“They’re only letting me stay so they can keep an eye on me,” I grumble. “And they basically said I’m not allowed in the wards. What does that make me then, a prisoner?”
“It wasn’t a threat,” he assures me. “And you’re lucky to be here. There’s a red threat on your head in the wards. You were sentenced to die.” He snorts. “Nice of your boyfriend to allow that to happen, by the way.”
“Cross had nothing to do with it. Travis is in charge now.”
“Mmm-hmm, and I’m sure the captain of Silver Block has no sway at all with his big brother.”
We enter the mess hall, where I find rows of long steel tables gleaming under the bright overhead lighting, lined by metal chairs with low backs. Gray said breakfast is served between seven and ninea.m.It’s nearly nine now, so the room has mostly emptied out, but several people linger over their meals, chatting with one another. Some arespeaking out loud, but I notice a lot of glowing veins in the room, alluding to the telepathic conversations happening all around me.
“I want to give you a proper tour of the Dagger,” Gray is saying. “But it might have to wait until tomorrow. I need to make a few supply runs to the valley today.”
“How do you deal with work assignments here?” I ask curiously.
We approach a long counter laden with covered metal trays and serving utensils, and as we load our plates at each food station, Gray gives me a rundown of how everything works.
Domestic assignments like cooking, laundry, and maintenance are performed by civilians who are flown to the Dagger and then transported back to the valley at the end of their shifts. Tactical jobs are performed by operatives who live on the base, whether it’s intelligence, communications, tech, research. The field operatives, when they’re not out in the wards on missions, are required to be in constant training or working to train others.
“I’m going to try to get you assigned to the shooting range,” he says, ladling a scoop of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
I examine the salad selection. The vegetables look so fresh. Tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, even spinach. In fact, everything beneath the lids of these serving trays looks utterly divine.
“You guys are living in the land of luxury over here,” I accuse. “Doesn’t that make you feel bad when so many Mods have to live in hiding in the wards?”
“We do what we can for them. And they don’t ‘have’ to stay in the wards. Everyone has a choice.”
“Jim and I didn’t get a choice.”
“Of course you did. Kallister offered his brother a post here. Julian Ash chose to settle in Z. Said he wanted to be left the hell alone.”
To protectme,I now realize. Uncle Jim knew what would happen if he brought me to the Dagger. If the Authority found out I was an inciter.
“Any Mod can put in a relocation request,” Gray says. “Whether it’s to the Dagger or to Bramble Base in H.”
“There’s a Mod base in Ward H?” I say in surprise.
“How do you think we get into the Point undetected? Just fly in and land on a Command runway?”
“I assumed we had our own airfields, but I didn’t realize there was an entire ward base. Is it all operatives, or civilians, too?”
“A mixture.” He shrugs. “I stay there sometimes when I’m running an extended op. It’s easier.”
“How do ops work? How do you get assigned to one?”
“No one is assigned to a mission. It’s volunteer only.”
“Really?”
“Yep. When an operation comes up, the Authority gives it to a mission lead. The mission lead will brief everyone, tell you what kind of op we’re dealing with—recon, transport, whatever. The lead only recruits specific operatives if they have a necessary skill, like if we require a sniper or a pilot who can fly one of the bombers. But nobody is ever forced to do something they don’t want to do. You’re not obligated to accept a mission.”
“Has anyone ever chosen not to accept a mission?”
“Doesn’t happen often,” he admits. “Everyone at the Dagger wants to be here. They want to take down the Company.”
“Are you a mission lead?”
That cocky smile returns. “Obviously.”
“How many others are there?”
