This airship is enormous. I’ve been on board airships before, of course. When I was thirteen, I snuck onto the flight deck of the RS Pacifica and stole fuel from three F-170 fighter jets, then sold it on the black market for a good price. But I’ve never been inside one of this size. Kaede leads us out the door of the stairwell and onto a metal walkway that opens up into a view of all the floors above us. Soldiers are everywhere. We walk with them, careful to keep our faces expressionless. Here on the lowest floor, several formations of troops run through drills. Doors line the corridors, and in between every four doors is a flat screen displaying news. The new Elector’s portrait hangs above each screen. They sure move fast, don’t they?
Razor’s office is one of a half dozen that line the walls of the fourth deck, with a silver Republic seal embedded in its door. Kaede knocks twice. When she hears Razor’s voice calling for us to enter, she ushers us inside, then shuts the door carefully behind her and snaps to attention. I follow her lead. Our boots click against the hardwood floor. Something in the room smells faintly like jasmine, and as I take in the ornate, spherical wall lamps and the Elector’s portrait on the back wall, I realize how chilly it is in here. Razor stands by his desk with his hands behind his back, all fancy in his formal commander uniform, talking to a woman dressed in a similar outfit.
It takes me a second to realize that the woman is Commander Jameson.
Kaede and I both freeze in our tracks. After the shock of seeing Thomas, I’d simply assumed that if Commander Jameson was anywhere in Vegas, she’d be at the pyramid dock, monitoring her captain’s progress. I never thought she’d be on the ship. Why is she going to the warfront?
Razor nods in our direction as both Kaede and I salute him. “At ease,” he says to us, then turns his attention back to Commander Jameson. Beside me, I can sense Kaede’s tension. My street instincts kick in. If Kaede’s anxious, that means the Patriots hadn’t planned on Commander Jameson’s being here. My eyes dart to the door’s lock; I imagine myself whirling around, flinging the door open, and swinging over the balcony railings to the deck below. The ship’s layout plays in my thoughts like a three-dimensional map. I need to be ready to bolt if she recognizes me. Gotta have my escape route ready.
“I’ve been advised to keep my eyes open,” Commander Jameson says to Razor. He seems completely unfazed—his shoulders are relaxed, and he’s wearing an easy smile. “And so should you, DeSoto. If you notice anything odd, come to me. I’ll be ready.”
“Of course.” Razor tips his head respectfully at Commander Jameson, even though his uniform’s insignias indicate that he’s her senior. “All the best to you, and to Los Angeles.”
They exchange casual salutes. Then Commander Jameson begins walking toward the door. I force myself to remain still, but every muscle is screaming at me to escape.
Commander Jameson passes me, and I wait quietly as she scans me from head to toe. From the corner of my eyes, I can see the hard lines of her face and the thin, scarlet slash of her lips. Behind her expression is an icy nothingness—a complete lack of emotion that injects both fear and hate into my blood. Then I notice that her hand is bandaged. Still injured from when she’d held me captive at Batalla Hall, when I’d bitten it almost down to the bone.
She knows who I am, I think. A bead of sweat trickles down my back. She must know. Even with this brief glance, she can see right through my disguise, this dark cropped hair and synthetic scar and brown contact lenses. I wait for her to raise the alarm. My boots tilt against the ground, ready to run. My healing leg pulses.
But the split second passes, and Commander Jameson’s gaze swivels away as she reaches the door. I step back from the cliff. “Your uniform is rumpled, soldier,” she calls back to me with distaste. “If I were Commander DeSoto, I’d give you a dozen laps as punishment.”
She steps away, walks through the door, and disappears. Kaede locks the door again—her shoulders slouch, and I hear her let out a breath. “Nice one,” she says to Razor as she plops down on the office’s couch. Her voice drips sarcasm.
Razor motions for me to sit as well. “We have you to thank, Kaede,” he says. “For our young friend’s first-rate disguise.” Kaede beams at his compliment. “I apologize for the unexpected surprise. Commander Jameson has gotten wind of June’s arrest. She wanted to board the ship to see if anything else turned up.” He sits down behind his desk. “She’s taking a plane back to Vegas now.”
I feel weak. As I rest on the couch beside Kaede, I can’t help keeping an eye on the windows in case Commander Jameson comes back for something. The windows are made of frosted glass. Can anyone from below see us up here?
Kaede’s already relaxed again, chatting up a storm with Razor about our next steps. What time we’ll land, when we should regroup in Lamar, whether decoy soldiers at the capital are in place. But I just sit and think about Commander Jameson’s expression. Of all the Republic officers I’ve come across, except maybe for Chian, only Commander Jameson’s eyes can freeze me to my core. I fight down the memory of how she’d ordered my mother’s death—and John’s execution. If Thomas has June under arrest, what will Commander Jameson do to her? Can Razor actually keep her protected? I close my eyes and try to send a silent thought to June.
Stay safe. I want to see you again when all this is done.
I CAN’T BRING MYSELF TO LOOK AT DAY AGAIN BEFORE leaving him behind. As Razor’s Patriot walks me away from the front entrance of the Pharaoh pyramid, I keep my face pointed firmly away from him. It’s for the best, I tell myself. If the mission goes well, it’ll only be a short separation.