Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(57)

“James, I know why you did it. And I appreciate it. I appreciate you even more for it. We’re fine.”

She comes over and hugs me, and we hold it for a long time. I don’t want to let go. I don’t think she does either.





In the bubble, we tether ourselves to the table. Every face is grim, like a jury ready to review evidence in a capital murder trial.

The countdown on the screen reads:

Time to Fornax Comm Line Activation



0:15:04



Time to Artifact Comm Line Activation



5:04:33





I find Harry in the engineering section, conversing with Grigory. Izumi and Min are by the hatch, listening, their backs to me.

“Is barely enough fuel,” Grigory mutters.

Min turns and jumps at the sight of me. “James,” he says loudly.

“Hey.”

They’re all staring at me.

“What’s up?”

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Double-checking the flight plan and fuel on the sample recovery drone.”

The drone is due to launch in ten minutes—that’s why I came looking for Harry. We’ve been over those calculations a hundred times already.

Something’s up.





We’ve got a visual on the Fornax, and real-time text communication. Videoconferencing, even voice conferencing, isn’t an option with the low-bandwidth daisy-chain comm setup. But we’ve synced our plan and our countdown clocks.

I know I should sleep, but I can’t. I sit in the lab, trying to think of anything I haven’t thought of.

Emma lingers in the hatchway, then pushes in.

“I want to tell you something too. Before the attack.”

I straighten. “Oh?”

“Thank you. For rescuing me.”

I nod. I wasn’t sure what she was going to say. I feel… what? Let down? Is that it?

“I’m glad I could,” I manage. “Glad it was my module that landed near your capsule.”

“I’m glad too.”

She floats closer. I think she’s going to hug me, but she puts her hands on my shoulders and slowly moves toward me. She places her lips gently on my forehead and kisses me.





In case the worst happens, we dress in EMUs. We don’t wear our helmets or gloves, but they’re close by. It’s an over-precaution—there’s no one out here to rescue us—but Emma insists on it. She still blames herself for the ISS. If this does anything to make her feel better, I’m for it. We all are. She’s family.

We gather in the bubble, tablets in hand, all tethered to the table, all eyes glued to the main screen.

The video feed of the artifact comes online. It looks the same now as it did in the first video. A black hexagon drifting toward the sun.

In the split-screen, we see the Fornax, hurtling through space like us. For the safety of both ships, we’ve put some distance between us, as much as we can while still maintaining the real-time comm link.

I glance at Grigory and Harry. “Any issues?”

Grigory shakes his head.

“We’re a go,” Harry says.

To Lina, I say, “Let’s get a system check from the Fornax.”

A few seconds later, she looks up from her tablet. “They’re ready.”

“Issue the command to the intervention drone.”

I just ordered the first assault on an alien entity. It’s surreal.

Emma’s eyes meet mine, then we both focus on the screen. The seconds feel like eternities.

There’s a flash on the video—the drones firing. A segment of the artifact shears off and floats free.

“Successful sample separation,” Lina says, her voice flat, unemotional.

“Recovery in progress,” Harry says. “Estimated time to clear nuclear blast radius is ninety-three seconds.”

“I’ve apprised the Fornax,” says Lina. “They confirm countdown sync.”

Seconds tick by. I hate this—not being able to do anything. Except trust the plan we’ve made and hope and wait.

Under the table, a hand grips mine. It’s warm and moist, smaller than my own. It’s Emma’s. I glance at her, but she doesn’t make eye contact. I squeeze her hand tight.

“Fornax is firing,” Lina says. “Time to target is thirty-seven seconds.”

I can barely breathe. It feels as if the frame rate of life has slowed to a crawl, every second lasting an hour. The weightlessness and silence make it worse. There’s no sense of time, no sensation, except for Emma’s hand holding mine.

The countdown to impact ticks by.

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There’s movement on the artifact video feed. The massive object folds in on itself, and light blossoms from the end.

“Fornax! Evasive maneuvers!” I yell.

But it’s too late. A white spear lances through the ship, shredding it like a soda can.

The artifact doesn’t change shape. It turns white, like a fire poker burning white-hot in space. The nuclear countdown is at three seconds when the artifact flashes. The screen turns white.