Guilt strikes hard and true in my gut. “It’s possible,” I admit. It’s also possible that I am a complete asshole. I’ve been preoccupied only with my own feelings—what they should or should not be—instead of thinking about the potential risks and penalties that Kane—and all of the others—were undertaking.
They’re risking so much on my word, my plan.The thought makes me feel queasy. I am not worth that.
“Shit,” I mumble.
Lourdes raises her eyebrows.
“Sorry, no. No message,” I say.Unless I can send one to my dumbass self.“No one left on Earth who would care.” I grimace at how self-pitying that sounds, even if it happens to be the truth. A couple of supervisors at the group home, instructors in the Verux commweb team training program, which, now that I think about it, likely no longer exists.
“Oh,” Lourdes says, her expression melting with sadness.
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a wry grin. “I never liked Earth much anyway either.”
She nods after a beat. “Okay…”
I wait.
“Can I wait for you?” she asks. “I don’t know if I want to go through that”—she gestures toward the airlock and theAurorabeyond—“by myself.” Shifting from foot to foot with anxious energy and dark circles under her eyes.
“Yeah. Just give me a minute.”
It doesn’t take me long to grab from the already-packed crate in my quarters and stuff a few changes of clothes and personal toiletries into a duffel.
My fingertips brush over the soft cloth of my childhood blanket. I hesitate for a moment. It is my only remaining possession with a connection to my mother, but it’s also connected to the disaster that was Ferris Outpost. Bringing it with me feels almost like asking for trouble, waving a red flag in front of fate and daring it to strike again.
I shake my head. Ridiculous.
I tuck the blanket inside before zipping the bag shut.
Once Lourdes and I are suited back up, I follow Voller’s instructions to shut down LINA’s primary systems (including the requisite diagnostic). Behind me, I can feel the pull of LINA, whispering at me to look back, reminding me that this might be the last time I see my home of the last eight years.
But I make myself push on, keeping my gaze focused ahead. There’s nothing to be gained from looking back.
It takes us longer to get to the atrium, pushing the crate along between us. Lourdes doesn’t have much experience in zero grav, and she’s having trouble pulling herself along.
Eventually, it’s easier to simply tether her to me.
“TL… Claire,” she says softly as we reach the threshold of the atrium. “Is it okay if I close my eyes?”
Making her fully dependent on me to get her there safely. Frustration flares in me. I didn’t want this. Idon’twant this. My suit feels too tight, too warm suddenly.
Except, isn’t that what I’m already doing? Making decisions for people who are depending on me to get it right?
“Sure,” I say, and I try not to let the tension seep into my words. In the end, it’s probably the better choice for all of us, including Lourdes, that she not have the up-close view of the deceased passengers.
Kane, thankfully, is waiting at the top of the stairs and helps without a word, reaching out to pull the crate up and shove it toward the suites. Then he tugs Lourdes up, releasing her tether from me, and guides her to the corridor, past the bulkhead.
I follow. Voller finally has the lights on and things appear almost normal. Except for the bloody message on the wall, which I still haven’t deciphered.
“It’s safe,” Kane says to her in that same gentle tone I’ve heard him use with his daughter. It makes me ache with envy and burn with self-loathing at the same time. “You can open your eyes.”
I hear her gasp. “It’s so pretty! Look at the walls!”
Another real-wood enthusiast. I shake my head.
“The bridge is at the end of the corridor and around the corner,” he says to Lourdes. “Just pull yourself along by the doorways. If you lose your grip or miss a handhold, don’t panic. I’ll be right along behind you in a minute.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding more certain than before. He has a gift for reassurance.
