It wasn’t until the man swung his arms down in a perfect angle two that Cole realized what he was holding.

42

After Molly helped Saunders recover from his collapse in the cargo bay, she watched him return to his inner circle to think about what she had divulged. She spent her time likewise, resting in her cabin and dwelling on the possibility that Lucin had been more than just a turncoat to her. Had he been a Bern as well? If so, what did that explain? When he said he meant to end the war, had he ever stated what side he imagined as the victor? Or even which war he meant?

She listened to the washer in the bathroom thud rhythmically as it attempted to get the blood out of a dozen flightsuits. It sounded like her ship had grown a pulse. It even had the double beat of one: thud-thud. Thud-thud.

If Lucin had been a traitor to them all, what a wonderful post for him to have infiltrated. He always said the Naval Academies on either side were the true front lines for any war, lines the enemy could never attack. But what didn’t make sense was how effective he was at producing capable fighters. Or how he never tried to stoke up anti-Drenard rage the way Saunders had. More disguises, perhaps?

Molly tried to put a stop to the cycle of her thoughts. The questions went round and round, tormenting her, never making any sense. She forced herself to sit up, fearing her attempt at rest was simply winding her up more tightly. Instead, she went outside to find Saunders, to see if he was doing any better than she at coming to grips with these slippery issues.

She found him by one of the many small campfires flickering beyond the tangle of wiry, Lokian trees. His group seemed to be in the middle of an animated conversation as she approached, but they quickly fell silent as she stepped into the fire’s wavering pool of light. Saunders rose from the blanket to meet her. He squeezed her shoulder and pulled her away from the cluster of staff members.

“How’re you feeling?” she whispered.

Saunders shook his head. “I’m dancing a fine line, I think. It’s . . . just too much all at once.” He stopped and patted his flightsuit. Another of the survivors had given him a rare clean one, but it didn’t quite fit. The zipper remained open almost to his waist, revealing a sweat-stained undershirt beneath. “Before I forget—” Saunders pulled out a credit chip and passed it to Molly. “It draws from a Navy account. Use it for the supplies tomorrow and put a deposit on some place for us to stay.”