Secondborn

“Commander Aslanbek and I are good friends. He understands how important the welfare of this cadet is to me. You can confirm this with whomever you like. Make your contacts. We’ll wait. In the meantime, I want a list of every one of these petty criminals’ names.” He gestures toward Carrick and his men with an easy wave of his hand. Then he reaches into the interior pocket of his long, tailored coat and draws a small silver case from it. He opens it and takes out a slender brown cigar, which he lights. It smells a little bit like burning rose oil.

In a couple of minutes, the lead MP returns. “Our apologies, Exo Salloway. You are free to leave. The Tropo as well.”

“The list?” He looks in the direction of the other soldiers.

“Will be sent to you without delay.”

“Thank you. Have a pleasant evening.” He drops his cigar, stamps it out on the floor in front of them, and offers me his arm. It would be rude not to take it, so I do. We walk together to the nearest heartwood.

As we descend, Clifton says, “You seem to draw a crowd wherever you go.”

“Apparently, I’m the most interesting woman in the world,” I reply.

“You are,” he agrees. “I’m sorry that I haven’t intervened on your behalf before this. It was negligent of me not to have realized what was going on here. I’ve been preoccupied. Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. There’s no reason for you to intervene on my behalf.”

“Oh, but there is, Roselle.”

“I don’t understand, Firstborn Salloway.”

“It’s Clifton. Please, call me Clifton. And I’ll explain, but not here. Has your unit been informed of the attack against the Stone Forest Base? I believe it was right after you left.”

It was before I left, but I reply, “No.”

“Census was destroyed—an explosive beneath the lake flooded the entire place. Took out all of their tunnels.”

I feign alarm. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Some agents were killed, but most survived. They were switching out monikers at the time. They’ve discovered quite a few spies since. The new monikers are impossible to clone. We’ve been uncovering spies and thirdborns masquerading as firstborns. It’s been extremely tedious. I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

“I’m not bored,” I reply. “I didn’t know you could clone a moniker.”

“You can’t anymore. We’ve stepped up the process of switching out monikers on the Base. They should be starting the process here at Twilight soon. It’s only a matter of time before we detect every single traitor in our midst. And then, we’ll move on to the general population.”

“I thought Exos didn’t really work.”

He laughs. “You are adorable.”

I don’t feel adorable. I feel alarmed. The network of thirdborns will be cut down. I try not to think about Dune. He must have found a way to get a new moniker, or they would have just killed him when his was destroyed during the strike against Forge.

Outside, the wind is biting. Clifton puts his gray coat around my shoulders, and we walk to his impressive hovercraft. His hand moves to the small of my back as his driver opens the door for us. I climb in and move over, making room. We fly to a glass Tree very much like the one Clifton occupies at the Stone Forest Base. The driver docks the craft on the edge of the balcony. Clifton gets out and holds the door for me. After we exit, the aircraft slips away to park elsewhere.

Clifton points to mountains along the stunningly beautiful horizon. “Have you been to the Tourmaline Mountains before?” he asks. He reaches into the inner pocket of the coat I’m wearing. It’s such an intimate action. If I move my lips, they would brush his cheek. I don’t.

He steps back and takes a cigar from the case. Before he can reach into his other pocket, I hold out his lighter to him with my injured hand.

“You’re hurt,” he says, taking the cigar from his mouth without lighting it.

“It’s nothing—a small battle wound. I’ll have it taken care of soon.”

He lights his cigar. “I’m extremely rotten at my job,” he says, puffing out a curl of smoke.

“Again, I thought Exos didn’t do anything.”

“Not that job, my other job.”

“You mean as an arms dealer?”

“No, I have another job that interests me far more than that. I’m one of the active members of the Rose Garden Society. It’s a very important position. I wanted to tell you about it before, but you didn’t want to give me private lessons.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?” I tease.

“You hurt more than my feelings. My ego was severely tested.” A genuine smile curves my lips against my better judgment. We walk the balcony, gazing at the canopy of Trees. I try to figure out where my air-barracks is docked.

“You’re just over there,” Clifton says, pointing over my shoulder, his warm breath on my cheek.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s my job to know.”

“Your job as a Rose Gardener?” I reply.

“That’s right.”

“Am I the Rose you’re tending?”

“Let’s just say that it’s in the Rose Garden Society’s best interests that you remain alive.”

“Why would you care? I’m not the heir.”

“Do you know your brother, Roselle?”

“Of course I know Gabriel!”