Not out of mind, but it’s good enough for now. I can feel a pressure releasing from my back, though I still have a niggling sensation that urges me to check on Bao. Leaving him back in the harbor without any sort of trainer supervision is probably the captain’s weird idea of a show of force. Hopefully he doesn’t wreck all of the shit before I get back from wherever Swift is dragging me.

I hook two fingers inside the cuff, trying to keep it from chafing as I stumble along in her wake, but they just pinch against the bone when she jerks and I have to withdraw them. “Swift, slow down.” I warn her.

She lets her pace slacken a little, eyes still fixed determinedly forward.

Now I’ve got time to see the sights, but in that regard, the pirate city is sort of disappointing. True, most of the people here are packing more heat than anyone in the streets of New Los Angeles, but there’s a sense of normalcy that permeates the people we pass in the streets. It’s like the world out here is just a different, more dangerous flavor of the same stuff I’m used to. Even the fact that I’m cuffed to my companion doesn’t bother many of the people we pass. I puzzle over it until Swift offers a solution when she notices me glancing after one man who stared too long. “They think you’re a slave,” she hisses, then yanks me down a side street and up another flight of stairs.

I try to keep her pace more gracefully after that.

The city gets rougher and more chaotic the higher we climb. On the lower levels, there were paths resembling roads, where rickshaws ran wild and porters with inhumanly large loads strapped to their backs wandered the streets. Up here, the buildings are balanced precariously together, supported by massive iron beams that the sea winds have turned a dull orange. The paths are either narrow walkways that jut out from the sides of the buildings or spindly plastic bridges that stretch between them. Most of the construction is done with the cannibalized remains of shipping containers that have been haphazardly welded together to create homes and little shops, shops we pass up despite the heavenly smells wafting out of them. The protein bars I had this morning feel like nothing in my stomach.

“We’re getting close,” Swift blurts. “Okay, no matter what, you can’t tell anyone on the ship about where we’re going or what you see there. Understood?”

I nod.

“Say it.”