THE LAST TIME CHATINE HAD seen Laterre from space, she was leaving it behind. Heading toward Bastille to serve a twenty-five-year sentence. Now, as the strange Défecteur man’s even stranger ship surged through space, and she saw the giant white-and-gray planet looming in front of them, Chatine felt a curious sense of peace. She was going back. She was going home.
And she was going to find her brother.
The pilote eased his hand off the contrôleur and flipped a switch on the console.
“Autopilote engaged,” the breathy voice of the ship announced.
“Okay,” he said, swiveling his capitaine’s chair around to face Chatine, who was still strapped into the jump seat, her injured leg extended out in front of her. “Lives saved. Autopilote engaged. Now for pleasantries.” He held out his fist like he was going to punch Chatine in the face. She ducked out of striking distance.
The young man laughed. “Oh. Right, sorry. I keep forgetting you don’t do this.” He nodded toward his fist. “We tap to say hello. Well, Maman likes to kiss on the lips, but I won’t do that to you.”
Chatine instantly felt her cheeks flush with heat and berated herself for it. She’d learned her lesson about blushing for pretty-faced boys. And although this boy was decidedly rougher-looking than Marcellus—with shabbier clothes, short braided hair, and a scoundrel’s smile—his face was definitely still pretty.
He extended his closed fist forward. “I’m Etienne.”
Chatine remained silent.
“And you are?” he prompted slowly.
“Oh. Um, my name is …” A rush of exhilaration shot through her at the endless possibilities. This was her chance. Her chance to reinvent herself again. To become someone completely new. Without a past. Without a criminal record. Without a heart that had been shattered by a pair of dark hazel eyes. But, as countless new names and identities filtered through her mind, she found herself feeling not inspired, but exhausted. She’d been someone else for so long—Théo, the Fret rat; prisoner 5.1.5.6.2.—she found herself actually wondering what it would be like to simply say …
“Chatine,” she whispered. And once it was out, she was grateful that she couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t change her mind. This is who she had to be now.
Chatine, the sister of Henri and Azelle.
Etienne tilted his head, as though he were listening for something. “Chatine,” he repeated and Chatine felt like she was hearing her name for the first time. “Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair before finally deciding. “I like it.”
She scoffed. “Well, thanks. I’m so glad you approve.”
“Okay. Let me show you how it’s done.” Etienne proffered his fist again. “Make a fist like this.”
She did as she was told, but she kept it close to her body and Etienne had to lean forward—nearly falling out of his chair—to tap his fist against hers. He pushed himself back with a dramatic grunt. “Okay, we’ll work on the extension part later. In the meantime”—he spread his arms wide—“welcome aboard Marilyn!”
Chatine rolled her eyes. “I just told you my name is Chatine.”
He shook his head. “No, not ‘welcome aboard, Marilyn.’ ” He pointed to Chatine and then gestured grandly again to the interior of the ship. “Welcome aboard Marilyn.”
Chatine stared blankly back at him.
His arms collapsed. “The ship is named Marilyn.”
“You named your ship?”
“Of course I named my ship.”
“Who names their ship?”
“Everyone names their ship.”
“I don’t think everyone names their ship.”
Etienne crossed his arms over his chest in a challenge. “Oh really? You know a lot of people with ships?”
“Well, I definitely didn’t know Défecteurs had ships.” Chatine was still trying to wrap her mind around that part.
The man quirked his lips into a knowing smile. “What did you think? We just hold hands, sing songs, and eat wood chips all day?”
Chatine bowed her head, feeling heat warm her cheeks. “No.”
“Sure, sure,” the man said. “I know what you gridders think of us.”
Chatine’s head whipped up. “Excuse me? What did you just call me?”
“A gridder. Someone who lives on the Regime’s grid. Watches all the Ministère broadcasts and Universal Alerts with wide, hopeful eyes. Buys into the whole three-Estates-divided-by-nature thing. Prays to win the Ascension. Plays by the rules—”
“Whoa. Whoa. I do not play by their rules.”
He looked her up and down, taking in her blue prison uniform. “Fine. But you’re still a slave to that.” He pointed to her Skin, which was still covered by the giant metal cuff he’d insisted she put on to block the tracker.
Embarrassed, Chatine hid her hand behind her back as she stole a glance at Etienne’s left arm. There was nothing there but smooth, untarnished flesh. Not even a scar. A Défecteur born outside the Regime. Outside the cruel laws of the Ministère.
“That’s not fair,” she said. “They implanted this thing in me when I was a child. I didn’t have a choice. Besides, you don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re gullible enough to believe what the Regime wants you to believe about us.” Chatine opened her mouth to argue, but the man interrupted her once more. “What was it you called me again? A Défecteur? Now, let me see, who came up with that word?”
She crossed her arms. “Fine. What do you call yourselves?”
The man smiled, clearly enjoying the question. “Well, we don’t really like labels. We’re more of a you-be-you type of people.”
Chatine snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“But,” he went on, ignoring her snide remark, “if I had to pick, I would say you could call us”—he began to count on his fingers—“renegades, bon vivants, zealous nonconformists.”
Chatine fought hard not to roll her eyes. “Or … how about … I don’t know … Défecteurs?”
Annoyance flashed across the young man’s chiseled features before he quickly composed himself.
“It’s as good of a name as Marilyn,” Chatine jabbed.
“What wrong with Marilyn?” The pilote was clearly insulted.
“It’s …” Chatine searched for the right word. “I don’t know, kind of stupide.”
Etienne made a choking sound and pounded his fist against his chest as though trying to dispel something caught there. “Marilyn happens to be a very beloved name on the First World.”
Chatine unfastened her harness and, with effort, pushed herself to standing and limped over to the console. She gazed out at the view of her home planet growing closer. “Oh, right, I forgot you people have an obsession with the First World.”
Etienne twisted his mouth to the side. “I wouldn’t call it an obsession. I’d say it’s more of an appreciation. There were a lot of things they did well on the First World.”
“The First World died,” Chatine reminded him. “In a fiery explosion. Of their own making.”
“Okay,” Etienne allowed. “So, they didn’t do everything well. But there were some beliefs and traditions held by different people on the First World that we happen to like upholding.”
Chatine glanced back over her shoulder. “Like eating wood chips?”
He snickered. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. With a little salt, they’re pretty tasty.”
Chatine allowed herself a chuckle. “Well, I have to say Marilyn is …”
Etienne leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Yes?”
“Interesting,” she finished with a smirk.
Etienne considered. “Interesting good or interesting bad?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it, that’s for sure.”
“That’s because she’s one of a kind.”
“Hmm.” Chatine reached out and ran her fingertips lightly across the console.
Etienne hastily shooed her away. “Whoa, whoa. Time to set some ground rules. Rule number one: Only I touch the controls, okay?”
Chatine theatrically tucked her hands into her armpits. “And rule number two?”
“There is no rule number two. There doesn’t have to be. Because rule number one is everything. Marilyn is my ship. I am the only one allowed to fly her. And you don’t touch anything unless I tell you to. Understood?”
Chatine intentionally ignored the question. “What class of ship is this, anyway?”
Etienne folded his hands contentedly on his lap. “There is no class. Like I said, she’s one of a kind. The only one. My own invention.”
“Wait a minute, you built this ship yourself?”
Etienne opened his mouth to reply but then seemed to think better of it. “You know what? I’ve told you too much already. And you don’t exactly strike me as a super trustworthy type of person.”
Chatine gasped in mock offense. “Me? I’m completely trustworthy.”
Etienne spun around and faced out the front window, adjusting a few dials.
“So, you built this ship yourself, huh?” Chatine sidled casually up to the console. “And it actually flies?”
Etienne flashed her another warning look. “It has excellent ejection capabilities as well, in case you want to test out that feature.”
She smirked. “That’s okay. I trust you.”
He sneered at her obvious jab. “Good. Because Maman says trust is the building block of all good relationships.”
Chatine instinctively backed away from his chair. “Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. We don’t have a relationship. Good or otherwise.”
Etienne exploded in laughter. “Wow. Your buttons are, like, displayed right across your face.”
Confused, Chatine glared. “What buttons?”
He gestured to the series of colored dials and switches on his console. “You know, your push buttons. Your hot spots. You press them and bam!” He slammed his palm down. “Instant outrage.” He looked up at Chatine’s face, squinting as though he were searching for something. “Hmm. Let’s see here. I bet you have an auto-engage disgust lever somewhere on there too.”
Chatine felt every ounce of fluid in her body start to boil. And she did not like the feeling of this guy scrutinizing her face. She turned away with a grunt. “Shut up.”
“Wow. That one was even easier to find than I thought.”
She bristled. This Défecteur was really starting to grate her nerves. “So, how did you get involved in a mission to break out Citizen Rousseau? Do you work for the Vangarde or something?”
“We don’t work for anyone,” Etienne said sharply. “And I’m not telling you anything else.”
“So, they blackmailed you?”
The pilote turned back around, clearly attempting to ignore her. Chatine flicked her gaze over the controls, selecting one at random. “Hmm. What does this one do?”
Etienne dove toward her hand and smacked it away. “Fine. The Vangarde hired us for the mission. Sometimes we offer our services for a price. Happy?”
Chatine thought about Roche, who was also Henri, who was also on that other ship with Citizen Rousseau.
“How many ships were there on the mission?”
Etienne pressed his lips together. Chatine reached for another switch on the console.
“Okay!” he shouted in surrender. “There were two. Two ships. The primary-extraction ship and the bounty ship.” He jabbed his thumbs at his chest. “That would be me. Now stop trying to touch things.”
“Bounty? What bounty?”
With a relenting sigh, Etienne punched a button on the console, and one of the monitors flickered to life, displaying a view of a small, darkened cargo hold full of metal shelves and steel lockers. Strapped into one of the shelves, Chatine could make out a row of clear boxes, stacked to their lids with blocs of a glowing blue metal she knew all too well.
Her mouth fell open. “You stole zyttrium from Bastille?”
“Like I said. We offer our services for a price.”
Chatine’s mind churned. What did the Défecteurs want with zyttrium? They obviously weren’t in the business of making Skins.
“So, the other ship.” Chatine refocused her thoughts. “You know the person flying it?”
“Yes. Faustine. She’s a friend of mine. A fine pilote, too.”
“Then, you know where the ship is going?”
“Nope,” Etienne said, and when Chatine extended her hand toward a large blue dial, he swiped it away and cried, “I swear! I don’t know. The Vangarde didn’t give us the location up front. We were just ordered to fly their operatives to Bastille, pick up their precious cargo, and fly back to Laterre. We were told they would direct the extraction ship to a destination once the cargo was aboard.”
“By cargo, you mean Citizen Rousseau, right?” Chatine asked.
“Yeah, sure, whoever. Don’t know. Don’t care. We try not to get involved with matters of the Regime.”
“But isn’t that exactly what you just did? Get involved? I mean, breaking out Citizen Rousseau is an act of war against the Regime.”
“Maybe for them. But for us, it was a simple business deal.” He tapped on the view of the cargo hold.
“So you’re mercenaries?”
Etienne cocked his head, looking unsettled. “No. We try to keep to ourselves most of the time. Until we need something that we can’t make or grow ourselves—like zyttrium—and then we sell our services.”
“That’s a mercenary.”
“And here we go again with the labels. What’s up with that?”
“You’re the one who called me a gridder.”
“That’s …”—he hesitated, quirking his lips—“… different.”
“Uh-huh. So you have no idea where the other ship is going?”
“Not a clue.”
“Can’t you AirLink them or something?”
“We don’t do AirLinks. And the Vangarde specifically requested no communication. As an extra precaution.”
Chatine felt frustration swell in her chest. “But I need to know. My brother is on that ship.”
A chill splintered through her at the sound of that word. It was the first time she’d said it aloud in years.
My brother.
My brother.
Etienne shrugged. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
With a huff, Chatine turned her gaze out the window, checking to see how far away from Laterre they were. Once they landed, she would just have to go looking for Henri herself. She knew where the Vangarde base was. She’d found it just before she was sent to Bastille. She would start there. And she would not stop until she found him again.
“When are we landing?” she asked.
Etienne swiveled his chair back toward the control console and glanced at one of the monitors. “One minute until atmosphere break.”
“Great,” Chatine said tightly.
Etienne jabbed at a switch on the console.
“Autopilote disabled,” the ship said.
Etienne took hold of the throttle and yanked it back. The engines made a hiccupping noise and then roared to life. Grabbing the contrôleur, he began to steer the ship down toward the great blanket of clouds that encompassed Laterre. As they descended, the ship’s dials and switches wobbled in their plates and the small metal cabinets built into the cockpit’s hull rattled like a mouthful of loose teeth.
Hobbling as fast as she could back to her seat, Chatine quickly buckled her restraints and stared out at the approaching planet. The clouds came closer and closer until, with a slam and judder, the ship was diving into them. Through them. White and gray consumed every window while the engines whinnied and revved under their seats.
And then, in a burst of light and rain, she was back. Back beneath the canopy of clouds and soaring above a vast, dark ocean.
The Secana Sea, Chatine thought, a bubble of nostalgia rising up inside of her.
She’d only been gone from Laterre for two weeks. She couldn’t believe she’d actually missed it, but she had.
Chatine stared out the cockpit window as Etienne guided the ship over swells of choppy water that seemed to go on forever. Morning had just started to push its way through the night, and the ocean was beginning to glimmer and brighten. Before long, Chatine could see land coming into view. She spotted the vast green mass of the Forest Verdure first. A seemingly endless expanse of trees, hugging every hill and mountain, with the lumber town of Bûcheron almost hidden at its center. To the left, she saw the Frets, huddled around each other like a group of rusting beasts at a watering hole. And, off in the distance, Chatine could see Ledôme up on its hill, twinkling and glowing amid the heavy dawn mist.
Vallonay, she thought to herself.
She’d made it.
She grabbed hold of her seat restraints, bracing herself for another sharp turn. But then, a second later, she realized that the ship was not banking. It was not even slowing. Etienne continued to fly over the trees, past the Frets, Ledôme, and the low-lying ferme-lands.
“Where are we going?” Chatine asked warily.
Etienne shook his head. “Sorry. Can’t tell you. Top secret.” He leaned over, opened one of the metal cabinets next to Chatine, and pulled out a long strip of fabric. “Which reminds me, you’ll have to put this blindfold on.”
“What? No.”
“Those are the rules.”
“I thought there was only one rule.”
“Which you’ve already broken, like, three times.”
Chatine let out an exasperated sigh. “Just drop me off in Vallonay, please.”
This made Etienne cackle. “Sure, right, right. Me, a member of a community that the Ministère doesn’t even know exists, I’ll just land my ship, which the Ministère doesn’t know I have, in the middle of Laterre’s capital. Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
Chatine threw up her hands. “I thought this ship had stealth mode.”
“Yeah, stealth mode. Not stupidity override mode.”
“Well, then just drop me off at the edge of the city. In the Forest Verdure or something. I’ll find my way back.”
“Brilliant plan,” Etienne commended, steering the ship into a sharp left turn. “Now, tell me, will you be walking on that wounded leg of yours? Or crawling? Just wondering.”
Chatine balled her fists, trying to keep her temper under control. “I have to find him!”
“Look,” Etienne said, his voice softening with what sounded like sympathy. “We’re nearly there. As soon as the other ship gets back, you can ask Faustine about your brother, okay?”
Chatine froze, a debilitating shiver running down her spine. “Nearly where?”
“Just put on the blindfold please so I can land.”
“Still don’t trust me, huh?”
“Trust is a two-way street, Gridder.”
With a grunt, Chatine snatched the fabric from Etienne and tied it around the back of her head. She could feel Etienne’s hand waving in front of her face. “I can’t see anything,” she muttered.
A moment later, Chatine felt a familiar tug in her stomach. The pressure building behind her ears, threatening to pop. They were descending.
“Where are you taking me?” Chatine asked.
“To the camp.”
“A Défecteur camp?” she screeched.
The pilote huffed at the word but ignored her.
With the blindfold on, Chatine felt vulnerable and disoriented. She had a hard time tracking the ship’s sharp turns and deceleration. Then, finally, the engine settled into a low hum and Etienne removed the fabric from her eyes.
Desperately, Chatine searched the horizon for any sign of civilization, but there was nothing in front of them, behind them, or to either side of them except vast stretches of ice and frozen grass, punctuated by craggy outcrops of rock.
“Um,” she said anxiously, glancing around at the unforgiving landscape, “This is the Terrain Perdu.”
Etienne shrugged, as though this were an insignificant detail. As though it weren’t a well-known fact that no one had ever survived a single night out here in this frozen tundra.
“You call it the Terrain Perdu,” he said nonchalantly. “We just call it home.”