“Would not get far enough away fast enough. We’d be caught in the blast. And if not, Max certainly wouldn’t hesitate to order us shot down. He’s in a Striker military vessel. Their gunner could sneeze wrong and eliminate us.”
“Your little sniffer, then,” he argues.
“We took parts from the LINA to make this ship work,” I say. “And even if we could get her back together, then we’ve got the same problem. The LINA has no weapons, no defenses. And that’s assuming we can get to her. There are three security teams on theAurora. At least one of them is likely still in the cargo bay with the LINA.” Searching for the device or sending over the token remains of the chosenAurorapassengers to back up Max’s story. “I’m pretty sure they’ve got orders to keep us on board by any means necessary.” Gunshot wounds would be easier to explain, assuming there’d be enough of our bodies to be found, than allowing our escape.
Reed opens his mouth again, but I cut him off. “I don’t like this any more than you do. But the truth is: We. Are. Screwed,” I say, carefully emphasizing each word. “The only way we’re getting off this ship is when they blow it open.”
And a small part of me—maybe that same part of me that was tempted to unhook myself from the safety tether on that last commweb beacon—is relieved. It’s over. All my choices, good, bad, or otherwise, have been taken from me.
Yes, Verux is an air-thieving, immoral, and inhumane collection of human waste. And the very thought of them getting away with this makes my blood bubble like we’re in too-close orbit around the sun. But there’s nothing I can do. When the odds are stacked this high against you, you take the peace you can find. Right?
Suddenly, though, the thought of space forever isn’t nearly asappealing as it once was. My skin feels too tight against me, as though it’s pressing for me to do something, anything, to survive. I ignore it.
Reed stands there for a long moment, staring at me.
I wonder if this is the first time that his family name hasn’t rescued him. The first time in his life that something larger and outside of his control decided to take a crap on his existence.
Then he turns abruptly and bobbles his way over to the door, where he pounds on the smooth surface with his fists. “Hey!” he shouts. “Hello! If you can hear me, I will pay you to get me out! I’ll pay youmore.”
So, I guess that’s a yes. In spite of everything, I roll my eyes.
Kane squeezes my hand, pulling my attention back to him. “Isabelle?”
I hesitate for a second, not sure if he’s talking to a vision of her or asking me. After a moment, though, it’s clear he’s focused on me and the present moment. For now anyway.
“I think I saw her,” I say. “If it was her, she’s okay.” I don’t tell him that the girl I saw was among the protestors—seemingly with her mother, his ex—those demanding answers for this disaster we’ve found ourselves in. He doesn’t need to think of her that way. Unhappy, seeking a resolution that will likely never come. At least, not in the form she and her mother are probably hoping for.
Kane nods and relaxes, calmly, quietly accepting his fate. His loss. In reality, he likely accepted the fact that he would never see his daughter again weeks ago, having given up on a rescue or my return. But this, somehow, feels more final.
And his acceptance crawls beneath my skin like an itch that can’t be soothed away. Kane, who gave up so much to provide for his child, has been beaten. Weeks alone, in starvation conditions, in sanity-straining conditions, and he survived. Now, when home is so close at hand, just a ship away, it’s all over for him. For Isabelle.
Another child who will never see her parent again, who will haveno grave to visit. Only an empty and meaningless hunk of marble with his name carved in it, sitting in a blandly pretty park on Earth somewhere.
Fury flickers, catching once again on all the dry tinder Max has provided. It’s one thing for me to surrender to the inevitable, but for Kane to do it, for him to have been broken, for me to have played a role in breaking him… that’s wrong. Just wrong.
Restless energy floods me, wiping away my bland retreat and replacing it with the need for motion. For action.
Releasing Kane’s hand, I stand.
He looks up at me, hope and confusion warring in his expression.
I grit my teeth, pacing a couple of hobbling steps, back and forth. This is ridiculous. Pointless, even. It’s impossible. Exactly as I laid out to Reed. Even if we can get out of this room, taking an escape pod would only grant us a few extra minutes, maybe an hour, of life. Same with the LINA.
The only ship that’s safe from fucking Max is the one he’s on.
I freeze, an idea dancing at the edge of my thoughts. I creep up on it slowly, afraid of chasing it away.
The ship Max is on. All by himself. With a skeleton crew. He’s far less protected than theAuroraat the moment.
In my head, I see the bridge over the gap between theAuroraand theAres.
Getting across, if the bridge is still in place, would be possible. And if they’re sending bodies and equipment back across… the bridge has not been retracted yet. Theoretically. And in our suits—assuming we can find a matching one for Kane—we don’t look that much different from the security teams.
If we can get back to theAres,we might actually have a chance.
But that doesn’t solve our problem. Problems, plural. Getting out of this room is job one. After that, it would be about getting across the bridge without being stopped by one or more of the security teams. And that’s assuming we can do those things before they findthe device they’re searching for or Max decides to call it quits and move on to the next phase, i.e., blowing us up.
If only there were a way to distract them, slow them down…
