This Shattered World (Starbound #2)(36)

“I’m sorry I said that.” And I find I am. There’s more to her than that. “I came to warn you.”

“We know the ceasefire’s on shaky ground,” she replies, her voice shifting to that slow, dry lilt that conveys absolutely nothing. “Don’t need you telling us this makes things worse.”

“It’s not about the shooting.” I lean forward, reaching down the collar of my stolen uniform for my sister’s key. I draw it out for her to see. “This is the key to our munitions cabinet. The bulk of our weaponry was locked up there. Keeping it that way was our way of ensuring nobody took action without agreement.”

Jubilee’s expression shifts a little. “Was?”

She could turn me in, she could demand I tell her base commander. She could pull her gun on me again. I swallow. “Someone destroyed the lock and broke in. The guns, the explosives, the ammunition—it’s all gone.”

Her expression freezes; only her lips twitch, revealing the same wash of icy fear that swept over me when I discovered the door half blown away. It takes Jubilee only moments to come to the same conclusion I did. “McBride?”

I nod, trying not to look down at her gun, which is still in her hand. “It has to be.”

“How many supporters does he have?” Her voice is tight and cold, quick as gunfire.

“At least a third of us,” I reply. You’re doing the right thing, my brain reminds me, even as the rest of me recoils from sharing this information. “More, now. After your escape and the boy in town.”

“I need names,” she replies, voice swift and decisive.

“No names.” I clench my jaw.

“If we know who we’re looking for, we could start grabbing them before they’ve got a chance to—”

“No names,” I repeat more sharply. “You find McBride out there, you can have him with my blessing. I’m not ready to give up on the rest of them yet.”

Jubilee lets her breath out slowly. “God, Cormac. This is—why are you telling me? If we’re ready for them, your people are only going to end up dead.”

My stomach twists, guilt stabbing through it. “He’ll come at you from the town side of the base. He’ll come at you from the town side of base, but not tonight. It’ll take him some time to get organized, which gives you time to increase security there, put out some more patrols, bulk up armaments on the perimeter in a visible way…If he sees you’re anticipating an attack, he won’t risk it. He wants a fight, but he’s not suicidal.”

Jubilee doesn’t respond immediately, pinning me in place with a long, even stare. Then her chin drops a little and she closes her eyes. “Smart,” she admits, lifting her empty hand to rub at her forehead. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Hell no.” I try for lighthearted, but in the quiet, in the dark, I just sound small. Every inch as small as McBride claims I am. “I’m not suicidal either.”

Against all odds, I spot the tiniest lift at the corner of Jubilee’s mouth—the tiniest hint of a grin. It’s gone immediately, though, as she sucks in a quick breath and exhales it briskly. “I’ll speak to the commander about security, but you should get back.”

I hesitate, my chest heavy. “I didn’t just come to warn you. Jubilee—”

“It’s Lee,” she replies, her voice sharpening.

“Only when you’re a soldier,” I mutter. “I’m hoping today you’ll be something else.” When I look up, she’s frowning at me. But I have little choice, and I push on. “Look,” I start slowly, “you need to talk to your people. Figure out some small thing that you can give us. Something I can point to and say, ‘See, they’ll talk to us.’ Otherwise McBride’s supporters will only continue to grow.”

“Cormac,” she begins, exasperated, “even if I had the power to do anything about your situation, I wouldn’t, not now. There are reasons behind everything we do. Real, honest security risks we’re trying to avoid. The regulations are there to protect you as much as they are to protect us.”

“Closing the schools? Limiting medical access? Shutting down the HV broadcasts?”

“We didn’t do that,” replies Jubilee quickly. “Avon’s atmosphere interferes with the signals.”

“But you’re the ones who changed all the access codes to TerraDyn’s retransmission satellites. We can’t send or receive a signal at all now—we’re totally cut off. If you could just give us that—not even newscasts. But movies, documentaries, any window beyond this life to show our children.”

Her hand tightens around the grip of her gun. “Do you know how they organized on Verona ten years ago, Cormac? It was clever. They used a kids’ HV show, broadcast across the galaxy. Coded messages out of the mouths of animated mythological creatures.”

“I don’t even know where Verona is,” I retort. “And we’re paying for it here, a decade later, light-years away. We have no sun, no stars, no food or medicine, no power or entertainment for relief, and no one will tell us if it’s ever getting any better. They’ve swatted a fly with a sledgehammer.”

“A fly?” She’s fierce, every line of her tense, holding herself in check with an effort. “That’s what you call the largest rebellion in the last century? They chose the slums of Verona, where people were most crowded. Where there’d be maximum damage. They smuggled guns, dirty bombs, you name it. When the uprising came, whole cities from November through Sierra were up in flames before anybody knew what had happened. Those the rebels didn’t kill, the looters and raiders did. Thousands. Tens of thousands of people—they can’t sing or tell stories at all now.”