“You ever had beef?” I counter. “Same thing, except meat cattle live in packed conditions and get slaughtered en masse. At least the neocetes live a natural life.”

Swift pauses, considering the perspective like she’s testing the taste of it on her tongue. “I just like neocetes. Like ’em lots more than cows, that’s for certain.”

“They’re smarter than cows. They’re in a similar class with most toothed whales. Orcas, dolphins, you know. Social creatures.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like ’em. Stop making me sympathize with them—you’re just making it worse,” she grumbles.

I laugh. It’s pure nature that Reckoners eat neocetes. If we hadn’t created a prey animal to feed them, they’d have devastated the NeoPacific’s biosystem within months of the first beasts’ creation. We gave the Reckoners an easy target, and in the process spared pretty much every other animal in the ocean. It’s one of the reasons that the IGEOC regulations exist. Only a certain number of Reckoners can exist at a time without depleting the NeoPacific’s stock.

Of course, Bao throws a wrench in that plan.

Unregulated Reckoners aren’t supposed to happen. If Bao’s the only one, it might be okay, but if a whole ocean of pirate-grown Reckoner pups crops up, it will wreck the biosystem. I don’t know what circumstances led to Bao being in Santa Elena’s possession, but whatever they were, they were orchestrated perfectly. He hasn’t shown any sign of growth defects—in fact, he’s grown far faster than any Reckoner I’ve ever raised. He had to have been created in a lab at some stable, because no independent lab without IGEOC support could produce a beast so perfectly made. He came out of the purse with no obvious defects, so whatever journey brought him from that lab to these circumstances had to have been carried out flawlessly.

Could he be stolen property? I’ve never heard of a stable reporting theft of a pup, but then again, the IGEOC would shut down any stable that admitted to theft of their stock. Maybe someone’s covering for a missing pup, reporting him as unviable on paper. It’d certainly explain how he showed up out of nowhere. But the infiltration of a Reckoner facility would involve an elaborate heist, not just the brute force I’ve seen the Minnow display. Maybe Santa Elena hired out some independent contractors to pull it off.

I almost ask Swift. When I glance up at her, the words building in my throat, her gaze is fixed on the distant horizon. Not toward the shore where the ship’s disappeared to, but somewhere farther than that, out on the open sea. Her lips are set in a bitter line.

Better not to show my hand now. Better to let her dwell on whatever it is that has her thoughts.