by Alexa Donne
Sergei helped me unload my trunk, patting me on the back as his version of a farewell hug. “Good luck. I am sad to have carried you away from the Rochester under such circumstances.”
“Just take care of yourself. And give my best to Charlotte. Tell her I’ll write her once I’m settled.”
“Stella Ainsley and her tiny hands are back!”
I groaned, and Sergei quirked a brow. “You know him?” He pointed to Jatinder, who was making his way over with an obnoxious grin on his face.
“Unfortunately,” I said. “Bye, Sergei.” I gave him a real hug, then waved him off before turning to face Jatinder. “They sent you to collect me?”
“I volunteered. Kind of. It was either me or Karlson, and from the level of excitement he displayed at your being back, I thought I should step up before he could.”
Good old Jatinder, I thought, fighting a smile. Being back wouldn’t be all bad. “So, you didn’t replace me, then?”
“Oh, we did.” Jatinder continued his chivalrous streak, hauling up my trunk. “But there’s sickness going around, and you’re already qualified, so the captain gave us clearance to bring you back on the team.”
My stomach turned. The virus was already here, and the Stalwart was hedging its bets. We turned right outside the transport bay, so I guessed he was taking me to my quarters first.
“Listen, Jatinder, about that—” I started, clutching the vaccine bag tight. But we were interrupted before I could explain any further.
“Stella!”
My reaction was visceral, the sound of George’s voice eroding my world-weary armor in a flash second—my heart pounded, my body went warm, and hastily I handed off the vaccine bag to Jatinder so George could crush me in a hug. He was enthusiastic, lifting me straight off the ground. I was flooded with happiness, but of a different character than before. Any romantic feelings I’d had for George were gone, leaving only pure, platonic love. I grasped him tighter.
“I can’t believe you’re back,” he said, then set me down and gave me a proper once-over, starting and ending back up at my hair. “What happened?”
“I cut it,” I said, purposely a bit obtuse. While my hair certainly garnered notice, George was most likely inquiring as to the reason for my return. He would have to wait for it. “Did Jon tell you about the message thing? I didn’t want you to think I just stopped writing.”
He swept me into another hug. “I was worried. But now you’re here!”
Jatinder took me down to Ward Z, orange lights flickering intermittently as ever before, but he turned right where I expected left. We weren’t heading to my old quarters. “They gave your room to the newbie. Sorry about that.” Jatinder stopped in front of a door labeled Z053. He waved a code card in front of the lock, opening the door to reveal my new home. “It’s still a single, but it’s basically a closet,” Jatinder said, handing me the card. “Welcome back!”
I stepped inside, commanding “Lights on” out of reflex, but nothing happened. Right; I wasn’t on the Rochester anymore. Jatinder scoffed, turning on the light manually.
Indeed, it was a closet, only wide enough for a bed and one foot of maneuvering space, the bed lofted above a set of drawers, and there was no window. I sighed, surveying my space as Jatinder rolled my trunk up next to the dresser; if I moved an inch, I’d bump into him.
“See you later, kid.”
He left before I could think to ask him the time, which, without Rori in my ear, I was hard-pressed to find unless I went up to the main decks. I settled into my new space, folding most of my dresses into the bottom dresser drawer, where they’d surely collect dust. I balanced the triptych on top so that I might see it every morning and night as I crawled in and out of bed, Hugo and Jessa reminding me of all I left behind. And I placed the bag of vaccines next to it, to remember why I left.
Chapter Twenty-Five
To: Ocampo, Karmina (Lady Liberty)
From: Clarke, Joy (Stalwart)
Subject: URGENT news tip
Dear Ms. Ocampo,
Despite the moniker of this account, I am not Joy Clarke. I am a resident of the Stalwart, but I am unable to communicate with you via my own account because it is being monitored by the government. They don’t want me to disclose what I am about to tell you.
There is a new virus that has been manufactured and released into the fleet. Several people on board my ship are already sick. Like the Kebbler virus seven years ago, this one has been purposely released by our government in order to cull the population and conserve resources.
In short: our government is murdering us. In particular, poor and less “useful” ships will be the target. The rich will receive vaccinations to ensure they are spared.
Please get this story out so people can protect themselves. An immediate quarantine is needed, especially on the poorest ships, in order to save lives. People should stop traveling and accepting shipments immediately.
Thank you,
Hermione Granger
To: Clarke, Joy (Stalwart)
From: Ocampo, Karmina (Lady Liberty)
Subject: URGENT news tip
Dear Ms. “Granger,”
Love the name, from one of my favorite classics. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this isn’t a prank, though I’ll admit that was my first thought. Nonetheless, I am a journalist, not a stenographer, and thus am unable to print your tale without being able to corroborate these “facts” myself.
I’m going to need more information: a name, somewhere I can look. A cursory search of fleet medical reports shows no such outbreak at present. Crying Kebbler is very serious business. I’ll give you one more chance to give me something I can go off. After that, I’m blocking you.
Best Regards,
Karmina Ocampo
Fleet Tribune
To: Ocampo, Karmina (Lady Liberty)
From: Clarke, Joy (Stalwart)
Subject: URGENT news tip
Try Tucker Mason. Population and Control Department.
Hermione
To: Clarke, Joy (Stalwart)
From: Ocampo, Karmina (Lady Liberty)
Subject: Need more information
Hermione, I need more to go on. I looked up Mason but didn’t find anything related to a virus. If I’m going to talk to him, I need to be able to ask him the right questions, press for the right information. I feel like you’re withholding something from me. You seem to know a lot about this alleged virus . . .
To: Ocampo, Karmina (Lady Liberty)
From: Clarke, Joy (Stalwart)
Subject: Need more information
Check the travel logs to the Olympus within the last month. Look for the name Hanada. Would have had medical cargo with her. Check traffic from there to other ships, particularly ones like the Empire. They would be distributing vaccines to the wealthy and skipping everyone else. The virus presents like a mild flu for the first few days, then escalates. They burn up with fever, and their organs just . . . liquefy.
We have seventeen cases here already. Three have died. We’re running out of time, so please investigate and go to print as soon as you can! The Stalwart has already enacted quarantine procedures. Everyone else needs to, too.
EXCLUSIVE: SENIOR CABINET MEMBER MAY HAVE BROUGHT DEADLY VIRUS INTO FLEET
by Karmina Ocampo
Fleet Tribune Staff
A top government official could be linked to the outbreak of a new virus that so far has claimed the lives of twenty-eight citizens fleetwide and infected scores of others, according to top-secret documents obtained by the Fleet Tribune.
Cargo records show that Secretary of Resources Joseph Ralphs had viral samples delivered to him on Olympus approximately one week before cases started to appear on the fleet. The Tribune also found Ralphs received a similarly marked shipment within a week of the onset of the Kebbler outbreak, which decimated the population by 20 percent nearly seven years ago. A source with knowledge of both deliveries says the viruses were part of a g
overnment-wide plan to control the fleet’s burgeoning population and conserve resources.
Director of Population and Control Tucker Mason denied these claims but said Ralphs has been suspended immediately, pending an investigation. Mason also called for an immediate fleetwide quarantine.
The records indicate that both shipments came from Rochester virologist Mari Hanada.
LADY LIBERTY OWNER HUGO FAIRFAX IMPLICATED IN HANADA OUTBREAK
by Karmina Ocampo
Fleet Tribune Staff
In the last week since the Fleet Tribune broke the story, more than six hundred cases of Hanada virus have been reported fleetwide, with a death count now approaching sixty. The virus is named for Mari Hanada, who created the strain on board the private ship Rochester. Sources indicate Hugo Fairfax is more involved in the scandal than previously thought.
Fairfax became captain of the Rochester at fourteen after his mother, Cassandra, murdered his father, Phillip, the virologist who created the Kebbler virus. Hugo Fairfax brokered the deal with former Secretary Ralphs to provide the new viral strain, as well as vaccines for the fleet elite.
Both Hanada and Fairfax are being sought on charges of conspiracy to commit murder. The search for them is ongoing.
To: Mason, Tucker (Olympus)
From: Ainsley, Stella (Stalwart)
Subject: Hi
I don’t know what you did to get the Tribune to spin your lies, but your reprieve won’t last long. Ocampo may have blocked my messages, but I’ll find someone else to listen. I’ll find proof, and I will take you down.
You won’t get away with this.
To: Technical Support (Olympus)
From: Mason, Tucker (Olympus)
Subject: Communications embargo
Please block all nonessential communication traffic to and from the Stalwart until the end of quarantine. Hold all incoming and outgoing messages for my review.
Chapter Twenty-Six
My back burned under the solar array, intense heat soaking into the black fabric that was meant to keep me cool but was in fact powerless against the onslaught. But the crops took precedence over my comfort, and food needed light to grow. Beside me, issued a groan and a curse. Jon stood from his crouch, stretching tall until his back gave a resounding crack. At least I wasn’t alone in my misery.
“Please tell me the quarantine is ending soon,” I said, sighing as I stood for the first time in an hour. We threw down our tools and retreated to a patch of shade below a steel walkway. George and Joy followed our lead.
“My uncle says two more weeks, at least. There are still a few dozen cases in sick bay, and he doesn’t want to risk it.”
“If I’d known being vaccinated meant I’d have to take field duty, I would have passed,” Joy said, inspecting her hopelessly dirt-caked fingernails.
We all glared at her with varying levels of contempt, George’s being the gentlest. People were dying. Stalwart had lost fewer than we might have without my warnings—and limited supply of vaccines—but any loss was too much. The death count was hovering just under one hundred, one-sixth of the ship’s population gone in the month the virus had raged through the fleet. Better than a third, like it had been last time. But it was one hundred too many.
Feelings flooded me, blurring my vision. My knees buckled, but Jon caught me, saved me from getting a face full of dirt.
“You’re overheated,” he said, but I knew it was my guilt. I suffered its pangs daily, that I couldn’t save everyone. That I had dared to choose who to save, like I was God. It turned my stomach.
“Drink this.” He shoved a water pouch into my hands, followed by an apple from a nearby barrel. “Think of it as a frex-you apple.”
Our consolation prize for being stuck in a quarantine after our government tried to murder us: we kept all our harvest for ourselves now.
I turned at the sound of a juicy crunch. George was availing himself of a snack as well. Soon we were all chomping on apples, counting down until we had to get back out into the fields. Our shift was another two hours.
“We need to mobilize as soon as the quarantine ends,” Jon said, getting keyed up like he always did. “The Stalwart’s built-in reentry pod can only safely carry two hundred down to Earth, so we need to find another ship and go down in smaller groups. Maybe the media would help.”
“Are you going to use my account to leak information again?” Joy did not sound pleased, and she looked scared. We’d had to use her messaging account to get the word to the press about the virus, as she was the only one not being monitored. She worried the Olympus would retaliate against her. I figured they’d already tried to kill us once. Why worry?
Perhaps I had become a bit jaded.
“Don’t worry, hon, we won’t make you do that again,” George reassured her, much to Jon’s consternation.
“You can’t promise that,” he said. “We may all have to do things we don’t want to, if we’re going to save ourselves.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go down to some frozen planet to die!” Joy stomped away, George following to comfort her.
“You should go easy on her,” I said. “She’s not a natural rebel.”
“Neither were you, until more recently.” Jon nudged my shoulder playfully. It was strange to think he’d become my closest friend since my return. George just wasn’t the same, now that he was George-and-Joy.
“Yeah, well, I went through some stuff.”
Was still going through some stuff, technically. Every day I thought of Hugo, about the horrible things I read in the news before they cut the Stalwart’s communications. My heart ached and my blood boiled, longing and fury warring for dominance. I couldn’t decide whether I hated Hugo. At least once a day, I certainly did. But the rest of the time . . .
“You ever going to tell me exactly what went down?” Jon asked.
“Nope.”
“Fair enough.”
“I am worried about the crew of the Rochester,” I said finally. “After everything that happened, with Hugo—I mean, Captain Fairfax—and Hanada being dragged through the press . . . I know they don’t owe me a response, but still. Not one of them has replied, even the crew members who liked me.” That not even Jessa had replied to my apology letter hurt, even though she owed me nothing. My letter was full of pretty lies, anyway.
“Maybe the Olympus intercepted them and they didn’t go through?”
“Why do that? I didn’t write anything of substance. Just inanities. ‘How are you doing? Hope you’re okay. Sorry I left.’”
“You were responsible for telling the whole fleet that their government was trying to murder them. Well, some of them,” he corrected, like the scope of the murder plot mattered. “A lot of people lost their jobs. More than one ship is seriously considering deorbiting, taking their resources with them. Blocking your messages is the least they could do to hurt you.”
“Maybe.”
Or maybe everyone on the Rochester hated me.
“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll ask my uncle to look into it. They haven’t revoked his network access. Yet.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
There was a high-pitched pop. Then darkness.
“Frexing power outage.” I felt the rush of air as Jon jumped to his feet. “I’ll go see what the damage is.”
I screwed my eyes shut, counted to ten, then opened them, finally able to make out some dark shapes in the black. I got to my feet. “Shouldn’t I go with you?”
“That’s what apprentices are for. You should take it easy today.”
Right. It was my birthday. I’d forgotten.
“Oh, wait for me at dinner. I have a surprise for you.”
Jon must have had eyes like a cat, because he jogged off, unfazed by the darkness. I, on the other hand, had to feel my way carefully along the edge of the fields to find the metal stairway up to the exit.
“George? Joy?” I called out, but got no reply. I sat at the top of the stairs, savo
ring the solitude.
I was eighteen. Now officially an adult, though I’d carried the burden of adulthood for some time. Adults had to make terrible decisions with no good outcomes, all the responsibility falling on their shoulders. And the blame.
Still, I should try to enjoy the day. George was surprising me with a cake at dinner. Joy was terrible at keeping secrets.
With the new bounty, there was enough apple cake for everyone on our dinner shift, making me the new best friend of approximately one hundred people. It was fortuitous the cake had been baked before the power outage, which took a good two hours to fix and meant dinner was mostly crudités. At least it was fresh. I’d pulled these carrots from the soil with my own hands. They gave a satisfying crunch as I bit into them.
“I’m done, Stella.” Arden pushed her tab across the table to me. School was canceled for the duration of quarantine, but I did mini-lessons for her and a few other cleared children at mealtimes. I reviewed her writing assignment between bites, getting the distinct feeling I was being watched. I looked up to find her eyes big and glued to me.
“Are you going to get married?”
Her question was like a shock of cold water. I hadn’t told anyone about Hugo. That I had been, if briefly, engaged.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because you’re eighteen now. Isn’t that what happens?”
“Not for everyone.”
“Oh.” She seemed disappointed.
“Arden?” I pried, gesturing for her to elaborate.
“It’s just, if you were looking to get married, I thought you might marry my dad. So we could be family.”
My heart ached. She reminded me so much of Jessa.