I opened my mouth to retort, but the words fizzled out. I could hardly claim that he’d abused me. He’d never so much as raised a finger to me.

“So you want me to keep your secret.” I rubbed my wrist. “And in exchange?”

“I will try to keep you safe. There are an infinite number of ways you could die here, and you do not help yourself avoid them.”

“I have to die eventually. I know what Nashira wants with me. You can’t protect me.”

“Perhaps not, in the end, but I presume you would like to survive your tests.”

“What’s the point?”

“You can prove to her how strong you are. You are no yellow-jacket. You can learn to fight.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Yes, you do. It is in your nature to fight.”

The clock in the corner chimed.

Having a Reph ally was wrong. At the same time, it would significantly increase my chances of survival. He could help me get supplies, help me survive. Maybe for long enough to escape this place.

“Fine,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone. But you still owe me a favor.” I held up my wrist. “For the blood.”

Just as I said it, the door burst open. A Reph woman swept into the room: Pleione Sualocin. She looked first at the state of the room, then at me, and finally at Warden. Without a word, she tossed him a Vacutainer. Warden caught it in one hand. I looked at it.

Blood. Human blood. It was labeled with a small gray triangle. And a number: axiv. Amaurotic 14.

Seb.

I looked at Warden. He inclined his head, like we’d shared a little secret. A visceral revulsion overwhelmed me. I stood up, still weak from blood loss, and lurched up the stairs to my prison.

13 His Picture

13

His Picture

I first met Nick Nygård when I was nine years old. When I saw him next, I was sixteen.

It was the summer term of 2056 and at the III-5 School for Girls of Quality, we Year Elevens had entered the most important period of our lives. We could stay at school for another two years, during which we would be doing University prep, or leave and find a job. In an effort to convert the undecided, the Schoolmistress had organized a series of lectures from inspirational speakers: SVD agents, media raconteurs—even an Archon politician, the Minister of Migration. That day was geared toward medical science. All two hundred of us were herded into the lecture hall, dressed in our black suits, red ribbons, and white blouses. Miss Briskin, the chemistry mistress, stepped up to the lectern.