Chapters (47)
- Cover
- ALSO BY MARJORIE B. KELLOGG AVAILABLE FROM DAW BOOKS
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
She tossed her head. “I’ll borrow it for my next date at the Plaza.” Envy must have bloomed in my eyes, or admiration, something that made her self-conscious. She unslung the pack and handed it back. “I’ll make you something to go with it. You cadge the fabric.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, seriously. You’re always in work duds, Glim. You need something to show off in.”
I wasn’t sure about that. Not yet. “Hey, thanks for the offer.”
Jenn let the pack strap slide through her clever fingers, sorry to see it go. “Gonna make it your night bag?”
“No way!” I grinned recklessly. “Gonna make it my luggage.”
“So right!” She laughed, we slapped palms and chorused: “Mainland or Bust!”
Because all denfolk, even the worst skeptics, assumed there’d be an end to den life, even if it wasn’t on the Mainland. Rousseau called it an article of faith: the situation would improve, even return to some version of business as usual. I believed it. Needed to. It helped get me up in the morning.
I slid the folded pack into my grab bag and creaked to my feet. “Heading in?”
Jenn shifted over to my chair. “In a bit. Some stuff I want to look at.”
Me, too. Only it’s not on any computer. “Don’t work too long.” She’d be there till noon, on the trail of those elusive relatives. “By the way, you see Rivera on your way in?”
Jenn was already deep in her links and connections. “Mmm, no, but hard to find anyone in that crowd . . . why?”
“Grace was looking for her.”
“Ah, they’ll find each other.”
“Right.”
On my way to the bunk hall, I passed by Ellie Mae again, still bent over her computer. All sorts of graphs and figures on her screen, too, but the images caught my eye: vast red plains, dry wind-scoured hills of barren rock under a cloudless, greenish sky.
“Wow!” I hadn’t meant to stop, or even slow down, but I saw she had a thumb drive plugged into the laptop’s side. Mining her own personal data. Rude to interrupt, but I wondered: what gets an old woman out of bed so early? “Where is that?”
“Oh,” she replied, eyes dreamy, like we’d been chatting all along. “That’s just Mars. Isn’t it lovely?”
Mars? That’s where Ellie Mae went in her dreams?
I rolled my eyes in best Rubio fashion and made for my bunk.