But the harder stage is still to come, and it’s something the Minnow is woefully unprepared for. Back home, the owners of the Reckoners in our stock buy ships that have been decommissioned: tugs at first, but eventually even aging yachts and warboats. Those skeleton ships become practice targets for baby beasts that need to cut their teeth. First we train them to ram the ships, then to target their guns, Finally, when they’re big enough, we teach the Reckoner pups how to crack a tug in half, and everything from then on out is instinct. But I doubt Santa Elena’s going to let me loose Bao on one of her precious Splinters, and until I come up with an alternative, his training will stagnate.

But the captain won’t notice. Not for a while.

And that’s what I’m counting on. It’s a risk, but it’s worth it if it will keep Bao harmless. It gives me more time to unravel the mystery of his origins and figure out how I’m getting myself off this boat.

All the same, I fear the day the captain finds out what kind of games I’m playing.

We stop at islands from time to time to trade for fuel and food. I’m never allowed to accompany the landing party, of course. I always get stuck in a Splinter with the homing beacon on my back, left out at sea with Swift to watch over me and Bao. Santa Elena wants to keep her pet Reckoner under wraps—show people something they’ve never seen before, and they’re bound to talk. The captain can’t afford word getting out about Bao while he’s this young, when he relies on the ship to defend him and not the other way around.

So we wait.

This afternoon, the Minnow’s gone to do business with some Islander millionaire who’s staked out turf on a chain of artificial atolls, and so once again Swift and I load into the Splinter and put out around a league away, using the LED beacon to keep Bao in place as the ship jets off to the welcoming dock. Bao gets antsy the second the Minnow leaves his eyeline, his imprinting behavior taking over, but the lights and noise from the beacon keep him rooted next to us, bobbing at the surface with his blowholes flaring in and out.