The Abyss Surrounds Us (The Abyss Surrounds Us #1)(62)

Varma frowns, and I feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure I’m seeing it. The whole crew seems flummoxed.

“You heard me right,” Santa Elena says, mounting the dais. “This is the plan: Cassandra is going to crush the pursuit until they can’t catch us, no matter what. And then she’s going to turn herself over to whatever’s left.”

“How do we know she isn’t going to turn on us the second she’s got an SRCese fleet at her back?” Hina shouts over the grumbling noise building in the crowd.

Santa Elena flashes a wicked grin as she prowls around behind Swift. “Because we have something she’s interested in protecting,” the captain says, sinking her nails into Swift’s shoulder.

Swift sits up straighter. A bubble of laughter rises from the crew, and a blush starts to work its way into her cheeks.

“You’ve done well, kid. Exceeded expectations, that’s for sure. You kept both Cassandra and the beast alive. And there were … certain bonuses to putting you two together, it seems.” Santa Elena pauses to let everyone savor the implication of her words. “But all things end, Swift, and you’ve reaped the benefits of this opportunity enough.”

If she doesn’t step away from Swift soon, I’m going to do something drastic. My fingers twitch, itching for Otachi controls, and for a second I forget my place on this ship. I forget that the captain has forty people at her back who would kill me if I went near her. I forget that the only thing protecting me is an inbound fleet that’s probably still leagues off. All I care about right here and now is putting myself between Swift and the captain.

I’ve taken three steps before I realize what’s happening, and Santa Elena slips her gun out of her holster, her fingers still crimped in Swift’s shoulder. She doesn’t seem to notice that she’s drawn her weapon until the silence of the room around us sinks in.

The captain snorts. “Cassandra, let me make one thing very, very clear.” She lifts the gun and points it at me. “There’s going to come a time when I ask you to jump and instead of saying ‘how high,’ you’re going to refuse, even with a gun to your head. I know it has its limits. But this,” she says, shifting her aim to Swift. “This doesn’t.”

Swift glares up at me, her eyes shimmering slightly in the low light. Her fists are clenched so tightly that her knuckles flash bone-white. Here, before the entire crew, the crew she’s supposed to be in contention to lead someday, Swift is being strung out like bait. And it’s all my fault.

I shudder, knowing the worst of it. When I get off this boat, when the pursuit catches up and Santa Elena relinquishes me, there’s going to be no one left on the Minnow who’s really on Swift’s side.

“Fail to defend this ship, and I think you know me well enough to guess what happens next,” she says, nosing the barrel into the side of Swift’s skull.

The crew, surprisingly enough, looks worried. They don’t know how to confront this development. Santa Elena’s trainees are supposed to be some of the most respected people on this boat. Now one of them is being cast down when she ought to be exalted. With the confirmation that Swift’s succeeded in protecting me, her status should inflate. But the reward for her loyalty and service is a gun to her head.

Santa Elena must sense that someone’s about to speak up, because she chooses that moment to draw her gun back and stow it at her hip. “I’ll admit that was a little dramatic,” she says, laughing.

The tension breaks, the crew picking up her cues and chuckling along with her. Santa Elena glances down at Swift and offers a hand.

Swift takes it. Applause joins the laughter as the captain pulls her to her feet. “Well done!” a large man in the back thunders, and Swift cracks a strained smile. But her eyes are fixed on me, and I can see the hollowness. The betrayal. She’s had plenty of guns pointed at her in her career, but I’m willing to bet that this was the first time the captain was on the other end of it.





31


When the all-call stutters on the next evening to report that a SRCese fleet is closing in, it feels inevitable. Like just another day on the job. I sprint down to the trainer deck amid the chaos of the pre-battle rush, dodging past the crew members hauling giant ammunition crates out of the ship’s stores. It’s all or nothing tonight, and everyone seems to know it.

Swift’s already waiting when I arrive, and she’s saddled with a huge, dark package that she nearly drops when I come skidding onto the deck. “Captain’s got a parting gift,” she says, foisting it over to me. Her eyes stay fixed on the ground. There’s a hint of red creeping in on their edges.

Stringlets? Or just sleeplessness? I wonder as I accept the bundle.

It’s body armor. On the top of the pile rests a beetle-black, sculpted chestpiece, woven out of fiber that I’m assuming will stop bullets. There’s some sort of flotation device that accompanies it to counteract its weight in the water. I set the heap of armor gingerly on the counter and lift the chestpiece off, sliding it over my shoulders. It’s got straps on it, buckles and velcro that I have no idea where to pull tight.

“I don’t—” I start, but Swift is already stepping around behind me, her hands twisting the belts around my back as she tugs them into place. For a moment, the armor squeezes too tight against my chest. I grunt, but the pressure lifts a second later.