Artemis

“Oh fuck,” I said. “The Queensland Glass Factory fire.”

Ngugi nodded. “The fire was almost certainly set by Alvarez. Busy little fellow, wasn’t he? Once O Palácio sets up their own glass factory, they’ll have both production and supply line locked down. And of course, they’ll kill anyone who tries to get in their way. That’s the breed of ‘capitalism’ we can expect from now on.”

“You’re the administrator. Do something about it!”

She looked to the ceiling. “Between their financial base and physical enforcers, they’ll own the city. Think Chicago in the 1920s, but a hundred times worse. I’ll be powerless.”

“It would be nice if you actually helped in some way.”

“I have been helping,” she said. “Rudy had you pegged as the saboteur right away. He showed me the video footage of that ridiculous disguise you wore to the Visitor Center.”

I hung my head.

“He wanted to arrest you right then. I told him I wasn’t convinced and needed more evidence. I knew that would buy you some time.”

“Okay, so why did you become my guardian angel?”

“Because you’re a lightning rod. I knew O Palácio would have at least one enforcer in town. You drew him into the open. Now he’s caught. Thank you.”

“I was bait?”

“Of course. And you’re still bait. That’s why I intervened yesterday and got Rudy to release you. I don’t know what O Palácio will do next, but whatever it is, they’ll do it to you.”

“You…” I said. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

She nodded. “When I have to be. Building a civilization is ugly, Jasmine. But the alternative is no civilization at all.”

I glared at her with pure contempt. She wasn’t impressed.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“No idea.” She gestured to the door. “But you better get started.”

—

I crawled back into my hiding place and sealed the panel behind me. I curled up into a ball in the dark. I was so goddamn tired I should have fallen asleep right then, but I couldn’t.

It all caught up with me. Constant danger, poverty, anger, and worst of all, sheer, unmitigated fatigue. I’d gone beyond sleepy into what my father used to call “overtired.” He usually used that term while chucking my cranky, eight-year-old ass into my bunk for a forced nap.

I tossed and turned as much as I could in the cramped confines. No position was comfortable. I wanted to pass out and punch someone at the same time. I couldn’t think straight. I had to get out of there.

I kicked open the panel. Who gives a fuck if someone sees me? I didn’t.

“Where now?” I mumbled to myself.

I felt a wet droplet hit my arm. I looked to the ceiling. The frigid air of Bean Down 27 often made condensation points. Water’s surface tension versus lunar gravity meant a bunch of it had to build up before it started dripping. But I didn’t see anything above me.

Then I touched my face with my hand. “Oh, goddammit.”

The source of the water was me. I was crying.

I needed a place to sleep. Really sleep. If I’d been thinking clearly I would have gotten a hotel. Ngugi wouldn’t help O Palácio find me again.

Right that moment, I didn’t trust anything electronic. I considered going to the imam’s house, where Dad was. The imam would take me in, and at some feral level I wanted my daddy.

I shook my head and admonished myself. Under no circumstances would I tangle Dad up in all th

is shit.