Voller opens his mouth to protest, and next to me, Kane tenses. But I’ve got this.
“I might be a has-been, wannabe captain,” I say. “But if you want that shiny new job of yours to stay yours, you’re going to do what I say until we’re back on theGinsburg. You might not care what I think, but I bet your new captain, arealcaptain”—I can pretend that designation doesn’t hurt, sure—“will have a different opinion.”
With a sullen look, Voller closes his mouth with an audible click, and then swivels in his chair to face forward.
Lourdes shoots me a grin. She’s a good kid. With a better future than all of us. And I’m glad to have been part of that on my last rotation, if nothing else.
“Okay, let me know when you’re ready,” she says to Voller, with exaggerated patience.
I wait for his response, just in case he tries to push her. “Kid, I was born ready,” he says, sounding sulky. But his hands fly across the boards without hesitation.
Lourdes rolls her eyes but recites the coordinates.
Turning away, I head for my quarters. It already feels too… close in here. Too many people, too many emotions. Not to mention the sensation of having just escaped the guillotine with a close haircut.
Voller was right; I might have just earned myself another month out here. But at the end of that month, there will be no continuance, no mysterious signal to chase.
I’m done.After this, no more ship, no crisp pinpoints of stars on an eternal black background, no more control.
Andpeopleeverywhere.
The thought sends panic scrabbling at my ribs like claws again.
I’ll have to find a place to live. Some tiny closet-sized cubicle to call home, where I’ll be able to hear my neighbor coughing for the next thirty years as I shuttle back and forth on sweaty, overcrowded pub tran between “home” and my desk with thousands of mind-numbing pages of training manuals to review and revise based on my “years of valuable experience.” I’m only thirty-three, almost thirty-four, and it feels like my life is over.
Kane follows me. I sense him behind me, the question before he speaks it. I pause at the threshold of the tiny galley. I can still smell the orange-y scent of Lourdes’s tea in the air.
“I said I’m fine,” I say. If I turn around now, Kane will be a few paces back, arms folded over his chest, forehead furrowed in concern. In fifteen years, I’ve worked with eight different crews, thirty-six different team members. Some more skilled than others. Some… more challenging. Leave it to the last team, my last rotation, to contain the one person I’ve encountered with a better bullshit detector than mine and the moral compunction to use it.
“I don’t believe you,” Kane says quietly. “Talk to me.”
Because of his extra training as our medic, Kane knows more about me than anyone else on board. That should make interacting with him so much worse. People who’ve heard my story usually can’t help themselves, staring at me with disgust or a mix of pity and prurient curiosity that feels like a violation. But Kane is different.
I’m caught between the impulse to get angry, to push back andreinforce my long-guarded boundaries, and the desire to face him, to open my mouth and let the words come spilling out. The latter feels like a physical force pushing against my insides. He would listen, I know, his gaze carefully fixed on me.
Just the idea of that makes my chest tight and warm with emotion.
And that cannot happen.
I could blame it on the length of this last assignment or the shitty vulnerability that comes from being booted out of the only job you’ve ever loved. Maybe I would feel this connection with anyone with a kind face and a sympathetic ear who happened to be nearby at the impending worst moment of my life.
But it’s more than that. I’ve heard Kane and his daughter talking on video chat a few times over the past couple of years. The warmth and affection in his voice set off this powerful and dangerous ache in me.
Kane makes me feel like somebody. He makes mefeel.
Jesus. Is there anything more powerful, more dangerous than that?
I close my trembling hands into fists, trying to ignore the damp sweat on my palms. “I don’t have anything to say, and we’ve got work to do.” Never mind that this is part of Kane’s job, checking up on us. Particularly when one of us seems inclined to push off into the nothingness.
Kane sighs. “Claire. You scare the hell out of me sometimes, you know that?”
Startled, I turn to look at him. “Why?”
He eyes me carefully, and I force myself to remain still beneath that gaze. “It’s normal to be upset that things are changing, to worry about what the future holds. But you?” He shakes his head. “I’ve never met anyone so determined to prove that they don’t care. It’s terrifying.”
Kane’s words strike a soft spot at my core with swift and painful accuracy, like a driving punch, and I recoil, my teeth landing on the edge of my tongue and sparking surprised tears.
But I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin to face him head- on. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you won’t have to put up with it for much longer.”
