Tom felt a terrible spike of unease, Lyla’s words still burning in his ears. Oh no. If Olivia tried to check on how he was faring or something, it would kill him. Lyla would laugh and laugh.

Luckily, Olivia didn’t single him out. “I heard what happened. Are you all okay?”

Murmurs carried through the room, everyone affirming they were fine. Tom said it very vehemently, hoping she’d get the message.

Her dark eyes found Tom’s, and he could tell from something in her face that she might get it, after all. She made no move to draw toward any one of them, merely stood there and began explaining in her soft, firm voice that Lieutenant Blackburn was under orders to consult her regarding any activity with the census device. Not only that, but they did have the right to opt out of a memory scan.

“No matter what anyone may tell you, they cannot force this intrusion on you,” she concluded, an edge to her voice. “It is against the law, and if you tell me you want to opt out, I’ll make sure you’re allowed to do so.”

But no one spoke up. No one wanted to be the pansy who couldn’t face the census device like everyone else, least of all Tom. Then the door to the Census Chamber slid open, and Lyla was called inside. Vik was next.

Olivia had brought them some sodas, so Tom took one and sipped it, glad for something to do with his hands. Then it was Vik’s turn, and all pretense of levity vanished from the room with him. Tom couldn’t take his eyes off the door. He was vaguely aware of Olivia sinking down into the seat next to his.

Then the soldier came for Jennifer, and said, “Raines, you’re going after her.”

Jennifer left, and Tom’s focus narrowed into a tiny window in the center of his vision, his heart thumping harder and harder in his ears. It would be fine. It would be. It would have to be. It wouldn’t be like the last time. Blackburn would stop this time. He had to stop this time.

He felt Olivia’s hand gently grip his shoulder, and the shock of physical contact was enough to break the frantic spiral of his thoughts. He realized that his hands were shaking where they gripped the aluminum can.

He saw the softness on her face, the understanding in her eyes. Her other hand began stroking his back. It made his stomach clench and his throat grow tight, realizing she knew what he was feeling but didn’t see him as some sort of coward. She understood. A constriction loosened around his chest, an incredible weight sliding off his shoulders. Need welled up deep from the core of his being, along with a crushing sense of gratitude that she’d come here, that she was staying.

And then he felt the blare of Wyatt’s gaze on them and remembered that she was there, seeing this. Heat stole into his face. What was wrong with him?

“I’m okay,” Tom said, edging himself away from Olivia until he hung off the edge of the bench. “I’m good.”

“You can opt out,” Olivia said softly, her eyes intent. “You don’t have to do this.”

Tom’s gaze skittered over to Wyatt’s, then danced away. “Nah.” He laughed again. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

Despite his words, his instincts were screaming at him when he stepped inside the Census Chamber and found Blackburn facing the screen, the projected light of the census device on his back, casting a dark silhouette against the larger screen. Tom’s eyes found the metal claw looming threateningly over the seat, the one he’d been tied to for two days, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from those straps hanging from the chair.

“Raines.”

Tom jumped. He faced Blackburn in the shadowed chamber, his blood roaring in his ears.

Blackburn considered him for a long moment. Then, “Did you see anything that can’t go into an official record?”

Tom blinked.

“Well?”

“Uh, what?”

“All this footage”—Blackburn jabbed his thumb toward the census device—“will be reviewed by external auditors. Not just me. Did you see anything that you can’t afford to show to anyone other than me?” There was an intensity in his voice, and Tom finally understood what he was asking.

“Uh, yes. Sir. There’s something.”

“What?” There was a frightening light in Blackburn’s eyes.

Tom drew back a step. He looked uneasily up at the census device.

“Raines, I can’t use the census device on you if there is something others can’t see. That means you need to tell me with words what you saw on that fly-along.”

Wait. So this meant . . . Wow. This time, his strange ability with machines was actually his defense. Relief crashed over him in a giddy wave.

“Yeah. I saw something. Sort of.” The words tumbled out of him; he feared Blackburn’s offer might disappear if he didn’t tell him everything quickly. “I know there was someone with a neural processor behind it. The processor was controlling the ships remotely. I don’t know who it was, or where they were doing it from. I didn’t get a chance to look into it, really, before we got crushed. I know that a third neural processor was interfacing with the ship somehow. Not mine. Not Heather’s. Someone else’s. I felt it.”

Blackburn rubbed his big palm over his mouth.

“That’s it,” Tom said lamely. “Sir.”

Blackburn turned his back to him and began gazing at a frozen image on the screen—the view from Snowden and Jennifer’s ship as it plummeted into Jupiter. Then he crossed the room to the cell and rapped on the door. Olivia Ossare emerged, hostility prickling in the air as her dark-eyed gaze clashed with Blackburn’s. The two of them had been on bad terms ever since Blackburn broke into her office with his men to seize Tom.

“You’re right.” Blackburn’s gaze skirted over her briefly before flicking away. “It’s too soon, and the kid’s anxious. He’s opting out. You win. Now get him out of my sight.”

Olivia didn’t say a word and brushed past Blackburn, stepping toward Tom. “Would you like to head upstairs with me?”

Tom gazed past her into the cell, its lone occupant Wyatt Enslow, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. He flushed, his relief at his reprieve somewhat dampened by the sheer surge of humiliation he felt, knowing she’d heard all this.

“Yeah,” Tom mumbled. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

VIK TOOK TOM’S mind from the Census Chamber that evening before dinner, when they sneaked into Hannibal Division to await Wyatt’s return to her bunk. If Wyatt hadn’t been so busy the last few hours, helping around the Pentagonal Spire while Blackburn searched for the cause of the hijacking (and fended off inquiries about his competence at his job), then perhaps she might have noticed what Vik was up to sooner.

But she hadn’t noticed, so Vik pulled it off.

Tom made a show of shielding his eyes as they stepped inside, because every surface of Wyatt’s bunk was now filled with pictures of Vik: Vik shirtless and flexing his muscles; Vik pointing and winking at a camera; a graphic of Vik flexing one pec, then another very rapidly with a big cheesy grin on his face; a giant marble statue of Vik holding his arms up in the air like some mad dictator. After showing off his handiwork, Vik and Tom leaned against the wall around the bend in the corridor to await her return.

Within minutes, Wyatt strolled into her bunk. A resounding shriek split the air. Tom and Vik collapsed to the floor, convulsing in laughter. They heard rapid footsteps beating toward them. They tore to their feet and dashed out of Hannibal Division, then collapsed in the Middles’ common room.