by CJ Birch
“When my mom found me, she was livid. I’d never seen her so mad. But it wasn’t so much that she was angry at me. She was scared for me…and herself. I’d never noticed it before then, and I don’t know why I never picked up on it. My mom was terrified of my father. She never looked directly at him, always stared at the ground in front of his feet, the wall beside his head, or me. She barely spoke to him, only when he asked her a direct question. When he was away on scout missions, she’d rest easier, not like other wives who might be afraid their husbands might never come back. She was more afraid that he would. And I realized then that it wasn’t just my mom who was scared of him, I was, too. It wasn’t until much later, when I lived on Delta, that I discovered it’s not natural for kids to be afraid of their parents.”
“Did he find out about the juice?”
“If he did, I never heard about it. I have no idea if my mother was able to fix it or she took the blame herself. Either way, he never did anything about it.”
“Would he have?”
She shakes her head. More locks come loose, framing her perfectly pale face. “It doesn’t matter now. It was a long time ago. Talking about it doesn’t change anything.”
I reach out and place my hand over hers. It stops her sweeping motion. “It might help, to open up about it.” Her hand is warm under mine and so soft.
“I don’t need to talk about it, Ash. I gave up that family when I joined Union fleet.”
I stand, wrapping my hand around her wrist. The skin on the inside of her wrist is the softest I’ve ever felt.
There’s a brief pause, almost as if she’s adjusting to the new sensation before she says, “This is my family now. It’s the only one that matters.”
I run my hand lightly up her forearm. “Then you see why I need to do this. This is my family now, too. When I signed onto this mission, I left my old family behind. And the only way to keep this family safe is to leave.”
I take a step toward her, closing the gap, and tilt my head up. My lips brush against hers so softly that it’s a ghost of a kiss. We stare, inches apart, as the time we have left together gets shorter.
Her lips crash against mine. Her hand wraps around the back of my neck and holds me near. Heat rips through me, turning on every light, igniting every fire. I don’t dare move. The feeling of her, soft and pliant against me, is unexpected. I push her up on the console. Her legs part and I move between them, closing as much space between us as I can. I wish it was her skin I was feeling, and not the rough, unforgiving fabric of our uniforms. I wish we weren’t in an escape pod and this wasn’t a stolen moment, that we had all the time in the world to explore what we’ve started.
I kiss her lips with more force now, as if it were our last. And the thought drifts to the surface—it is our last. The last time I will see her, feel her. I will never again hear her laugh, smell her scent of apricots. Never again see those blue eyes narrowed in anger or laughter, never feel her soft, warm lips against mine. Her legs wrap around me, and I want to forget where we are.
I give our kiss everything I have left.
Her lips part and my breath catches. The heat building fills the hole inside me momentarily—until I’m pulled back to reality.
I need to leave.
Before it goes too far, before I make my wish to feel her skin against mine a reality, I reach into my pocket and pull out the syringe I stole from the med center. I break our kiss and tilt her head, and bend to plant a single kiss along her neck. Her eyes are closed, her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks, her lips, red and swollen, part, and before she opens her eyes, I push the point of the syringe into her neck and plunge the milky liquid into her system.
There’s a moment before she collapses into my arms, and the look of betrayal cuts me in half. I drag her out into the corridor and rest her on the ground. I step back into the pod, and the doors close between us.
I restart the countdown sequence. I strap myself in for the last time, the click the last thing I hear before the blasting whoosh as the pod’s ejection pack erupts and sends us, me and the pod, hurtling toward the unknown.
Chapter Nineteen
My hand flies to the back of my neck, my fingers scraping against clammy skin. The mind knot. It must have transmitted my position, and I’ve only been flying in the pod less than six hours. I turn in horror toward the hatch. Four thunderous clangs come from the other side, one after the other. They’ve attached four magnets to hold the pod in place while they create an airtight seal and cut the door open. I have to figure out how to stop Sarka from getting me, but I have some time. How much, I don’t know.
From the porthole, I can see the Burrs’ flagship. Its elongated bow stretches before me, the matter sails patched and frayed. Half the ship has been rebuilt from scraps stolen from Union ships. I can even make out parts of Europa station welded to the hull. They’re shinier than the rest of the ship, reflecting the expanse of stars surrounding us.
This far out, there isn’t much light from the sun. It’s like being enclosed in one of the crystal caves on Alpha, cocooned in darkness with millions of bright twinkles catching your eye everywhere you look.
If I’d known this was how it would end, knowing Sarka would be on my trail, would I have chosen differently? Would I have listened to Jordan? Probably not. Though I want to imagine staying, wrapped in that kiss. I ignore the vast emptiness stretching before me, close my thoughts to the menacing screeches coming behind me and imagine—for just a moment—what it would be like if I weren’t me. If I weren’t the stubborn lieutenant my father raised. If instead of years worrying how to make everyone else happy, I had just gone my own way, would I still be here now? In this predicament? Or would I have found a nice, quiet place to settle down and live my life?
That idea sounds more unappealing than where I am now.
I release my harness. My body floats in the new lack of gravity. I forgot the pods don’t have artificial gravity. I launch from the control chair and swim as best I can toward the panels behind the passenger seats. I need to find something to blast the window out. Even the tiniest hole will decompress the cabin and suck everything—including me—out a window the size of a cantaloupe. If that doesn’t kill me, any number of things will.
If I don’t empty my lungs of air before I’m sucked out, they’ll expand rapidly in the low-pressure environment, popping like a balloon. Because there’s no humidity in space, every exposed liquid will freeze instantly: my sweat will crystallize, my eyes will freeze, my respiratory tract will ice over. I don’t even want to think of what will happen below the waist. But that’s nothing compared to the liquid that’s hidden away inside my body. It will expand, forming water vapor, bloating me to twice my size. And since the boiling point lowers the less pressure there is in the atmosphere, in space, it’s entirely possible the temperature of my body will be enough to boil my blood.
I catch the ledge of the ceiling and hold on while I open one of the storage compartments. Loose items drift out and bob along like ice floating to the surface in a glass of lemonade. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. We don’t keep any weapons on board, and even if we did, they wouldn’t be strong enough to crack metallic glass. I just know I’ll recognize it when I see it. What most people don’t know is that these escape pods are very much like the original lunar modules used in the first missions to the moon. They’re lightweight and utterly flimsy. It doesn’t take much to breach them. And that’s when I find it. My hand tightens around a manual jack, and I tug it out of the compartment. In an emergency situation, it’s used to jack the hatch open if the pod loses power, but I think I’ve found a better use for it.
I glide back toward the window, open the winch on the jack, and wind it until it fits snugly between the window frames. If I can wedge the frame apart—a more likely scenario than blowing a hole in glass ten inches thick—I might fracture the structure enough to decompress the cabin.
A deafening screech fills my ears as I turn and see they’ve st
arted cutting into the hatch. If I time this right, I might be able to take out more than myself.
Jordan’s words surface for an instant. It scares me too, the things I’m willing to do to myself. But I usually don’t let myself think of the consequences. I just seize the fence and hold tight. She wouldn’t have put herself in this position in the first place. She would’ve thought everything through before stepping foot on this escape pod.
With a determination that has me out of breath, I swing the winch, fast. The grinding and creaking of the window’s frame commingle with the screeching behind me. It’s now a race. Will they breach the hatch before I decompress the cabin? As I watch the handle turn, and the gap between both edges of the jack widen, I’m reminded of something Sarka said that first time, about humans not appreciating the simple things in life. And this is so simple. I’m using probably one of the earliest pieces of technology humans ever invented, to create a fissure that will suck me out into space, ending all thoughts, all pain. Just ending it all. And this should be a calming thought. But it’s not, because for whatever reason, our big brains, our abstract thought, our imagination, whatever it is that makes humans different, makes us strive for more, also makes us complicate the hell out of everything.
I’m sweating now. Droplets run down my temple and cheek, pooling at my jaw. I’m almost crying from the effort and stress of it all. Just a little more to go. I’m not thinking about the results anymore. I have a goal. Everything slows. Three more turns. The hatch behind me falls forward with a clank. Two more turns. I hear angry shouting behind me. One more turn. A pain so profound, so all consuming hits and spreads from my lower back. I collapse to my knees, as the gravity from the ship takes hold. Still holding tight to the winch, I try for one last swing. Something slams into the back of my head…and then nothing.
*
My hands are shackled behind my back and connected to a chain on the wall above me. I should be used to waking up in cells by now, except nothing can prepare you for the fear of not knowing what will be on the other side of that door when it opens.
When it does open, Four-Teeth is on the other side. I recognize him more from his stench than his lack of teeth. He squats in front of me, and I have a good view of his boots. There’s a splash of red on the worn tip that I hope isn’t blood.
“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” he asks, grabbing my hair and pulling my head off the floor, forcing me to look up at him.
I can’t help it, I groan. I feel as if I’ve been thrashed with a mallet.
“It’s yours, just so’s you know. A happy little souvenir of our time together.” He pushes me on my back, his eyes traveling over my torso, pausing briefly at my breasts before inching down farther, and that’s when I notice I’m only wearing an undershirt and briefs. One thought races through my mind, and my heart thumps so loud I can hear it shaking between my ears. If he reaches for me, I’ve got enough leverage to flip my hips up and wrap my legs around his neck. If I’m fast enough, maybe I’ll break his neck before he knows what’s happened.
“Down, boy,” comes a deep, gravelly voice from behind. “You’re about two seconds away from a lot of pain.”
I’m surprised when the source of the voice turns out to be a woman. She looks older than the rest of the Burrs, with long, scraggly hair, white except for the odd streak of black. Her almond eyes are almost lost in the folds of her wrinkled olive skin. The wrinkles alone set her apart.
Four-Teeth grins. “And who’s the one doling out the pain, you old woman?”
The woman points a leathery finger at me. “Never turn your back on a trapped tiger.” She steps closer and kicks him lightly, inclining her head toward the door.
“Whatever.” He stands but pauses, looking down at me, not sure if he really wants to go. A sly grin spreads his mouth.
I shudder. My skin becomes cold in the dark room. I wait until he’s gone before I ask, “How did you know?”
“I can monitor parts of your brain.” She points to a small tablet tucked under her arm. When she kneels down beside me, her gaze roams over my body, much as Four-Teeth’s did, only hers is assessing. There’s nothing predatory about it. She places the container from under her other arm on the ground and begins sorting its contents like she’s lining up chess pieces.
“From the mind knot?”
She nods.
“How much can you see?”
She shrugs, still setting out objects. “It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
She turns me on my stomach, brushing my hair off the back of my neck with gentle fingers.
“The mind knot transmits your brain scans. How much I see is dependent on how much I can interpret.” Her voice is close to my ear as she leans in. I flinch as she brushes something along the wound on the back of my skull. “For instance, just now, your amygdala lit up, which among other things is a center for aggression. And also your putamen, which is where learned skills are stored. I can interpret that as preparation for an attack.” She stops swabbing and pours a liquid over the wound on my head. I grit my teeth at the sting. “Each emotion you experience lights up different areas of your brain, and I can monitor that.”
“You’ve been monitoring my emotions?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
She tut-tuts me instead of answering. For the next several minutes she works in silence, first bandaging my head and then moving down to my lower back. I’d forgotten about the searing pain. I must have been hit with some sort of weapon. It feels like the sting of a burn.
Finally, I get up the courage to ask what I really want. “Were you born on Earth?”
“Yes, in a little town in Japan…Kushima.” She says the name as if she’s rolling a sweet around her mouth as if it’s the last time she’ll taste it on her tongue. It breaks my heart.
“What was it like?”
She tuts me again. But instead of ignoring the question, she begins speaking. Like the tide coming in, it’s slow at first. “We lived on what used to be the coast of Shibushi Bay. I remember as a child walking to where our boat was anchored, several kilometers out, where the Pacific met dry ocean beds. There wasn’t much to fish, but we were better off than most.” Her gnarled fingers play with the top button of her tunic. “It was my job to measure the distance to the boat. I kept hoping the water would come closer, so we wouldn’t have to walk so far. But every year the trek would get longer—the shoreline, farther away.”
“What was the ocean like?”
“Dirty. What wasn’t polluted by chemicals was coated with flotsam. Some of it was useful, but most of it was just trash… Sometimes, though…” Her voice softens, as does her expression. “Sometimes, after a particularly strong hurricane, the skies would clear to a dark azure, and the water would sparkle, like sequins on a dress, shimmying through the waves.”
“It must have been beautiful.”
The lines around her mouth crease deeper. She doesn’t answer this time. Instead she turns away to finish packing her supplies.
Chapter Twenty
Four-Teeth grabs me and twists, slamming me against the wall. He locks my wrists in a tight grip. “You are one dumb bitch. How did you make first officer anyway?” He pushes his face close to mine as he growls. “Those are your screams. Or don’t you remember the last time you were here?”
I struggle to get my wrists free, but he digs his shoulder into my neck. We stall in this position. His breath creeps down my cheek as he pants in my ear. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep mine shut tight.
As far as escapes go, this hasn’t gone according to plan. If I had to pinpoint the beginning of this downward spiral, it would be the screaming. I’d just raided their laundry for an oversized uniform when I heard what I thought was screaming coming from one of the other holding cells. They’d set a trap, knowing I’d investigate.
“You don’t deserve to wear this uniform. It’s for heroes only, you coward.” Four-Teeth snarls into
the back of my head.
“How am I a coward?”
“You ran. You ran from the greatest honor, to become a martyr and hero. We don’t belong out there. Humans belong on Earth. We belong to this sun and this solar system.”
I snort at that. What a load of propaganda bullshit. “If it’s a hero’s uniform, why are you wearing one?” He doesn’t like that. He grinds into me, holding me tight against the wall while his hands snake down to the button of my pants. I spin as much as I can, clawing at his wrists, tugging them off me. There’s a flurry of pulling and scraping. I hear the tearing of fabric, and to my mortification, a great big sob escapes, and I’m gasping for air. It only makes him laugh and struggle harder to get my pants off.
“Everette!” Sarka’s voice booms through the speakers above us. Four-Teeth freezes. “Haven’t you found her yet?”
I can see the debate in his eyes, wondering if he has enough time. Luckily for me he decides not, and I collapse on the floor gulping for air, tears streaming down my face.
“Take him to medical.” He points to the crumpled man on the ground, before pulling me to my feet and marching me forward.
I glare in hatred at the faces in front of me, Four-Teeth, whose real name, Everette, doesn’t seem to match the big oaf, and Sarka, his face and expression tighter than ever. We’re in Sarka’s office. Behind him is a large window, and the view is spectacular. The sun is very far off, only a small yellow globe now. This far out, there’s only emptiness and isolation. We truly are alone. Very few fleet ships ever venture this far. It would take too long to get help if needed.