“None of them were in their right minds,” I point out. “Whatever affected us, I think it affected them, too.”
Stunned silence hangs for a moment, then Reed laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “This is just a last-ditch attempt to bolster your fictional account by dragging others into it. If some mysterious event happened to theAuroraofficers first, then clearly you can’t be at fault for what happened to your crew—”
“What exactly do you think happened on theAurora?” I demand, sitting forward. “How do you think all those people ended up dead and floating around the atrium with the environmentals shut off? Even if someone else, a random passenger, killed Gerard and Wallace, how would that person have had access to essential ship systems? To the helm?”
Reed’s mouth works for a second before any sound comes out. “Well, that’s not… we don’t have enough information—” he blusters.
“You don’t have shit,” I say, patience evaporating. “Twenty-plus years of nothing on theAurora. You guys couldn’t find it, we did. And that’s why I’m trying to tell you what happened. Something is wrong on that ship, and it was wrongbeforewe got there.” I jab a finger in Reed’s direction for emphasis with the last of my energy.
I sit back in my chair, feeling so very tired and ancient, like my bones might turn to dust at any point in the next few minutes. “You need to make up your mind whether you think I’m crazy or a liar,” I say to Reed. “Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. Just tell me the ship’s course heading and if you’ve heard from anyone on board.”
A silent exchange passes between Max and Reed. “You should continue, Claire,” Max says, after a moment. “We’re listening.”
“Max,” Reed objects.
The older man glares at him. “We’relistening,” he says, this time more to Reed than me. “No more interruptions.”
Behind Max, Voller appears, a shimmering spot against the wall before he takes full form. His T-shirt, one of his favorites, readsSUSPICIOUS PACKAGEin big letters, with an arrow pointing down to his crotch. Voller smirks at me, giving me a mock salute. Then I see the drill in his other hand, and I look away swiftly before helifts it to his temple. Again. It’s always the same with Voller. I don’t know why.
The spatter of blood sounds like rain. Not the light, even rhythm, programmed for exact distribution and soil absorption, that I remember from my childhood at Ferris Outpost. This is something wilder.
I let the silence hang, trying not to stare at the spreading pool of blood on the floor. It’s creeping slowly toward Max’s worn leather shoes.
“Fine,” I say finally. I don’t know how to tell them so they’ll believe me, but it only gets worse from here.
10
THEN
The tiny galley area on the LINA was never meant as a gathering place. It’s just a slightly wider area of corridor with a sink and a food rehydrator and a suggestion of a table in a hinged flat surface that unlatches from the back wall. On poker nights, the four of them would gather and wedge themselves in around the table, even Nysus drawn out by the prospect of entertainment or, more likely, the chance to improve his card-counting skills.
The three of us—Lourdes, Kane, and I—standing at the threshold of the galley is about two too many in this space, especially with the emergency beacon on the floor taking up valuable real estate, but I’m not complaining. The door is closed, the airlock is sealed, and while we’re still technically on board theAurora,it feels a lot safer in here than out there. And once Voller is dressed and ready, we’ll be gone.
The focus of our attention,SpeedandGrace,still in their sealed biohazard bags, sit back-to-back on the table, their wings touching in what would have been a messy midair collision. Kane pulledGracefree as we hurried out.
Without the black box. On my order, over Voller’s vehement objection.
Not that the sculptures or black box will matter. Not now.
“So,” Lourdes says, her voice softer and slurred from the sedative Kane had given her. “Someone lost their nuggets”—her mouth ticks up briefly in a pleased-with-herself smile—“and started heading off course, and the passengers rebelled.”
“By killing each other?” Nysus asks, over the intercom. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Kane glances to me over Lourdes’s head, his gaze taking in mydamp hair and fresh jumpsuit. His hair is still wet, too. We don’t exactly have decontamination protocols on the LINA. We aren’t that kind of ship. Our suits are stuffed in biohazard bags inside the airlock, and Kane, Voller, and I used up more than a week’s worth of water rations in extended showers. A line item I would have to justify somehow on our return. And I’m still not sure what, if anything, I’m going to say about all of this.
Okay?Kane mouths.
I don’t know how to answer that. So, I look away, returning my attention to the sculptures.
“I think it’s far more likely something like mass hysteria or mass psychogenic illness,” Nysus says, continuing his conversation with Lourdes and anyone else listening. “The passengers were isolated and trapped on the ship, for months. They weren’t used to that kind of life. Emotions get heightened. It’s easy to lose perspective. Maybe there was an issue with the food or something, people panicked. This kind of thing dates back centuries.” As always, Nysus sounds happiest—and most distracted—when he’s digging into some kind of research. “The Salem witch trials. Dancing frenzies in the Middle Ages. Mass poisonings in the midtwentieth that turned out not to be poisonings at all but people collectively panicking over the idea of being poisoned.”
“That doesn’t explain the crew,” Kane points out. “There’s no way CitiFutura sent out a high-profile ship like theAurorawith inexperienced hands at the helm.”
“They didn’t,” I say. “Captain Linden Gerard. First Officer Cage Wallace. Pilot was James Nguyen.” I knew the names from all the reports at the time. I’d dreamed of reporting to theAurora,after all. And who is more famous than the crew who disappeared with the most expensive ship ever created?
“But they were outnumbered by a bunch of spoiled civilians who had no training or preparation but a bunch of money and an overdeveloped sense of entitlement,” I continue. “And because of that they all paid with their lives—rich people, maids, dog walkers, crew. Just so CitiFutura could make a few bucks. Sending peoplewho had no business being out here.” The words burst out of me in a bitter torrent that I couldn’t have stopped if my life depended on it. Inwardly, I cringe.
Kane cocks his head sideways, giving me that insightful look that feels like it turns me see-through, lighting up the mess of me and scars of past trauma that I work to keep hidden. I want to shout at him to shut up, even though he hasn’t said anything.Yet.
