Page 10

I forced myself to stay there, to pretend that nothing was wrong. Smiling—and keeping a firm lid on my emotions so Jorgen wouldn’t see through the lie. I pretended that this could all end well, admiring his eyes until Cobb stepped in.

Which gave an excuse to break the moment. I rushed over to help him as he stumbled, despite his cane. Jorgen stepped back, trying to recover some decorum.

“Ready to get back to it?” Cobb asked, holding my arm, eyeing the two of us. “Or should I stall? I have a story about Ironsides when she was in flight school that always results in an awkward silence.Good for thinking. And for making people too uncomfortable to bother me.”

“No need,” Jorgen said, standing up straight, visibly shouldering the burden of leadership.

I glanced at Cobb, who nodded and let me help him sit. “How are you?” I asked him.

“Awful,” he said. “Feel like I’m just climbing out of a ship after being in an uncontrolled spin for hours—which starts again each time I stand up.” He glanced at me. “I’m here. Your grandmother saved my life, and for that I’m grateful. But let’s say I’m glad I was able to get all of you ready in time for this.”

I frowned, considering that comment. During flight school, I’d felt a connection with Cobb as he’d encouraged me to become the woman I had to be now. I’d always assumed that had been special treatment. Now I knew that he’d spent similar time with Jorgen, maybe everyone in our flight.

Right then, I figured something out. Cobb’s actions had all been deliberate—not just with me, but with all of us. He hadn’t merely been doing his job. He’d been training the next admiral of the fleet, and I got the sneaking suspicion he’d known it all along.

As people began to file back in—or in the case of the kitsen, fly in on their platforms—Jorgen stood tall before that daunting wall of statistics. I desperately wanted to do something to help. My entire purpose in traveling the nowhere had been to give us an edge, some way of solving problems that would be impossible otherwise. Could M-Bot be the key to that somehow? Maybe he could contact the Broadsiders or…

Wait. I looked up at the statistics again and realized something. Sure, our enemies would overwhelm us once their production capacity got going. But to do that, they needed raw materials.

“Jorgen,” I said. “I have an idea. And this time it might actually be agoodone. But to build on it, we’ll have to send for someone smarter than I am.”

4

I slapped Rig down in the seat before the entire council. Once, I might have felt guilty about dragging him up into the spotlight. He’d always hated things like this.

Today though, he took it in stride. As if being on display in front of the leaders of three planets was no big deal. And…maybe to him it wasn’t, not any longer. He winked at FM. Like, actuallywinked.She winked back.

Those two were cute and all, but I suddenly felt even more alien than…well…the aliens. My best friend had fallen in love, and I’d missed it entirely. He’d cracked open the secrets of our homeworld, and I’d been playing pirate.

No,Chet said.We were learning. We might be something strange. Something unnatural, even. But we werenotjust playing.

Good to be reminded of that. Still, I’d missed so much. I leaned down beside Rig, who gave me a reluctant eye roll, like he’d always done when I’d gotten him into trouble as kids. That, in an instant, made the awkwardness evaporate.

“Rig,” I declared to him, “I needscience.”

“You needtherapy.”

“Youneed better jokes.”

“Youneed a better sense of humor.”

We grinned at each other. Then remembered we were in front of a bunch of boring military types. He cleared his throat. “What kind of ‘science’ do you need, Spensa? This isn’t like when you asked if I could turn your stuffed bear into a remote-controlled assassin device?”

“Not as awesome as that, I’m afraid.”

“Who were you going to assassinate, anyway?” he asked. “You wereten.”

“Ninjas,” I said. “Gran-Gran had been telling stories, and…well, I assumed my future would includefarmore ninjas than it has.”

“I might be able to fix that,” Hesho said, hovering down beside me. “Assuming the translator has the right term, in our language, for the ancient warrior assassins of lore.”

“You haveninjas?” I asked him. “Kitsen ninjas?”

“Indeed,” he said. “As the Masked Exile, I am technically part of their tradition. It’s not as practical an art as the stories make it sound—more a method of training the mind and soul. But as we bring peace to mind and soul, we learn to bring stillness to the world around us.”

I was barely listening.

Fifteen-centimeter-tall.