Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(69)

“Something like that. He’s being way too overprotective lately, though.”

“How so?” she asks.

“Ever since we returned from our last tour of active duty, it’s like he’s afraid something bad will happen to me. I know he’s been working angles with the powers that be. I just don’t know what he’s planning.”

“You think he’s planning something?” she asks.

“He’s always planning something, Hammon. He’s a master of strategy. And he wants me out of the air-barracks. It’s like a thing with him. We argue about it a lot.”

“Where does he want you to live?” she asks.

“Ideally, with him. That’s completely out of the question, though. I’m staying here.”

“You’re worried that if he moves you, you won’t be able to see Hawthorne?”

“Yes.” Hawthorne has been gone for advanced pilot training. I miss him so much as it is. “If Clifton moves me, I’ll never get to see him.”

“You have Clifton wrapped around your little finger. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to get your way.”

“No one has Clifton wrapped around her finger,” I reply.

She puts away her tools and wipes her hands on her uniform. I hand her a clean rag from the bin. “Do you ever take your gloves off anymore?”

I look down at my black leather gloves with the fingers cut off. The one on my right hand covers my scar. I researched the crest and found out the Gates of Dawn soldier’s family name. It’s Winterstrom. That’s all I’ve been able to get on him, though. I don’t have clearance for anything else.

“I have to handle weapons at Salloway’s testing facilities. Most of the handgrips aren’t exactly fit to be used yet. Metal filings and spurs sometimes cut me if I don’t have gloves on. It’s a habit now.” Hammon doesn’t know about my scar. I keep it a secret from everyone.

Hammon checks the time on her moniker. “Edge should be back soon! Eeep! I can’t wait!”

“You’re sure Gilad won’t tell Hawthorne about the surprise?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’d never ruin the surprise. Edge, on the other hand, can’t keep a secret to save his fool life.” She smiles at me with her beautiful dimples. “You worry too much, though. Hawthorne won’t care about a surprise party. He’ll only care if you’re there. He’s been gone for ten days. He’s going to need some serious Roselle time.”

We enter the Anthroscope’s control room. I sit in the pilot’s seat and Hammon climbs into the copilot’s chair. The engines of the airship fire up so Hammon can check the gauges. “We should take this for a test run,” I say nonchalantly. “You know, to make sure.”

“Let’s!” she squeals. She reaches for a headset. I put mine on, and we strap in. I get clearance from the Tree Fort to take the aircraft to the testing airspace for a mechanical adjustment run-through. We ease out of the hangar. I follow protocol and don’t exceed regulated speeds until I reach the testing area. Then I flood the engines, and the ship molds into an aerodynamic, needle-like shape. I turn spirals, listening to Hammon’s peals of laughter. We make several circuits until we’re ordered back to the hangar.

“I love that so much,” Hammon says, during our return trip. “Just getting out of the Tree for a second and seeing the sky. I sometimes forget there’s a world outside.”

My heart sinks. “Do you hate being a Sword mechanic?” I ask. I got her the job so she wouldn’t be forced into infantry combat.

“No, I actually love it. I’m good at it—much better than being shot at all the time. And I hate search and rescue. The mutilated bodies give me nightmares, and that’s when I can sleep. If it wasn’t for this job, I don’t think I’d still be here. Something would’ve wasted me a year ago.”

After each tour, new Sword faces flood into Tritium 101 capsules, replacing the dead. None of us tries to make new friends.

“What would you be,” I ask, “if you could be anything?”

“I don’t know. I used to dream about living by the water—like being born in the Fate of Seas. What would it be like to work on a boat and just fish all day?”

She doesn’t dream of being firstborn. “That sounds like a nice life.”

“Can you see Edge working as a fisherman? My mountain man,” she says with a twang.

“I think he’d do anything for you.”

“He would.” She smiles.

“What are you going to say to him when you see him?”

“Nothing. I’m going to find a quiet nook and jump him—it’s been ten days, Roselle. Ten!” She holds up both of her hands and spreads her fingers wide. “How about you? Have you and Hawthorne . . . ?”

My cheeks flood with color. “Nope.”

“He’s still holding out on you? I have to hand it to him, the boy has willpower.”

“Way too much.”

“Make Hawthorne forget about caution. Show him that sometimes you have to take risks to prove you’re still alive.”

“You’re right.” I power down the Anthroscope and take off my headset. We disembark.

The smile on my face evaporates. Agent Crow stands in front of the airship. He walks the length of it, passing me, with his hands behind his back. When he gets to the nose, he turns his eyes toward me. At least ten more inky kill tallies curve from their corners on either side of his face, and now he also has them notched on his neck. They’re thin, but together they represent a seriously frightening number of dead bodies. He presses his finger to the Anthroscope and trails it along the length of the airship’s body, stopping in front of me again. “Roselle Sword.”