Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

  Maximilienne.

  The footsteps grew louder, more hurried, as the flashlight beam dipped and juddered violently. They were on the move. Running.

  Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

  The high-pitched sound of rayonette pulses pierced Marcellus’s ears. Light arched across the screen, white and blinding, and then there was the unmistakable thud of bodies falling. The flashlight beam fell to the ground, and Marcellus heard Alouette suck in a breath beside him. The crumpled forms of three Policier sergents filled the screen, each with a smoking black hole in the center of their forehead.

  Not paralyzed, Marcellus realized instantly.

  The Red Scar had gotten ahold of rayonettes. And they had set them to kill.

  “This way,” Maximilienne whispered, and once again, they were on the move.

  A few seconds later, the footsteps were replaced by a barrage of furious clanging and something that sounded like drilling, followed by the squeal and bang of a door being thrown open. The beam of light whizzed around before landing on something silver and gleaming that was sitting in the center of a small, bare room.

  Marcellus’s stomach twisted painfully as the flashlight landed on two slim pillars of PermaSteel.

  “What in the name of the Sols is that?” Cerise gasped.

  But no one responded.

  Marcellus turned to Alouette. The grim, haunted look on her face told him that she knew. She also recognized it. She, too, remembered the screams. The smell. Nadette’s brilliant hair glinting under the blue light of the laser.

  The TéléCom screen flooded with light, revealing the jutting, angular contraption that Marcellus had prayed he’d never have to see again.

  Maximilienne stepped in front of the newly built exécuteur, addressing her comrades in red. “We will not allow the Regime to kill any more innocent people like my sister with this cruel device,” she said, her fierce eyes blazing beneath her hood. “Regimes who misuse their weapons must lose those weapons.”

  Then the screen went black.

  Marcellus dropped the TéléCom onto the counter like it had burned him.

  “Wait a minute,” Gabriel said. “That was the Blade wasn’t it?”

  Marcellus nodded and glanced toward Alouette. Her eyes were brimming with apprehension.

  “What … What do you think the Red Scar are planning to do with that?” Cerise asked.

  “Hopefully destroy it,” Marcellus muttered with a shiver. “Just like the last one. No one should ever be put under that thing.”

  For a long time, no one spoke. Marcellus stared numbly at the blackened screen, trying to wrap his mind around this latest Red Scar threat. And it was a threat, right? Or was Maximilienne simply taunting the Ministère? Demonstrating what they were capable of?

  Then, suddenly, the TéléCom was no longer dark. It lit up as a man’s face flashed onto the screen. Marcellus leaned in closer, confusion and fear ebbing through him. The face was familiar but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why it was currently flashing on his TéléCom.

  “Incoming AirLink request pending from Jolras Epernay,” the device announced through Marcellus’s audio patch.

  “Who is that?” Gabriel asked, squinting at the screen.

  “It’s Maximilienne’s brother,” Marcellus replied numbly, his eyes still locked on the TéléCom. “He’s another member of the Red Scar.”

  Alouette’s eyes widened. “Why is he contacting you?”

  Marcellus shook his head. “I have no idea. But I’m pretty sure he recognized me back at the Jondrette.”

  Cerise snatched the TéléCom out from under Marcellus and promptly dismissed the AirLink.

  “What are you doing?” Marcellus asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Cerise replied sarcastically. “Did you want to answer an AirLink from a known terrorist?”

  The screen flashed again as a second request came through.

  “Incoming AirLink request pending from Jolras Epernay.”

  Cerise went to dismiss it again, but Marcellus stopped her with a look. “Can I please have my TéléCom back?”

  Reluctantly, Cerise handed it back. “Don’t accept that.”

  “Why not?” Gabriel asked. “What if it’s important?”

  Cerise huffed. “Trust me, whatever that man wants, it can’t be good. Don’t accept it.”

  “I think you should find out what this mec has to say,” Gabriel argued.

  “Incoming AirLink request pending from Jolras Epernay.”

  Marcellus stared down at the screen, into the young man’s mysterious pale eyes. What could a member of the Red Scar possibly want with him?

  His fingertip hovered indecisively above the screen. Part of him was terrified to accept the AirLink, while the other part was just plain curious. He could feel everyone’s eyes watching him.

  “It’s ready,” Dr. Collins said, slicing through the thick tension in the air.

  Everyone turned to see the scientist standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a sleek silver canister. Marcellus felt a rush of relief.

  The inhibitor.

  He’d become so distracted by all this commotion from the Red Scar, he’d momentarily lost sight of the reason they’d risked their lives to come to this planet.

  “Incoming AirLink request pending—”

  Marcellus plunged his fingertip onto the screen of the TéléCom, dismissing the request and silencing the voice in his head.

  The scientist delicately unscrewed the lid of the silver canister, and a gust of frosty steam hissed into the air. Inside, a round barrel held twelve glowing vials. “There is one dose for each of the water treatment centers on Laterre and one extra, just in case. The serum is designed to self-propagate. Which means once it’s in the water supply, it will reproduce on its own.”

  Marcellus looked down at the canister and then back at the silver-

  haired man in front of him, a lump of gratitude forming in his throat. “Your work is going to save many lives. Your daughter would be proud.”

  Dr. Collins flashed him a kind smile. “Thank you. Or as I believe you say, merci.” He carefully resealed the canister and handed it to Marcellus. “Try to keep it level, and make sure it doesn’t undergo any jolts or serious vibrations. The inhibitor has to be stored in glass because it’s less porous, which means the vials are very fragile.”

  Marcellus hooked his arms tightly around the canister, feeling the massive weight of such a small container. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Good,” said Dr. Collins. “Now for the tricky part. I’ve managed to track down your ship. It’s been impounded and moved to a military hangar at the Queenstead spaceport. My security clearances are all still in effect, so I can get you to that hangar, but I suggest we leave at once. Dawn will be arriving soon, and it will be much easier to sneak you in while it’s still dark.”

  Marcellus couldn’t see any reason to stay on this planet a second longer. “Then let’s go.”

  * * *

  Less than ten minutes later, they were all back inside the aerocab as it pushed out of the docking shelter and lifted easily into the air. In the darkness, the twinkling lights of the small house, then the street, and then the town receded behind them. They soared up and over a vast quilt of shadowy fields and rolling hills.

  Everyone was silent. Marcellus hugged the canister with the inhibitor to his chest, as though he were afraid one dip of the aerocab might destroy this fragile hope he was holding on to.

  One week.

  The general would have his weapon in one week. It would take them five days to travel back to Laterre, which meant they’d have only two days to distribute the inhibitor into all eleven water treatment centers. And that was if nothing went wrong.

  Sweat began to form beneath the collar of his uniform. He didn’t like their odds or their timeframe. But failure was out of the question. He could not allow the general to take control of the Third Estate. He could not allow him to turn them all into weapons. People like
Gabriel and Chatine.

  Chatine.

  The thought of her made his chest ache. The thought of her turning into one of those men in the plastique cage, fighting to the death, made his heart fill with rage. And he still didn’t know where she was. He’d searched her location on his TéléCom a thousand times on the voyageur flight here, and each time, he’d received the same frustrating response.

  “Location unknown.”

  Marcellus hugged the canister tighter to his chest and gazed out the window at one of Albion’s many glowing moons. Wherever Chatine was, he would not allow her to be turned into a weapon. He would not let her down again.

  Soon, Marcellus could see the Queenstead spaceport looming up ahead. Yesterday, the skies around the port had been dotted with aerocabs. But now, at this predawn hour, only the lights from the domed terminal building glittered in the darkness. The rest of the complex, which spread out for kilomètres around the terminal, was a shadowy puzzle of flat-roofed buildings, launching pads, and huge spacecraft hangars.

  “Here we go,” Dr. Collins said as the aerocab descended and they approached the security entrance to the spaceport’s military wing, where Marcellus could see two guards stationed in front.

  “Should we duck or something?” Gabriel asked.

  “No,” said Dr. Collins sharply as he maneuvered the aerocab to a stop in front of the entrance. “It will only draw suspicion. Act like you belong.”

  Marcellus sat up straighter, trying to wipe the pure and utter terror from his face. Dr. Collins opened the window, slipped his monoglass over his eye, and stared into a glowing control panel affixed to the side of the guard station.

  Then, time slowed down.

  The edges of Marcellus’s vision fuzzed.

  Albion seemed to complete a full orbit around Sol 1 before the panel finally glowed green and, in a lilting accent, the guard said, “Welcome, Dr. Collins. Please proceed.”

  Dr. Collins gave a tight, professional nod and proclaimed, “Sols save the Queen,” before pushing up the throttle and gliding the aerocab swiftly toward the shimmering hangar in the distance.

  “Oh my Sols,” Cerise whispered once the window had resealed. “My heart is pounding so hard.”

  “I know!” said Gabriel. “The guard glanced at me for a second, and I swore I was going to throw up.”

  Cerise chuckled. “That probably would have given us away.”

  Marcellus exhaled loudly and glanced over at Alouette. But instead of seeing a mirror of his own relief reflected in her eyes, he saw only apprehension. “Are you okay?”

  She bit her lip and darted a nervous look at Dr. Collins. “I don’t know. I just …” She hesitated. “Did anyone else feel like that was, maybe, too easy?”

  “There’s no such thing as too easy when you’re breaking into an enemy spaceport,” Cerise said.

  “She’s right.” Gabriel flashed Alouette a wide grin. “Relax. Don’t overthink it. Dr. Collins said they didn’t suspect him of helping us, and it’s as simple as that. Right, mec?”

  They all turned to the scientist for confirmation, and it was only then Marcellus noticed that Dr. Collins’s body had gone rigid and his gaze was anxiously darting over the monitors on his console.

  “Is something wrong?” Marcellus asked just as a massive high-powered tracking beam cut through the darkness in front of them. He glanced out the window, where he could make out four ominous crafts in the dark sky, glimmering like knife blades cutting through the air.

  “What are those?” Gabriel asked, all evidence of his former easiness vanished.

  “Aerodrones,” replied Dr. Collins in a grim voice.

  “What the fric is an—”

  Dr. Collins jabbed at a switch on the console and the aerocab lurched forward, boosting them into top speed as they soared toward the massive metal hangar in the distance. Marcellus grabbed on to the edges of the seat for balance.

  “What’s going on?” Cerise asked.

  “It was a trap,” said Dr. Collins, peering back at the crafts retreating behind them. “My security clearances were evidently only active because they hoped I’d lead you right to them.” He wrenched down on the contrôleur and maneuvered the vehicle into a sharp turn just as a shower of bullets sprayed across the back window, shattering it. Gabriel and Cerise screamed and ducked onto the floor.

  “Bloody hell.” Dr. Collins jabbed at another switch on the console. A second later, every light inside and outside the vehicle extinguished, plunging them into darkness. “Aerodrones are unmanned crafts,” he explained. “They rely on light and movement to improve their aim.”

  “Oh my Sols, we’re going to die!” Gabriel shouted.

  Cerise groaned. “Don’t make me punch you again.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dr. Collins assured them, pushing harder on the throttle. “I am going to get you to that—”

  There was a sudden cracking sound, and the vehicle started to spin out of control, whipping around in circles and flinging Marcellus right off his seat.

  Then someone screamed.

  He couldn’t be sure who it was. Cerise, Alouette, maybe Gabriel. But when Marcellus was finally able to right himself and look back at the driver’s seat, he suddenly understood.

  Dr. Collins was slumped over the console, his head shoved up against the contrôleur. Blood leaked in a sickening river from his right temple.

  Before Marcellus could react, another round of cluster bullets exploded around them. The window beside him shattered. Marcellus glanced out through the broken plastique to see the glinting aerodrones circling overhead, like vultures waiting for something to die.

  Adrenaline charging through his veins, Marcellus pushed the canister into Alouette’s hands and then shoved Dr. Collins off the console. He maneuvered himself into the driver’s seat and took a quick inventory of the controls. They weren’t entirely like his moto, but they were close enough. He grabbed onto the contrôleur and yanked the vehicle out of its spin.

  Through the splintered windshield, Marcellus saw another cluster bullet whiz by, barely missing the front of the aerocab. He jammed his hand against the throttle, and they exploded forward toward the hangar.

  Shots rained down around them, one finding its way through the ceiling. Cerise and Alouette both screamed and jumped as the cluster bullet wedged itself into the seat cushion directly between them.

  “Zigzag! Zigzag!” Gabriel shouted in his ear. “It’s the best way to avoid getting shot.”

  Marcellus did as he was told, pulling the contrôleur left, then right, then left again. He was certain he going to be sick, but it was working. The aerodrones kept missing. Concrete burst up from the ground, creating a dust cloud of confusion, but most important, concealment.

  “There’s the ship!” Cerise exclaimed, leaning forward to point through the broken windshield.

  Marcellus squinted. Cerise was right. Through the gaping mouth of the hangar, he could just make out their voyageur with its sleek wings and distinctive silvery shell.

  So close …

  He evened out the contrôleur and thrust the throttle as far forward as it would go, his gaze bouncing between the hangar and the rearview monitor.

  “Wait,” he said, staring at the dark, empty screen. “Where did the aerodrones go?”

  Just then, one of the menacing crafts descended from the sky in front of them, blocking their path. Two others swooped in on either side while the fourth descended from above, until they were completely boxed in and Marcellus had no choice but to ease up on the throttle and allow the aerocab to drift to a stop and sink back down to the ground.

  He glanced at Cerise, Alouette, and Gabriel, who all shared the same defeated expression. Their voyageur was so close. Marcellus could see it through the cracked window, less than twenty mètres away.

  “Stop in the name of the Queen!” someone shouted, “Or we will fire.”

  They all turned to the left to see a squadron of Albion Royal Guards barreling out of a nearby building and
sprinting toward them, assault lancers clutched in their fists.

  “What do we do now?” Alouette asked Marcellus.

  But it was Gabriel who answered. “I think we have to run for it.”

  “What?” Cerise gaped at him. “Are you insane? Those Albion furheads will be on us before we can even shout Vive Laterre.”

  “The voyageur is right there! We can make it.” Gabriel scrounged around in one of the interior compartments before pulling out a small metallic cartridge, identical to the one Marcellus had thrown yesterday at the security gate of the Royal Ministry of Defence. “This will help.”

  Marcellus peered back at the incoming guards. Their uniforms were like an encroaching sea of red.

  The Laterrian color of death.

  “He’s right,” said Marcellus. “We have to run. On three.”

  Alouette and Cerise nodded, fear glistening in their eyes.

  “One …” Marcellus positioned his hand on the door release. “Two …” He sucked in a breath. “Three!”

  He slammed down on the console. The doors sprang open. Gabriel tossed the capsule in the direction of the incoming guards, and they ran. The blinding gas exploded in a plume of green smoke. Marcellus kept his head down as he surged toward the ship. He could see Alouette keeping pace beside him, Dr. Collins’s canister of inhibitor clutched under her arm. The guards opened fire, shooting through the billowing fog of green. Cluster bullets showered around Marcellus like crooked rain. For a second, he thought he heard the sickening sound of one impaling into flesh, but he must have imagined it, because they were all still running.

  Cerise had her TéléCom out of her pocket and was jabbing at the screen, her fingers fumbling as her legs pumped beneath her. The voyageur’s loading ramp unfurled, and they charged through the hatch.

  “Close it! Close it!” Marcellus ordered.

  Bullets pinged off the ship’s PermaSteel shell until finally, the side of the voyageur sealed around them, locking them inside.

  “Prepare for launch!” Cerise shouted.

  Marcellus pounded up the steps to the flight bridge. He barely had time to fasten his restraints before the engines rumbled and the ship swept out of the hangar and launched upward, away from the spaceport. Marcellus glanced at the other flight seats, breathing out a sigh of relief to see Alouette and Cerise were both strapped in, bracing themselves against the force of the takeoff.