They’re already fighting in the main cavern when I walk in. Sean and McBride stand toe to toe, two dozen others crowded around.

“And if they say yes to a trade, and we don’t have her alive?” Sean’s demanding, heated, ready to start shoving. “What then, genius?”

But McBride’s no fool. That’s exactly what he’s hoping will happen. Standing in the doorway, I ache for my sister. She’d know what to say to them. But she’s gone, and it’s left to me.

“We can’t kill her.” I stay in the doorway, fists clenched. “There are people here who have family in town. The last thing we need is for things to get worse, for the trodairí to start using them against us. We don’t want to break the ceasefire.”

McBride’s gotten himself mostly under control again, but his gaze when it swings around to me carries murder in it. If he hated me before for not being my sister, he despises me now for standing between him and the trodaire.

“What use is a ceasefire when we’re dying out here anyway?” He turns away from Sean, and the ring of onlookers parts so he can pace away a few steps. “How has our situation gotten any better in the last ten years? We never should have shied away from direct action.”

“This isn’t just any prisoner,” I point out, forcing my voice to stay low. “She’s Captain Lee Chase. Until we know what they’ll trade for her, we have to wait.”

“They won’t trade.” McBride’s voice is heavy with cold certainty, and I see more than a few heads nodding in response. “They’d rather see her dead than us getting what we ask for.”

“You don’t know that for sure. We’ve never had an officer captured alive. We’ve never tried this.” I step forward and they part for me, letting me walk toward him. “What if they’ll trade medical supplies, or send back prisoners? Kill her now and we lose those options.”

“Always dreaming. They’re not your friends, Cormac, they never will be. The trodairí are TerraDyn’s lackeys, and TerraDyn wants to hide Avon’s pain, their failure, from the rest of the galaxy. Nobody’s coming to help us. We have to help ourselves.”

“And we will, by…” My voice dies in my throat. Behind him I can see Martha in the doorway, and I know she’s come from the radio room. The tight lines around her mouth speak for her. One by one, the others follow my gaze, and she waits until silence has fallen. There’s an apology in her eyes when she looks at me, but she can’t change her message.

“Well?” McBride’s voice is rough. “What did they say?”

My gut twists, and all the aches and pains and exhaustion of the last day come rushing back at me, so I barely hear her reply.

“We don’t negotiate with rebels.”

One of her eyes is swelling shut, and the rise and fall of her broken ribs is painfully shallow. She’s awake when I ease open the door, but she doesn’t speak. I push it closed and cross over to sink down beside her on the stone floor. Her shirt is wet with blood where the wound in her side has opened up again.

My heart thuds as we stare at each other. The wispfire growing all over the ceiling washes her skin with blue-green light. Her dark eyes are wary, but not afraid. I’m beginning to think she doesn’t have that in her. “We’re keeping this door locked.” I break the silence, my voice rusty. “I’ve got the key, and I’m going to keep it with me at all times. That shouldn’t have happened.”

She shifts, trying to sit up a little straighter where she’s leaning against the wall, but says nothing in return. If she’s relieved, she doesn’t show it, gaze skittering away from mine to fix on the door. “You called him McBride.” Her own voice is hoarse.

I flinch. “Yes.” And I know why she’s asking. McBride’s been at the top of TerraDyn’s most-wanted list for the last decade. To someone like Jubilee, getting her hands on him would be like…well, like us getting our hands on her.

“He’s got one of our guns.”

“He likes the poetry of it.” Killing soldiers with their own weapons.

She speaks through clenched teeth. “He’s mad.”

No kidding, I want to say. Instead I stay silent, reaching for the meager first aid supplies I’ve brought with me. She flinches when I reach for the bottom of her shirt, but she lets me ease the bloodstained fabric up and away from her skin. The gash my bullet made when it grazed her side is oozing, and above it I can see the beginnings of the sharp, dramatic bruising across her ribs. I wish I’d brought a lantern, but I don’t want anyone to catch me using our precious first aid supplies on a trodaire. Safer to work by the dim blue light of the wispfire. I clean the worst of the blood away with a boiled rag, then reach for a small tin in the first aid kit.

“What’s that?” There’s an edge to her voice as I prize the lid free and sniff the brown muck inside to test its freshness.

“Microbiotic mud from TerraDyn’s seeding tanks.” I’m trying to concentrate on the wound, and not Jubilee’s bare stomach as I run my fingers across her skin and test for the heat of infection.

“Mud.” Dubiousness cuts through the pain in her voice; she’s eyeing me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Her face is flushed—with anger, no doubt, or pain.

I pull my hand away and scoop out some of our makeshift antiseptic. “Mud,” I echo. “It’ll help keep infection away.” I carefully start to smooth it over the wound as she flinches and hisses with pain. Her skin twitches under my touch, and when I glance up, she’s staring intently at the ceiling with her lip caught between her teeth.

“The light,” she says finally, voice tense with pain, but softer now. “How do you do that?” Her eyes are on the bioluminescence lighting the cavern.

Though her face betrays little except that she’s braced against my ministrations, her gaze is softening, eyes sweeping across the ceiling with something like wonder. In this moment she could be one of us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an outsider admire any part of Avon before.

“It’s a kind of mushroom or fungus,” I say, trying to focus on what I’m doing; it’s hard not to watch her face. “We’ve always called it wispfire.”

She’s silent for a long time. “It’s like a nebula,” she murmurs, almost to herself. I risk another glance at her, and though her eyes are glazed a little with pain, she’s still gazing upward.