The crew, surprisingly enough, looks worried. They don’t know how to confront this development. Santa Elena’s trainees are supposed to be some of the most respected people on this boat. Now one of them is being cast down when she ought to be exalted. With the confirmation that Swift’s succeeded in protecting me, her status should inflate. But the reward for her loyalty and service is a gun to her head.

Santa Elena must sense that someone’s about to speak up, because she chooses that moment to draw her gun back and stow it at her hip. “I’ll admit that was a little dramatic,” she says, laughing.

The tension breaks, the crew picking up her cues and chuckling along with her. Santa Elena glances down at Swift and offers a hand.

Swift takes it. Applause joins the laughter as the captain pulls her to her feet. “Well done!” a large man in the back thunders, and Swift cracks a strained smile. But her eyes are fixed on me, and I can see the hollowness. The betrayal. She’s had plenty of guns pointed at her in her career, but I’m willing to bet that this was the first time the captain was on the other end of it.

31

31

When the all-call stutters on the next evening to report that a SRCese fleet is closing in, it feels inevitable. Like just another day on the job. I sprint down to the trainer deck amid the chaos of the pre-battle rush, dodging past the crew members hauling giant ammunition crates out of the ship’s stores. It’s all or nothing tonight, and everyone seems to know it.

Swift’s already waiting when I arrive, and she’s saddled with a huge, dark package that she nearly drops when I come skidding onto the deck. “Captain’s got a parting gift,” she says, foisting it over to me. Her eyes stay fixed on the ground. There’s a hint of red creeping in on their edges.

Stringlets? Or just sleeplessness? I wonder as I accept the bundle.

It’s body armor. On the top of the pile rests a beetle-black, sculpted chestpiece, woven out of fiber that I’m assuming will stop bullets. There’s some sort of flotation device that accompanies it to counteract its weight in the water. I set the heap of armor gingerly on the counter and lift the chestpiece off, sliding it over my shoulders. It’s got straps on it, buckles and velcro that I have no idea where to pull tight.

“I don’t—” I start, but Swift is already stepping around behind me, her hands twisting the belts around my back as she tugs them into place. For a moment, the armor squeezes too tight against my chest. I grunt, but the pressure lifts a second later.