“Th-the plates,” I said, fighting to catch my breath. “Th-they were under th-the water, but then—then they floated up. T-to th-the top.”
“There’s a switch,” said Phoenix, glaring at Vern. “That brings them up.”
“And turns them right on,” Vern said sharply. “Try polishing the damn things while they’re up, and they’ll burn your hand right off—it’s no use.”
“Better burned off than bitten off,” Phoenix said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”
“I wouldn’t be too worried about a bite. The monster would’ve swallowed them whole.”
“Come now, Captain.” Phoenix rubbed his hands along Mila’s arms to warm her. “I think we both know that some monsters like to play with their food before they eat it.”
“You’d know more about that than I would, wouldn’t you, old chap?” Vern smiled slightly. “How’s Bugsy, by the way?”
Phoenix’s jaw tightened. “He’s dead.”
“You’re—you’re sick!” spat Mila as she coughed and rattled water from her wet lungs. Her lips were blue now, like Indigo.
Vern adjusted his cap. “You just remember whose boat you’re on, honey. Remember who runs this ship.”
“And you remember who’s stealing you all your s-stupid Indigo,” Mila shot back.
Kindred moved between the two. “I’ve made us all muffins! Cinnamon apple walnut with an almond drizzle, mmm! Doesn’t that sound delightful?”
Mila shook her head. “We don’t have walnuts on New Texas.”
“We don’t on New Texas,” said Kindred. “But the Caravites do. Intercepted a shipment of them from the Federation last week. Wonderful, huh, dear?”
Mila moved into the cabin. “Yeah, it’s something all right,” she muttered.
Kindred and Phoenix followed her, and I alone was left on the deck with Vern and his men. He looked me up and down before offering his hand. “Welcome aboard, son.” I shook his hand hard. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us. You’ll enjoy your time here, I trust.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said with only slight hesitation. “I—I’m sure I will.”
But I was anything but sure. The way he’d looked me up and down… it was like he was sizing up a threat, an enemy. He’d let me aboard, sure—he sort of had to—but I wasn’t on his team. I would never be on his team.
Whose team was I on?
I thought of Charlie’s chopsticks and the balloons Mom brought to the kids at H.E.A.L. when we visited on their birthdays. They were my team. They were the ones I was fighting for.
But how would I find them? And would they be alive when I did?
Chapter 23
The Caravan boats were wider than Churchill’s, with long walkways lined with smaller rooms along the sides. The boats were grouped by function—one cluster served as a kitchen, another made garments, the last five made the medical bay, and the list went on and on. Each boat featured a small spiral staircase leading to the lofts above, which contained the minuscule Caravite homes.
“Not a bad climb,” said Sparky as we rounded a staircase. “Hardly tiring at all. I’m barely perspiring.” Tim was asleep along the crook of his back, his head resting on Sparky’s shoulder. We paused at a landing.
“One more flight,” said the woman in front, a Caravite who’d introduced herself as Sadie. Her brown hair was piled in a messy brown stack, and she wore a white ruffled shirt that hung around her shoulders. A black vest was cinched around her waist. She’d told us that her ancestors had been among the Caravan founders nearly three generations before—fishermen out at sea when the bombs were dropped on the rest of the world. Bertha muttered something about them actually being pirates, but Sadie ignored her.
Sadie pulled open a door that led to a roof garden and we stepped out into a sea of flowers, all shades of blue, circling a series of glass panels that gazed at the sun.
“Solar panels,” Sadie explained. “It’s how we power the Caravan. All the boats have them up top.”
I glanced at the mass of clouds that always hung over the Federation. Onshore, I guessed it was raining. “There’s hardly any light.”
“I think you’ll find we make do with the little light we’re given. And with the hope that someday there’ll be more sun.”
I leaned against a patch of flowers. Each blue petal was painted with a single yellow stripe—irises. Mom had showed me pictures of flowers like these once, but they were too expensive to buy in Moku Lani. It was strange seeing so many growing at once.
As Sparky and I left the roof and wandered along a hall with glass windows that displayed rows of pastries—the bakery, I figured—a part of me wondered if he was mad at me for shooting him with the Darts. I knew I would be.
“Have you been here before?” I asked, hoping to break the silence.
Sparky nodded vigorously. He seemed to do everything vigorously. Kindred had said the Cafetamines kept him awake at all hours of the day and night. “Twice before,” he said, his lips quivering as he spoke. “Once when I first met Phoenix, and once a few months ago.”
“And did they make you polish?”
“Affirmative. Though they weren’t entirely successful.”
“What do you mean?”
He grinned. “I shorted the Caravan’s power supply. The plates drifted up like ice cubes in a glass of water. Nearly wrecked their whole IT system. Vern had to let me aboard to fix it.”
“So no megalodons?”
“Oh, there were megalodons,” he said, chuckling. “There always seems to be megalodons when people polish.” He jumped from one boat to another, and I followed. “Why do you think I shorted the power? Had to get out of the water somehow—I’m certainly not equipped to handle one of those monsters. I can hardly brush my hair.” His bundle of curly hair rested atop his head like a tumbleweed.
Sparky was smart. Strange, but smart. Like the other Lost Boys.
We crossed one boat that Sparky said was the Caravan’s bazaar: a marketplace where people bought and sold goods seized from Federal ships. The ceiling was higher here, and vaulted—the boat had no loft. The spiral staircase here went straight to the rooftop garden. As we pushed through a crowd of buyers and sellers, people lowered their heads whenever I met their gaze.
They were afraid of me. But why?
We emerged at the bazaar’s other end, and found the next boat to be quieter. Seamstresses sat at windows with needle and thread, but they, too, dropped their heads as we passed. I wondered now why Sadie of all people had shown us kindness.
“Why do they look down?” I asked.
Sparky frowned as his body tensed. “What—what makes you say that? What makes you think they drop their heads?” I pointed to the seamstresses, and he sighed. “I suppose you’ve noticed things aren’t great between Phoenix and the captain.”
“Sort of hard to miss.”
Sparky pointed to a clear spot at the edge of the next boat, and we sat, kicking our feet out over the open water. “I suppose they see different futures,” Sparky said. “Not that one is right or one is wrong—they just want two different worlds.”
“What’s wrong with the world we have now?”
“Well,” he said, chuckling. It was hard to believe he was about my own age—not sleeping must have aged him. “That’s a whole ’nother discussion. One I’m sure you’ll have with Phoenix, or maybe Mila, in time. Not my cup of tea. Not even my type of tea. Not my anything at all.”
I liked Sparky. He didn’t give me smoke and mirrors like the rest of them. He probably didn’t get enough sleep to have smoke or mirrors. “So what kind of world do they want? One with more ministries? Less ministries? Flying cars, maybe?