October 22, my birthday. I’m eighteen years old—an ordinary, unexceptional age. Within both the UE and the IF, the voting age depends on when one is considered an adult by either graduating from high school or passing a test that certifies high school-level academic skills—in my instance, I was considered an adult when I was thirteen. The age of consent is sixteen, and the legal drinking age is twenty.

So yeah, eighteen is a boring number.

I don’t like getting older, which might be a strange thing to feel for someone so young, but I’ve never liked it for as long as I can remember. As far as I’m concerned, getting older means life gets harder. It’s not as though I’m about to achieve newfound independence anytime soon as the MSF’s avant-garde lab rat.

I develop a bad habit where I pull back my fingertip from its nail until I draw blood. The pain doesn’t register in my brain, but whenever I see red, I stop. Huh, it shouldn’t be that easy to pull the skin back—maybe I’ll go see a doctor.

I can’t help but think that Felix could be here right now, rehabilitating beside Timour in the hospital, then later journeying to the UE, where he would live a long, adventurous life. If I hadn’t snuck out that last night on Titan, he’d be alive. But I didn’t fire the gun, and the thought of Huxley still angers me. The DEWs were too kind. We should’ve brought him to Earth and fed him to vultures.

It’s Timour’s penultimate day in the hospital, and I’m about to turn the corner leading to the hospital’s entrance when somebody literally steps in my way. My eyes trail up a pristine IF uniform with an Empirical emblem—a five-pointed star within another five-pointed star—broad shoulders, and Duarte’s cocky face.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he states.

“No, I haven’t.”

A darkness crosses his eyes. “Well, you’ve been spending a lot of hours at that Liansan’s bedside. I don’t recall you coming to mine over the years when I would end up in the medbay.”

Exhaustion perforates my bones. “Let me know the next time you’re tortured to the brink of death, and I’ll think about it. Besides, I didn’t know you cared. I don’t even like you.”

The look he gives me makes me wish I had my drones back. “Well,” he starts with vitriol, “I at least would have expected a ‘thank you’ for saving your life. For saving his life.”

Good point. “Thank you.”

He gnashes his teeth. “I shouldn’t have had to ask for it.”

Alright, you entitled—I fulminate, “What do you want, Duarte?”

Slowly, the lines in his face smooth as he calms down. He swallows, then jerks his head behind him, soliciting, “Come. Take a walk with me.”

His body language suggests he won’t accept “no” as an answer. So despite my burning urge to visit Timour, I relent, suppressing the impulse to whine.

He brings me to the garden on Plato, where agriculturalists grow fresh fruit and vegetables, and botanists study plant life. The food grown here is not nearly enough to sustain Plato’s Keeper population, but it’s a nice place to go when one misses Earth. I notice some purple and orange lilies in the botanical section and head toward them, reminiscing when Thomson gave a bouquet of these to me.

The botanical section is void of people, and the walk has been silent thus far, so I break it, “How did you get assigned to this mission? I was worried they were going to put you on trial for what transpired back on Mars.”

Duarte shrugs, replying, “They had bigger things to stress about, such as needing to find you. I volunteered. My father tried to argue I was too emotionally invested, but the Admiral overruled.”

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That’s too much to unpack currently. I change the subject, “Do you know what will happen to the remaining pirate headquarters? The other factions?”

“No idea. Our mission was to find you, not enter into a war with pirates. Although, if this allegiance with Mars holds, we might join forces. But for now, the task is allocated to another IF division.” He pauses. “What happened on Titan? You were there for months… and when I found you, you had marks all over your body. Did they hurt you?” He tenses. “Did they touch you?”

“Obviously, they touched me, otherwise how could they kidnap me—”

“Stop messing around,” he snaps. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s not your problem, it’s not your business, it’s not your concern. And why does it matter? Do you see me any differently now than you did before?”

His face crumples, like he’s submerged in red-hot coal. “Ailee, no, you know it’s not like that… but of course it matters—”

“I wasn’t raped. Does that help ease your conscience?”

He winces. “There are things other than rape—”

“Right. So unless you want a play-by-play, then I’ll repeat my question: Do you see me any differently now than you did before?”

Shaking his head vigorously, he rasps, “No. No, not at all. Never.”

I take in his earnest eyes and agape mouth, and nod. “Good.”

A minute proceeds in quietude, then his palm smacks a metal table in front of us, hassling plant samples and microscopes. “I’d pay a lot of money to revive those bastards and personally butcher them.”

Feebly, I say, “You and me both,” but I’m not sure that I would. I’m too tired for that.

In a softer tone, he states, “I’ve also seen the way you look at the nish. Do you love him?”

“Why are you asking me this?” I examine Duarte’s features, the symmetrical face sculpted from marble. Physically, he’s very aesthetically pleasing, yet he doesn’t need me to tell him that. He knows. But then I discern the instant he makes up his mind, and the mask of rage shatters into vulnerability, aching, conviction, and—

Oh. Oh no. Please, no.

I start to back away.

“Wait, Ailee—”

I turn around. “No.”

“Please, you have to hear me out.” He grabs my wrist, and I freeze.

“Don’t touch me,” I order.

Disturbed, he lets go. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, but you have to listen to me.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond or refuse. He rushes on, “I never said anything before, because you’re the Admiral’s daughter, and you’re too smart for me, too good for me, and I would be kicked off this ship in a millisecond, flat. But spending those hours believing you were gone, believing I might be too late, I honestly couldn’t give a damn anymore.” His breathing is heavy, and he extends his arms to grasp my hands, but reels them back at the last moment. “I love you, Ailee. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

I don’t know how many eons pass as I stand there, my head shaking, my body shaking, nothing making sense to me. Am I dreaming again? He’s been a bossy asshole since day one; he can’t even tolerate me, and I can’t tolerate him either. Finally, in spite of what’s right in front of me, I state, “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” he snarls. “Our entire IF division knows except for you.”

“You hate me!” I exclaim. “The only reason you’re always around me is because your father ordered you to look after me the day we met!”

“I lied. I said that so others wouldn’t suspect anything, but clearly people knew anyway—you’re just not very observant.”

“Okay, you know what? Screw you.” I start to walk away.

“And I’m certainly not going to give you up to some fascist nish—”

“Call him that again,” I interrupt evenly, turning back around, “and I swear I’ll never speak to you again. You forget who’s half-Liansan.”

“You were born in the United Empires,” he states. “You are Empirical. You out of everyone should know what happens to Liansans who don’t abide by their government completely.” I guess my mother’s story is notorious. He carries on absently, “Although, the Admiral didn’t really help in that department.”

“Why?” I ask dryly. “Because he loved my mother?” Does Duarte think the Admiral is a bad influence on me? Nobody despises the Liansan government more than my father, and he has valid reason to.

Duarte scoffs, “Well, it’s obvious he didn’t, because—” His mouth snaps shut, and his eyes widen.

He’s given away something I shouldn’t have knowledge about. “Because…” I prompt. “Finish what you were going to say.”

He shakes his head once. Hard.

“Please, Duarte.” I’m aware I’ve hit a new low when I challenge, “You love me? Prove it.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his breathing is quavery. What is my father hiding? “Ailee…” Duarte tentatively discloses, “Your father is the one who outed your mother to the Liansan government.”