Brightly Burning(63)
Sergei distracted me with fleet gossip. Apparently, the Empire was not alone in growing food supplies. The Saint Petersburg was harvesting wheat. The Lady Liberty had corn. Sergei had ferried more than a few food workers and inspectors to several private ships, presumably to start their own micro farms. Jon’s paranoia was justified; the fleet was rendering the Stalwart nonessential. But why wasn’t the fleet helping by providing a safe vessel so the Stalwart’s inhabitants could go down to Earth? There was no way the Stalwart could safely enter Earth’s atmosphere without being torn apart. It would need a series of smaller ships, in better condition, if there was any hope of saving everyone. I pushed aside the niggling voice that whispered, They don’t want to save everyone.
To silence the voice, I slept. Finished the Jupiter Morrow back catalog and started on a new author, since I’d loaded up on contemporary books on the Empire before I left. Rehearsed what I would say to Hugo when I saw him.
I know you’re hiding something.
I wish you and Bianca the best.
I missed you.
As soon as I stepped off Sergei’s ship, I felt like I was home. And I hated it. The Rochester would not be the first home to cast me aside, but it would hurt the most.
Sergei helped me haul my new trunk into the transport bay, where I realized no one had come to greet me. “Did they respond when you hailed?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m sure they trust you don’t require a welcome party. I will wait for Officer Xiao.”
I nodded, agreeing with him, but feeling somewhat unloved nonetheless. “You’re staying?”
“For a day or so. I require a break after such a long flight. But next time you need me, you know how to get in touch. I’ll be waiting.”
With a halfhearted wave, I started dragging my trunk along behind me, thankful I’d sprung for one with wheels. I was halfway to the staff quarters when I remembered: I’d won my room back from Bianca during the poker game. It seemed like eons ago, though it was only weeks. Was it real? If I went upstairs, would the bio-lock admit me to my quarters?
To be safe, I continued toward the staff quarters. The rumble of the wheels as they glided along the metal flooring plainly announced my arrival, yet no one came out to greet me.
“Lizzy? Preity?”
Nothing but hollow silence echoed back at me. I tried the sleeping quarters, but no matter how hard I pressed the lock to our room, it didn’t open. The crew mess was deserted, rendered eerie in the absence of the detritus of the Ingram crew; waistcoats and borrowed tabs strewn on tables and chairs, sneaky flasks of booze tucked away that the junior staff brought in and the seniors pretended not to see (but drank regardless). It was odd how quickly I’d become accustomed to the people in this space. Now everyone was gone.
I even knocked on Hanada’s door, but either she wasn’t inside or she was ignoring me. One was as likely as the other.
I sat on my trunk, somewhat at a loss, then remembered: I was back on the Rochester. My comms piece would work again. I dug it out of my bag, and a minute later Rori’s distinct voice, both warm and stiff, sounded a greeting in my ear.
“Rori, where has the Ingram party gone?” I asked
“They left. Your quarters on Deck Two are ready for you, Stella.”
Making the round trip back to the elevator with my heavy trunk proved a workout. I pressed the elevator call button, chest heaving, a sweaty curl dangling stubbornly over my brow, my usual tight bun a mess. I longed for a shower.
The elevator dinged, and I barreled inside. Right into Hugo.
“Oof,” he said, and I could feel it reverberate through his chest, through me. My immediate instinct was to jump away, but hands at the small of my back and on my hip stopped me. My world narrowed to the heat where we touched, Hugo like a furnace—?or maybe that was me—?and my chin tilted up, an action I regretted immediately. We locked eyes, his warm and intense, like the smile playing across his lips. My heart thumped against my ribs, and I did my best not to say anything stupid.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be inside.” My words broke the spell; Hugo pulled away and turned serious again.
“No, no, don’t apologize.” He reached behind me to help with my trunk, raising an eyebrow at its weight. “Is this why you were gone so long? Shopping?”
The doors closed as I stammered out my excuses. “No, see, it took my aunt some time to die, and then my cousin was a mess, and so I found I had to stay longer than I expected. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing,” Hugo interrupted. “I’m glad you’re back. And I like your hair like this. Loose and a bit wild.” He tucked a lock of it behind my ear, and my heart plummeted into my shoes. We were in a tiny box, a breath apart, and he smelled good, and—?ding! We arrived at Deck Two and the doors opened, letting out all the magic in doing so.
Hugo handled my trunk the rest of the familiar way to our rooms as I trailed behind, hiding my mortified expression. The ship was quiet, the way it used to be, another reminder that the Ingram party was gone. We reached my door—?I tested the bio-lock just to be sure this wasn’t some cruel joke—?and I felt a rush of happiness as it slid open, revealing familiar details, but with one marked difference.
“Are those my drawings on the walls?” I gasped, stepping over the threshold to view them more closely. He’d transferred to canvas some of my greatest hits—?a watercolor of the Taj Mahal, an abstract representation of the space outside our windows, a lively scene from the drawing room. And on the wall across from the bed, there was a triptych of portraits: Jessa, Hugo, and me.