Brightly Burning(51)

Inside I found Hanada standing grim-faced over a man who looked vaguely familiar. He was clutching his right hand over his left arm, which bore a bloody bandage. His middle was wrapped up too, like he’d been sideswiped by something. My eyes swept the rest of the room, as much as I could see of it, catching only empty gurneys and glass cabinets lit sickly yellow and full of medical supplies. Then suddenly a lumbering, dark figure appeared in the hatch window, and next thing I knew, the door was sliding open and I found myself pulled inside.


Chapter Seventeen


I yelped, wholly undignified, and stumbled over the threshold. But a pair of strong arms caught me against a warm chest. I angled my head up to find familiar eyes glaring down. Hugo.

“Miss Ainsley, you should not be out at this time of night,” he said, confusing me with my proper name. He gently but firmly pushed me away.

“I’m sorry, but I thought I heard a scream.”

The patient opened his mouth to speak, but Hugo cut him off. “Don’t you dare speak to her.” He turned back to me, his voice lower, softer, but it was still obvious to me that he was wound tight like a spring. “Stella, you should go back to bed.”

Hanada cleared her throat. “Actually, it might be a good thing that she’s here. She can watch him while we . . .”

The patient snorted, then groaned as if in pain. Both Hugo and Hanada told him to shut up, in unison, before he could make a retort.

Hugo nodded, first to Hanada, then to me. “Stella, I need you to stay here while Mari and I go take care of something. Don’t talk to him, or let him talk to you, and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, or do anything.”

It was both specific and vague at the same time, but I nodded my agreement. Mari grabbed a medical bag, and Hugo flashed me a sympathetic smile and our bloody guest a hard-eyed stare, before they both swept out the door. I followed Hugo’s directive, sitting in a swivel chair so I could watch my charge, but I did not talk. He wasn’t so obliging.

“A girl so young as you should not be wrapped up in such sinister dealings. How old are you? Fourteen?”

Once he spoke, it clicked: where I knew him from.

“You’re from the Olympus. You were at the memorial. Meyer?” I said, breaking the embargo on talking myself.

“Mason,” he corrected me. “You’ve come a long way from the Stalwart to this place.” His beady little eyes narrowed in on me, practically looked through me, and a shiver ran down my spine.

I crossed my arms over my chest and refused to say anything else, though Mason prattled on.

“Do you know the history of this ship?” He coughed, groaned again, but didn’t stop his questions. “And of the people on it? Surely you must be curious?”

I swiveled away, concentrating on the wall, running through upcoming lesson plans to keep myself distracted. I didn’t know how much time had passed—?twenty minutes? Thirty?—?but my eyes began to droop, my head to loll against my shoulder, when Mason spoke again.

“I know you’re an inquisitive sort of person, Miss Ainsley. You asked your friend Jonathan Karlson to look into the Rochester crew, but he didn’t find much.”

“How could you know that?” I took the bait, whipping around to face him. He grinned like a cat.

“I had you flagged soon after arriving on the Rochester. I’ve been reading your messages ever since.”

“How could you do that?”

Mason sighed. “No one reads the terms of service. It’s well within the government’s rights to read messages. For the protection of the fleet.”

Arguing with him would be fruitless. I turned back around, ignoring him again.

“I have to thank you for giving me a reason to come and investigate. I couldn’t have, without due cause, and you were most helpful.”

I heard the click-clack of boots approaching at the same time as Mason did. I jumped up.

Mason’s lips tugged into an infuriatingly smug expression. “You should tell your friends to stop worrying so much about vegetables. Que sera, sera.”

The door banged open, Hugo looming large over us, eyes flashing accusation at Mason.

“Just talking about the weather,” Mason said.

“It’s time for you to leave, Mr. Mason,” Hugo said, ignoring his cheekiness.

“You said I could stay on board twelve hours. I need to sleep.”

“I’m sure your ship is equipped with autopilot. You’ll have three days to sleep.”

They engaged in their politely passive-aggressive battle until Mason finally gave in, using his good arm to leverage himself off the gurney. Hugo was an immovable object, met by Mason’s much weaker force.

Mason hobbled to the door with exaggerated slowness, until Hugo called him on his theatrics. “Quit that.” Hugo grabbed Mason’s good arm and pulled him into the hall. “Stella, please come with us.”

It was a short journey to the transport bay, though our elevator ride felt like it lasted hours. Mason alternately sniffled and smirked, more than once looking like he wanted to say something, only to be shut down by Hugo’s glare.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the vegetables. Jon asking me about them, and Mason specifically mentioning it. What had he meant by “Que sera, sera”?

Hugo went so far as to physically escort Mason onto his shuttle. I stayed outside while he went in, making sure the autopilot was programed to take him away. Mason loomed in the doorway as Hugo made his way down the shuttle steps, returning to my side.