasts like your Reckoners,” Santa Elena continues. “We think it’s time to even up the playing field, and thanks to a fortuitous set of circumstances and some careful planning, we’ve finally got our chance. You have a very particular set of skills and the convenience of being presumed dead, and we’ve got a long winter ahead of us. While the ocean traffic slows and thins in the cold months, you’re going to hatch our little monster, raise it up right, and put it to work for us come next summer’s hunting season.”
I’ve been so good about not crying up until now. My eyes sting, and I shift my gaze to the ground. The implications are sweeping over me like a tidal wave. The Reckoner trade is founded on principles of balance. Ecological balance that keeps them from devouring the oceans’ biospheres and destroying oceanic life as we know it. Economic balance that ensures the Reckoner industry is profitable and competitive. Political balance that allows for Reckoner justice to be unquestionable on the open seas. It took decades to establish those balances, but a single pup on the side of the pirates could unravel all of that. And I’d be responsible.
“If it wasn’t clear already, your life is tied to the beast. If it dies, you follow. I don’t feed useless mouths on this ship. If your training fails, I’ll slit your throat and dump you into the sea.”
It takes everything I have left not to laugh. Five minutes ago, I was ready to die for my industry and my family. But now the balance of the NeoPacific is in my hands, and the last thing I can do is die. Somehow, impossibly, these pirates have gotten hold of a Reckoner pup.
And even if it means surviving when I shouldn’t, I have to find out how.
It’s the last smidgen of value my life has. I may have failed as a trainer, but the universe has a twisted way of providing second chances. Even if the last Reckoner I train is a pirate-born perversion, I can do some good by figuring out the pirates’ source and getting the information back to shore.
So I nod, keeping my eyes fixed on the wooden floorboards, on the tassels of a carpet that once lay on the floor of a lounge in the Nereid.
Santa Elena stands again, her heels squeaking as she pivots to face her protégées, and I glance up to see what she’s about to do. “Swift, you did an excellent job identifying her and bringing her aboard.”
“Thanks, boss,” she says, returning her captain’s sharp-toothed grin.
“Since you seem so dedicated to making sure this endeavor goes just as planned, I’m putting Cassandra in your charge.”
The word “no” leaves both our mouths simultaneously—mine whispered, hers groaned. For a second, our eyes meet. We glare. I can’t be stuck with this girl. Give me any other person on this ship, give me Santa Elena for god’s sake. Anyone but her.
Santa Elena grins wider. “I don’t want you to misunderstand this, Swift. This is a big opportunity. You could really impress me here. But I don’t want to be unfair to the rest of you, so naturally there’s a bit of risk involved.”
Swift blinks.
“If Cassandra here fails me, you’ll be punished equally. Make sure she succeeds.”
And for the first time since they dragged me onboard this boat, I smile. Swift can’t do shit to me with Santa Elena watching, with her fate entwined with mine. It’s like the captain’s just given me my own personal guard dog.
But before I can let the feeling get to my head, I spot the looks curdling across the other four protégées’ faces. The resentment. The ambition. Whatever this opportunity means for Swift, it’s setting them back in some way.
And suddenly I feel as if I’m in the crosshairs of all four of them. From the looks of it, Swift can fend for herself. But I need a monster to stand between me and these people, and all I’ve got right now is a half-baked pup and a pirate girl who’s looking at me like I’m a cloud of Reckoner shit.
There’s far too much at stake for me to let that shake me. So I’ll weather it.
I straighten my spine and meet the captain’s gaze as she stalks back to her throne. Santa Elena flops into her seat, kicking her heels off and picking at something stuck between her teeth. “That’ll be all,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Swift, make sure your new pet gets fed.”
The pirates filter out of the room in groups, some chatting, others slapping each other on the back. The lackeys all move in a knot, save for Swift, who ducks to the captain’s side and mutters something quick in her ear. Santa Elena shoots back, her voice low. I wait until the other four lackeys make their exits and then approach the throne, my arms folded over my chest.
Swift steps down and grabs me by my elbow before I can get a word out. She tugs me out through the wooden doors and I feel like I should be looking for steam rising from her half-shaved head.
“I’m supposed to give you a tour of the ship,” she says. “Captain says to treat you like new blood.”
“I—”
“Captain’s wrong,” she hisses, her eyes flicking down the corridor to make sure no one heard her. “You don’t belong here.”
“There’s something we can agree on,” I reply, trying to wrest my arm free. It doesn’t work.
Swift narrows her eyes. “Look, I don’t know if you’re keen to how things work around here, so I’ll lay it out simply. Santa Elena picks the best from the ranks to be her trainees. She teaches us the ins and outs of leading this ship and pays us a cut above the rest. And one of us is going to take her place someday. I fought tooth and nail to get where I am on this ship, and I wouldn’t give two shits about you if my own neck didn’t depend on it. But the captain’s gone and made this one of the perverted hoops I have to jump through if she’s ever going to name me as her successor. So if you could just shut your mouth, work with me, and not try to off yourself again, that’d be great. That’d really do me a favor.”
We’re alone in this empty hall, with the captain locked away in her throne room and the other crew members dispersed. I’m starting to pick up Swift’s patterns. She’s a squall, a tantrum of hatred and stubbornness when someone’s around to watch. But when it’s just her—just her and someone she considers so far beneath her that their presence isn’t worth acting for—Swift’s just a survivalist.
I can almost respect that.
Almost.
I feel skewed, as if someone’s taken my values and tugged them so far away from me that it seems ludicrous to reach out and try to grab them again. I can’t be empathizing with these people. Survive, I remind myself. Everything is secondary to keeping myself alive. If I play my cards right, I can escape this boat, and no one will ever know what I had to do to get there.