Pacifica

  CHAPTER 27

  MARIN HAD never captained a boat bigger than the Déchet, but there was a first time for everything. When she’d seen the Armament ship docked alone on the far side of the island she had two thoughts. The first: at least it wasn’t an ocean liner—this had sails. The second: she hoped Adam took direction as well as Ross, because there was no way to sail this beast alone.

  If she’d wondered why they docked so far away, it became apparent as they picked their way through five miles of trash. There was nothing like facing the filth of the gomi fields to make you realize just what the president thought of you. If Luc wanted his Shoreling army angry at their government, this was the way to do it.

  A quick search of the vessel showed that Adam had been right. The boat was empty, apart from the usual emergency supplies, the high-tech GPS, and a radio.

  When she’d emerged on deck, she’d found Adam holding a map. Pacifica was not marked, but each of the oil rigs were. A grim smile cut into her cheeks when she saw that the coordinates were marked by a small, black circle, along the same lines as Old San Francisco.

  There was no time for delay. Adam seemed to sense this, and silently completed every one of her commands.

  Setting her sights on the horizon, she sailed for Ross, and oil rig number four.

  * * *

  They didn’t rest. Marin set the coordinates and worked the lines. Adam was sent to search every compartment, above and below deck, and to dump whatever they didn’t need overboard. They needed to move fast, and to be fast they needed to be light.

  Even with the sails full and the wind behind her, it wasn’t fast enough.

  She’d willed the sun to stay above the horizon to give her more time, but the day finally gave way to night. She stared into it, hoping for a glimpse of the oil station, but could see nothing.

  Adam barely spoke to her. She knew she should reassure him, or tell him something of her plan, but she didn’t have a plan, and any reassurances now would have been hollow words. Maybe he knew this. Or maybe he knew that her grip on the wheel was the only thing keeping her from crumbling.

  “Hold on,” she whispered into the wind.

  “He used to run, did you know that?”

  She glanced back, seeing little more than the gleam off Adam’s eyes and teeth. “He was really good,” he added.

  I’m fast, Ross had told her. How about you?

  “He was the captain of the team at school.”

  “A captain?” He’d never told her that. She imagined him at the helm of a ship, but it didn’t make her laugh as it once might have. He belonged there.

  “Yeah. He set all new records. He was probably the fastest runner we’ve ever had.” Adam paused. “He quit. Just like that. Because his teammates didn’t like me. Because I was a trawler. They’d put together this petition to get me sent to another school. Something about how I was participating in the riots in Lower Noram.”

  She thought about Luc, sending Picker to shoot her in the trash. Getting rid of her because he’d thought she was a threat.

  “He ripped up the petition and told them if they tried it again he’d get them all expelled.” Adam gave a humorless laugh. “He didn’t know I was close enough to hear. Even if he did, I don’t know. No one’s ever taken up for me like that. That’s the kind of person he is. That’s the guy you’re rescuing.”

  “I know,” she said after a moment. Maybe she hadn’t heard that story, but she already had her own like it. He was a bright spot in a dark sky, and she wasn’t going to turn her back on him.

  “Are we going to sneak up on them?” Adam asked, changing course.

  “No. We’re too big. Anyway, Luc’s boat has a scanner. They’ll see us as soon as we come in range.” Ships and bodies of land would register as red dots on the black screen. By the time they hit the mile mark, the Señora would know they were coming.

  A plan formed in her mind, thin, and risky, but a plan all the same. If they could not avoid being seen, there was no reason for them to hide.

  “Then what are we going to do?” asked Adam.

  She sized him up, hoping he was indeed the kind of man Ross had sailed across the sea for.

  “The only way to beat a pirate is to be a pirate,” she said.

  CHAPTER 28

  “HE’S A present, my love.” Luc pulled the door closed behind him.

  Roan Teller groaned. “Do not call me that.”

  He smirked, in a way that made Ross think he hadn’t meant it anyway. There was no affection between these two.

  No affection, but this was definitely not the first time they had met.

  “Don’t you recognize him?” asked Luc.

  “I recognize that I’m going to need to get my floors cleaned…”

  Roan’s smooth pale skin turned a ghastly shade of white as her glossy lips parted. Her brows disappeared beneath her bangs, revealing the tiny red veins in the corners of her bloodshot eyes. She fell back a step, bumping into the bar, and rubbed her bare wrists absently. She was not wearing a comm, and unless this boat had an active tracking device, which Ross doubted based on the party she was meeting, she was as impossible to locate as Ross had been in the riots.

  “What is this.” Her words were slow, and quaking, but Ross could still hear the voice-over for the relocation ads within them. His jaw worked over the gag.

  The last time they had seen each other they’d been at the museum, dressed for a political celebration. Now they were on a boat in the ocean, and he was the prisoner of a pirate. How much these few days had changed things.

  “Never do know what will turn up in the trash,” said Luc.

  The need to tell someone what was happening, what had already happened, had been waiting on the tip of his tongue, but as Roan Teller shook her head in disbelief, he was suddenly sure this proclamation wouldn’t matter. The fact that she was here, talking to Luc, made her a part of this.

  “How…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Get him out of here. I never saw him. I don’t care what you do with him. Just get him off this boat.”

  For a moment Ross just stared at her, wondering if he’d mistaken her for someone else even as he knew that wasn’t possible. As the shock passed, a dry, humorless laugh filled his lungs. He didn’t know what she was doing here, but it was clear she didn’t want him to know anything about it.

  Luc planted his fists on his hips. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

  “Security!” she shouted.

  “That either,” said Luc, feigning concern. “Don’t worry, my crew is taking good care of your friends while we talk. They’ll sail you home if everything goes smoothly.”

  “That’s…” Her nostrils flared. She smoothed down her shirt over her ample chest. “That’s not very flattering to our established trust, Mr. Carey.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Maybe you forgot. I’m a pirate.” His grin was sharp as a knife.

  Ross looked between them, listening for any noise overhead, as he assumed Roan was also doing. The only sounds were the waves against the boat.

  “You’ve gotten your money,” Roan snapped. “This was supposed to be our last meeting.”

  “It was,” agreed Luc. “But the price for taking your precious Shorelings just went up.” He laid a hand on Ross’s shoulder, which Ross promptly shook off. “What do you think the president will do when he finds out what I have here?”

  Roan’s hand, gripping a jar of black liquid, turned white.

  His father didn’t know she was here. His father didn’t know he was here. So why was he?

  “This wasn’t the deal,” said Roan.

  “The deal’s changed.”

  “No.” She sliced her hands through the air. “I give you money, you take the Shorelings. You have no idea the moving parts I had to put in place to make this happen.”

  “You’re right,” said Luc. “Tell me, how many terrenos does it take to convince an entire nation that Pacifica is real?”

  Roan’s l
ips pursed together. “More than you can imagine.”

  Ross thought of all the pictures in campaigns of the make-believe island. Of the power blackouts and the other “erosion issues” that might not even be real. Hundreds of people had to be involved to make that happen. He couldn’t even imagine how much money had traded hands.

  “You people will fix anything so that you can sleep at night,” said Luc, and ignored Ross’s sideways glance at the parroted words. “Now I know folks might not believe a corsario when he says Pacifica is a pile of garbage, but I suspect they’ll believe the young Mr. Torres if he stands by my side.”

  Ross waited, on a knife’s edge, for the catch. Luc had denied his proposal earlier; believing him now felt too much like desperation.

  Roan gaped.

  Luc laughed, thumbs tucked in his heavy belt. “Take another dip of tar, love. You look stressed.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said angrily, gathering herself to point an accusing finger in his direction. “You bring Ross Torres on my boat? Do you even know the manpower his father has dedicated to dredging through the remains of that little showdown at the Armament station? His advisors are urging him to set a funeral date. It took everything I had to get him to push it back so it wouldn’t delay tomorrow’s launch.”

  Ross stilled, something breaking inside him at the notion that his father did really care. That he was searching for him. It made him question if his doubts were misplaced—if there was something bigger going on he didn’t understand, and that his father was doing all of this for a greater good.

  But if he was, Ross couldn’t see what that might be.

  Roan threw her hands in the air.

  “If his father finds out he’s alive and you have him, this will all fall apart. He’ll bring the entire fleet to your door. He’ll destroy your little island.”

  “Let them come.” Luc glanced at his fingernails, biting the corner of one blackened tip. “I’d kill the boy before he even got close.”

  “Don’t test him, Luc. He’s a man who takes action.” She laughed, high and manic. “For God’s sake, he sent away a third of his opposition just before voting season.”

  Ross’s gut sunk through the floor, his suspicions confirmed. His father knew everything, was responsible for everything. The man who had raised him, who he’d once idolized, was dictating the fates of over five hundred innocent people.

  He shoved all the dark feelings swirling inside him aside. He couldn’t think of those things now. He had to figure out a way to get off this boat. Get back to the mainland before it was too late. He didn’t know much about sailing, but he’d watched Marin, and pulled his weight when it had mattered. He might be able to get this boat aimed in the right direction.

  His eyes landed on the tar. A whiff of Luc’s tiny bottle had made him light-headed and dizzy. If he could break an entire jar, this closed room would be filled with noxious fumes.

  Slowly, he inched toward the bar.

  “We could make this little hiccup go away,” Luc offered.

  Ross’s blood ran cold. Roan’s hand went to smooth down her already smooth hair.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  A memory of the first time Ross had met her struck him. How she’d stood across from him at the banquet, forcing her point and insulting his mother. They’d had no idea how dangerous she was.

  Luc smiled. “I’m a simple man, with simple wants. The real question is, how much is the young Mr. Torres worth to you?”

  Roan cringed, and laughed, and shuddered, all at once, a strange twisting of fear and power. “You think you can play almighty corsario with me, Mr. Carey? Blackmail me into giving you more money, in a world where money will soon be obsolete? In less than a month, the Alliance’s oil will run dry, and if phase two doesn’t commence, we will be in the dark.”

  With relocation happening next week, my investors see no need to delay phase two of the project. We could begin as early as next month with your approval.

  Ross felt the weight of the giant, rusted steel bridging over them, of the converted Armament station that had recently stopped drilling for oil. He knew, in his bones, that she wasn’t lying. What little there was left of the livable world was failing, and that was bringing everyone to desperate action.

  “I don’t want more money,” said Luc. “I’m a pirate. I want boats.”

  “You have a boat out there,” she said. “A very nice boat, which I procured for you.”

  “More boats,” he said. “We lost half of our fleet in the last storm. I need replacements. Something hearty.”

  This had to be a lie—Ross didn’t know how many boats there had been docked outside Careytown before the storm, but he hadn’t seen any half-drowned ships. Not that it would have been easy to tell in the trash.

  Luc tapped the two guns at his belt with his thumbs, drawing Ross’s attention to the tiny silhouette of a black bird on the handle. The image was familiar, though he couldn’t place it.

  “You’re already getting the ocean liner and the ship they used to transfer the riot prisoners,” said Roan.

  Ross inched closer to the bar.

  “More boats,” said Luc again. “Six of your warships. For my men.”

  “Six!” she said. “What do you need warships for?”

  “For sailing, love,” said Luc. “For making my men feel like kings.”

  She groaned.

  “And in return, the young Mr. Torres will disappear, and your secret will stay safe with me.”

  He’s going to kill me anyway, Ross wanted to shout, but the gag muffled any sound he made.

  “Fine,” Roan said. “Six warships. Whatever pleases you, Mr. Carey.”

  The pirate smirked triumphantly, but whatever he was about to say next was interrupted by a shout from outside.

  “Luc, we’ve got trouble!”

  If there was anything else that followed, Ross didn’t hear it. With both Roan and Luc distracted, he snatched the glass jar from the box Luc had carried, raised it over his head, and slammed it down as hard as he could on the countertop.

  It shattered, cutting his hand with a bright slash of pain. Instantly the fumes filled the room, overpowering in the contained space. He held his breath, squinted his eyes, but couldn’t fight off the dizzying effects.

  With a roar, Luc was on him, forearm locked around Ross’s throat. Ross’s fingers scraped at the man’s wrist, tried to peel back his grip, but it was as solid as forged metal. He bit down on the gag, hard enough to keep his mind sharp. His body fought to inhale, but he couldn’t. If he did he would certainly pass out, and any chance of escape would slip away.

  “You think a little tar in the air is going to slow me down?” Luc growled in his ear. “I’ve been making it for years. Breathing it in, bit by bit. I’d have to drink half that jar to feel it.”

  Near the window, Roan fell with a thump.

  Ross thrashed from side to side, hip slamming into one of the stationary stools beside the bar. He kicked back with his heel, and heard a satisfying grunt of pain when he connected with the pirate’s knee.

  “What was your plan?” Luc’s forearm tightened, increasing the pressure in Ross’s head. Darkness framed his vision. His body was fighting on its own now, kicking and twisting, just as his mind chanted no, no, no, no, no.

  “Were you going to knock us out and take this ship as your own, young Torres? Think yourself a corsario, do you?”

  “Captain!” called one of the men outside. “Luc, we’ve got incoming!”

  But he was not listening. Ross could feel his fury, his recklessness, soaking through the clothes and skin between them. A potent, black thing that gripped his bones and squeezed them to the point of breaking. Even in the dim reaches of Ross’s mind he understood then why so many had bowed down to Luc Carey. Not because he made the drug they wanted, but because he was more lethal than the storm Ross and Marin had faced on the open sea. He was thunder encased in flesh, and he yearned for death the way Ross yearned
for life.

  “I wanted your father to see this, but maybe this is better. It feels better, doesn’t it?”

  Ross was losing the battle. His body was growing heavy. But he had one last bit of fight left in him, and that fight was all for Marin.

  Inhaling through his nostrils, he braced one foot against the bar, and then shoved back, hard enough for Luc to loosen his grip. With a roar, he spun, swung hard with his locked wrists, and connected with the side of Luc’s head. Luc stumbled to the side, and in that moment, Ross scooped up the black tar and glass shards on the counter in his hands, and threw them in Luc’s face.

  The man screamed, falling back into a chair, and then toppling to the floor. He tried to wipe it from his eyes, from his nose and mouth, but his hands were moving slower.

  The world tilted, fell out of focus. Ross reached for a second bottle. Missed. Reached again. He finally held it, ready to smash it down on Luc’s head, but the pirate didn’t rise. He laid on the ground, eyes open, face splattered with black oily liquid, tongue flicking lazily over his lips for one more taste before it dragged him completely under.

  Feeling his consciousness slipping away, Ross stumbled for the door, tripping over Luc on the way. His hands found the knob, and tried to turn it, but his fingers fumbled, thick and slippery and numb.

  The world was fading, his vision growing blurry. His lungs burned from holding his breath. He slid to his knees, and his arms, still bound, fell slack before him.

  CHAPTER 29

  “THIS IS THE ALLIANCE ARMAMENT.”

  Adam’s voice boomed through the dark, magnified by the ship’s fancy radio. His smooth, Upper Noram accent sounded just like the other Armament sailors Marin had run up against.

  “Was that right?” he asked.

  She nodded, gripping the handle of the knife in the sheath at her hip.

  The Armament boat careened through the dark, pummeling wave after wave as it made a straight line for the oil rig and the two smaller ships attached to its leg. Through a spyglass she’d taken from the control room, Marin scanned the deck of the smaller boat, but saw no one, so she turned her eyes back to her brother’s ship.