11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
I’d like to say that Ursa was completely healed after two days of using a sunlamp and one night of using .
. . well, me. But though his physical health and morale were in far better standing, he still needed some time to be back to his usual self.
Or at least, some semblance of it. With a far less potent form of sunlight and reduced access to the bear algae, Ursa would likely not be nearly as strong off Earth as he was on it.
But I felt confident that, with time, he would be nearly as robust as he had been.
Unfortunately time was not something we had on our side. A few days after I won the sunlamp, we reached Newearth. We arrived at nightfall, and after our crew dinner that evening, Tobago cornered me before I could escape back to my room.
“Big job tomorrow,” he reminded me.
I did my best to convey nothing but complete excitement and absolutely no worry whatsoever about what that might mean. “Hmm!” I hoped that sounded appropriately enthusiastic. Or perhaps manic—very fine line between those two, as it turns out.
“Ursa hasn’t been to crew dinners all week,” Tobago noted.
I furrowed my brow with feigned confusion. “Not the whole week, surely?”
Tobago did not look impressed. “How about we try this conversation again, only this time you don’t treat me like I’m your dribbling cousin Mo?”
What an unnecessary and rude dig at poor Mo—though to be fair, he did have a tendency to drool.
I sighed. “All right. Ursa has been under the weather. But he’s much better! And he’ll be even more better tomorrow.” I frowned as I heard what I’d just said. “‘More better’? That can’t be right . . .”
The look on Tobago’s face pulled me out of what might have otherwise been a grammatical spiral. I cleared my throat. “Although . . . if I’m being completely honest, another week would be ideal before he’s up to any really strenuous task.”
I held my breath, waiting for his response.
Tobago blinked at me. “Should we drop him off at a spa? Or maybe just get him a really fluffy pillow?”
Ah, yes, I’d forgotten how irritatingly sarcastic he could be. “If the answer is no, you can just say so.”
“No,” he returned without missing a beat.
Despite his tone, I knew he was deadly serious—and as frustrated with me as I was with him.
“I have a crew to feed and keep. A ship to maintain. Debts to pay. There are no free rides on this vessel. You promised me your little boyfriend would be useful. You better see he is by tomorrow, or else . . .”
I knew I was being goaded into something, but curiosity wouldn’t allow me to refuse to take the bait. “Or else, what?”
He eyed me over darkly. “We’ll have to find a way to make you useful, instead.”1
I’d never been to Newearth before—and after that trip, I feel confident in saying I will never need to return.
The settlement had long tried to advertise itself as being the closest to living on our home planet, which sounds nice in theory.
However, they didn’t specify which version of Earth the settlement was meant to be replicating: the newly rehabilitated Earth I had just left, beautiful and wild and untamed, or the polluted cesspit our ancestors had been forced to flee to survive.
Newearth more closely resembled the latter version. The streets were crammed with buildings and crowded with people; grime clung to the surfaces of every edifice, including the dome, which made it difficult to make out the sky above; and everything smelled just a little like urine.
With this less-than-favorable first impression, I had a hard time believing Tobago and his crew would be able to find anything worth stealing.
Croydon was only too happy to explain it all to me as we began collecting supplies in the cargo hold.
I soon realized his help didn’t come without cost, though, as he was standing rather too close to me.
“Only two reasons people stick around this dump instead of trying their luck on the Havens or one of the smaller settlements. Can’t afford to leave, or they’re addicted to giggle gas. ”
“Giggle gas?” I echoed.
“The atmo on this planet is full of it, in its natural form. One of the biggest industries on Newearth is processing the gas to make it safe for human use, then canistering it to be distributed off-world.”
Here he paused for a moment to stare at my breasts, and I had to clear my throat to get his attention again. “Why would other settlements want it?”
Croydon grinned, showing off a few capped metal teeth that glinted underneath the light overhead. “Supposed to be for surgeries. Pain medication. That sorta thing. But then people started developing a taste for it . . .” He shrugged. “Makes a pretty lucrative trade.”
A sudden, sinking realization overcame me. “We aren’t selling giggle gas for nonmedical purposes though, are we?” It was one thing to be part of a crew that was transporting goods in a perhaps less-than-entirely-legal way. It was quite another to be part of a drug-peddling scheme.
“And what if we are?” demanded a voice behind me.
I turned in surprise, having not realized that Zenny—who was readying one of the ground-transport vehicles—was listening to our conversation. She met my gaze frankly, raising her eyebrows as if in challenge.
I shifted uncomfortably. “But . . . what if people become addicted?”
An insouciant shrug. “And if they do?”
I couldn’t keep the distress off my face. “But that’s immoral! We can’t be part of that.”
Looking to Croydon for support, I found him gazing back at me instead with a perplexed expression, like he didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. “We don’t sell it to people direct.”
“No, but you sell it to the organizations who sell it to those people.” At their blank faces, my frustration mounted.
“You have no idea what this kind of addictive substance can do to a person—a family. A society. I volunteered in a poppy clinic and saw the effects firsthand. It’s a bloody, repugnant business, and I won’t have any part in it. ”
The room, which had moments before been bustling with crew members readying for the expedition, suddenly fell so silent that the only sound was the echo of my own voice. Eyes widening, I turned to see that at some point during my rant, Tobago had entered the cargo hold.
Our gazes met across the room. He was far too stoic for his expression to give away—at least, not in an obvious way—any of the anger he might be feeling.
But I’d been there the day he’d discovered Trini had eaten all of the Swirly Sparks that he’d been hoarding since Halloween; I recognized the slight flaring of his nostrils, the subtle jut of his lower lip.
“Sugar,” he said, breaking the silence and taking me by surprise.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Some people can’t get enough of it. Eat so much it makes them sick, makes ’em overweight, gives ’em diabetes.” He leveled his gaze at me. “Would you kick up this kind of fuss if we were moving sugar?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I hardly think—”
“Good,” he interrupted me. “I expect things will run much smoother for all of us if you hardly think from now on.”
I bristled at his tone. “Am I supposed to just pretend—”
“If it helps.” He shrugged. “Personally I prefer to just not think about it at all. Gets easier and easier each time.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Unless you and Ursa would prefer we part ways here.”
My jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. I’m ashamed to say it, but I realized then that I was all talk and no action.
I didn’t want to be stranded in this science-forsaken place!
I don’t know quite what I’d hoped to do by ranting to the crew about my moral objections.
Perhaps in my naivety, I’d thought I could change their minds.
That clearly wasn’t going to happen. But now that I’d made such a public show of my moral principles, I didn’t know how to take it all back without looking like a complete hypocrite.
“Or,” Tobago continued after the silence stretched out for just a moment too long between us, “you can do what the rest of us all do when we take on jobs like this—remember it’s not personal. We don’t aim to hurt anyone. But the crew comes first.”
“The crew comes first,” the others echoed solemnly.
He was clearly extending an olive branch to me. Though I felt sick inside for doing so, I made myself nod. “The crew comes first,” I agreed.
“Good.” Tobago tossed me something that he’d been holding. I’d been too distracted to notice it properly before, but it appeared to be some kind of fabric. “Put this on.”
Frowning, I held up the bundle of cloth; it unraveled, revealing itself to be a dress. A rather . . . skimpy dress, if I wasn’t mistaken, by the various dips and cuts. A skimpy dress that it seemed I was meant to wear. In public. Where people could see me.
My expression must have relayed all of my thoughts, because when I looked back up at Tobago, he shrugged. “Ask not what your crew can do for you, but what you can do for your crew . . .”
1. Gulp.