I’m an idiot. Why did I reveal Timour’s name? While the rational part of my brain reminds me that the pirates have access to a universal face database, I’m still upset that I forgot to keep it together. And what did Felix mean by “save” me? Are we more than just prisoners? Hostages? Is my previous ridiculous guess involving cannibalism still a prospect?

After Felix leaves, I’m once again interrogated—I mean, “interviewed”—by Detective Nupan, and she asks some of the same questions interwoven with new ones. I answer any that don’t incriminate my country, then she and Doctor River escort me back to the ICU. They allow me to use the bathroom, which is incredibly difficult with bound wrists, and when I come out, Detective Nupan’s gone. Doctor River washes my face and brushes out my hair while I sit on my hospital bed like a demoralized baby.

She moves to place the hospital bed shackles around my wrists in place of the handcuffs, and I grab her arm with both hands. “Please, I’m not going anywhere.” I turn to look at the man on the cot next to mine, and her gaze follows.

“Fine. Don’t mess around with those though,” Doctor River acquiesces and nods to my handcuffs. “They’ll inject you with tranquilizers. Also, don’t ask me to remove his.” Timour is still chained to his cot. “You can walk around the room, stretch, but we have cameras on you at all times, so don’t do anything that will make me take your privileges away.”

“Okay,” I say in a small voice.

After she leaves the room, I hop off my bed and begin pacing around the ICU. There are six cots total with various machines and monitors surrounding each. Timour’s is the only cot currently occupied. I pass the door closely a few times, but as I expect, it doesn’t open for me like it does for the pirates.

I try to distract myself with the horror flick currently playing on the big screen, but it’s not as terrifying as my current predicament. I can’t help but dwell on the mistakes I made back on Mars. I should’ve been quicker, stronger, smarter. I should’ve told my father the mission was a bust from the get go. We didn’t have enough time. And now that he thinks I’m dead, will he mourn for me?

No. But he’ll mourn for the Eye. For the failed mission.

Hours pass. I’m on my 248th self-inflicted derogatory remark when someone groans. I instantly perk up and look at the only other person in the room. His eyes blink against the bright lights. “Timour?” I tentatively ask and walk toward his cot.

His hands lift to touch his head, but the shackles inhibit his movement. “Wha—Ailee?”

I relax. He remembers my name. “How do you feel?”

He sits up and leans forward to place a hand on his left temple. He groans again. “My head hurts… I feel… weird.” As his eyes become more clear, he stares at me in confusion. “Ailee?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” I nod, my throat closing slightly. Does he not recognize me? With him sitting up and me standing, we stare at each other eye-to-eye. I wrap my hands around the handlebar on his left and contemplate calling Doctor River to come check on his state.

“Are you alright?” he questions.

It’s my turn to be confused. “I’m fine.” For the most part. “Why?”

“You’re crying.”

I touch my cheek, and when I pull back, my fingers are wet. “Sorry, that always happens. I’m always crying over something.”

“Don’t apologize, I just—” His hand reaches for my face, but the shackles stop it. Timour’s awake enough to notice what’s impeding his actions. “Why am I chained to the bed?” He spots the handcuffs around my wrists. “Hold on.” He examines the room. “This is a Martian ship.” He turns back to me. “We’ve been captured?”

I nod. “Yes, but they’re not Martians. They’re pirates.”

He mumbles something, but I don’t catch it.

“What?”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Nothing. I guess I thought I would be happier to be alive, but…”

“I know what you mean.” Many Keepers would rather be dead than prisoners of pirates.

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His eyebrows furrow. “How did they find us?”

I catch him up with what happened so far along with any information the pirates divulged. I answer “I don’t know” to any questions that are beyond the scope of my knowledge.

“What was the interrogation about?”

“Nothing important. They mostly wanted to know what I did before joining the IF.” I leave out the specifics, including the fact that the lie detector test doesn’t work on me.

“What are they like?”

“The ones I personally met? Detective Nupan seems intelligent but harsh, Doctor River is a clone of Nupan but with more heart, and Felix… is just obnoxious.” I turn to Timour with sharp eyes. “By the way, he told me that I was in your suit when they found us.”

He looks down sheepishly and clenches his jaw.

“Why would you do that?”

He lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine. “Do you really have to ask me that question?”

“What if the pirates hadn’t gotten there in time? What if I had woken up, and you were lying there, dead? I would have spent the next forty-or-so hours staring at your lifeless body!” My stomach turns at the thought, and I regret eating earlier.

“And what about me, Ailee?” he counters. “I told you back on that ship, and I’m telling you now, that I won’t watch you die. Not if I can do something about it. And I was right, no? All it took was a little more time to save your life.”

My tears are no longer flowing out of self-pity but out of anger. The universe needs someone like Timour a great deal more than it needs me. “You took a risk, and it paid off—this time. But next time—”

“Next time I’ll do the same. I’m sorry if I’m hurting your feelings, Ailee, but I’m not going to apologize for my actions. If I hadn’t done what I did, you’d be dead right now.”

I don’t want his apology. I want him to be less altruistic and agree to my terms. “I woke up twelve hours ago…” I begin. “They said you were stable, but I still feared that you’d never wake up. And even if you did regain consciousness… what if you weren’t the same?”

He places his palm on the back of my hand, warm and inviting. “I’m a bit fuzzy, but I’ll be okay. Wouldn’t Doctor River know more about that kind of stuff?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ll call her.” I start to move away, but his grip on my hand tightens.

“Wait, I have a couple more questions. How many pirates are on this ship?”

“I saw about a hundred, but there’s probably a lot more. The crew numbers for a Martian battleship are typically in the thousands.”

“I don’t get it. How can a Martian battleship be taken down by pirates? Where did they find the resources?”

“Maybe the entire Martian ship defected.”

“But the logistics of it… the battleship would have to regularly check in with their base on Mars and be deployed depending on their mission. What has allowed them to operate independently so far?”

“I think the more important question is: Why did so many Martians agree to become pirates in the first place?”

Timour tilts his head to one side and grimaces. “Or what do they want from us, and how do we stay alive?”

* * *

Doctor River arrives a few minutes after I notify her of Timour’s consciousness. Her haphazard hair and eye bags are signs she was interrupted from deep sleep.

“Did I wake you?” I ask anyway.

Doctor River waves my concern away. “This is my job.”

Three pirates holding elecs flank the door, likely to make sure nothing happens when Doctor River unlocks the shackles of an uncomfortable Timour to test his motor functions. She records the results of his ambulation, balance, coordination, strength, and endurance with her tablet. Then, she hands him the tablet to take what I assume is some kind of information processing or memory test. She asks him both impersonal and psychological questions, later instructing him to repeat after her.

An hour passes, and she steps back to stare intensely at her device. By this point, I’m sweating just watching their interaction. “How is he?” I wonder.

Timour dips his head and smiles. Doctor River doesn’t meet my gaze, but she replies, “No impact on any cognitive, physical, or psychological functions that I can see. The brain scans I took earlier show no sign of trauma either. Under different circumstances, I would monitor him for a few weeks for any indication of altered psychological status, but we’ll be docking in thirty-five hours, and Boss makes the final decision on what to do with you two.” She cocks her head toward Timour’s cot. “Back on the bed.”

Timour eyes my handcuffs, clearly observing I’m not chained to a bed, but he doesn’t say anything as he reluctantly climbs onto his cot and allows Doctor River to shackle him in. She switches out his IV bag for a new one. “Can I take these off?” He asks, gesturing to the medical devices connected to him.

“I rather you keep them on,” she responds, “but it should be alright to extract the nasal cannula. After you eat, I’ll remove the rest. Do you have any allergies? Dietary restrictions?”

“Not really, but I don’t drink alcohol.”

Doctor River’s lips twist in amusement. “I’ll be sure to leave that off the menu.” She turns to me. “You should sleep.”

Leaving the room, the three armed pirates trail her. Timour gladly rips out the nasal cannula, and I wander to my cot, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. Now that Timour is alright—for the meantime—I can relax. As I awkwardly climb onto my bed, Timour asks, “Why do you get the fancy ones?” He points to my handcuffs.

I peer at him through sleepy eyes and answer, “You’re leverage. They know that I’m not going to try to escape without you.”

“Ha. As if I’m going anywhere without you.”

Cute. He might not feel that way after being waterboarded.

“Maybe they’ll let us take turns,” is the last thing I say before my head hits the pillow, and darkness invades my vision.