Brightly Burning(89)

“We don’t have much time. We’re faking another blackout so Mason doesn’t suspect.” He grabbed me by the arm and steered me toward the ship. “I did what I could to move up the timeline, gathering a landing party. I managed to fill almost every seat. We’re leaving for Earth, now. It’s the only way to save you.”

“Do we even have a pilot? I told Sergei forty-eight hours, not twenty-four. He won’t know—”

“I got ahold of him,” Jon interrupted. “He’s here. And he brought some surprises for you. But that comes later. We have to get you on board.”

Elation coursed through me, making me bounce on my toes. Everything would be okay. I grabbed George by the hand, tugging him along, but he made himself an anchor, stopping me short.

“I’m not going. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean? You have to go. We’re all going . . .” My voice sounded small, like a child’s.

“I just can’t,” he said. “Joy doesn’t want to, and I love her. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I’m only here to make sure you’re all right.” He kissed me softly on the cheek. I was sure he came away with salt on his lips from my tears. “Jon told me you may be able to communicate with us up here. So we’ll talk. This isn’t goodbye. Not really.”

“Stella, come on.” I felt myself being pulled away by Jon, but I didn’t want to go. I was frozen to the spot, feet holding fast, and my other arm fixed by the hand still grasping George’s.

“Don’t forget me,” I said.

“I won’t—”

“STOP AT ONCE!”

Mason’s rage filled the loading bay, the harsh backlight casting him in shadows like a hulking monster. Jon yanked my arm so hard now that he nearly wrenched it from its socket. I dropped George’s hand, stumbling back.

“Stop NOW!” Mason screamed as he barreled toward me, coming into the light. “This is mutiny! You have all committed treason! And you—” He brandished a gun, pointing it straight at my chest. “You are not going anywhere. I am authorized to carry out your execution, and so I will.”

Before I could register what the click I heard meant, George dove, and Jon pulled, and the shot rang out so loud and bright, I had to close my eyes, wincing against the ringing in my ears. I fell hard against the ground, shoulder and hip radiating sharp pain, George landing on top of me.

“Stella, are you okay?” Jon rushed over, trying to help me stand.

“I’m fine,” I said, checking my body for wounds and finding none. “George, are you—”

He wasn’t. His blood seeped black onto the floor beneath us; I could feel its wetness soaking through my clothes. He groaned, but did not speak.

“No, no, NO.” I gasped for breath, pressing futile hands to his midsection to stem the flow of blood. He was barely conscious. It was a bull’s-eye shot.

“Stella, we have to go.” Jon tugged my arm, but I wrested it away. I had to help George. Seeing now that I was unharmed, Mason leveled his gun again.

“Oh, no, you don’t—” Captain Karlson tackled Mason from the side, shouting at us to go.

Frantically I scooted back, Jon pulling me to my feet. My sobs punctuated the pounding of my feet as we ran the short stretch to the Ingram’s open hold, Jon climbing up inside, reaching down for my hand, pulling me in. I landed in a heap on the floor, clinging to the grooves, filling them with tears, as Jon manually shut the door, calling on comms for Sergei to leave immediately. The engines sprang to life, and we pulled away, leaving my oldest and truest friend dead in our wake.


Chapter Thirty


“Stella?” Jon’s voice was soft but firm in my ear. “You have to get up. There’s only a few minutes to get strapped in for deorbit. You’ll die if you stay in here.”

“George is dead.” I sobbed uselessly.

“Most likely, yes, and I’m sorry. But we can’t lose you, too. Come on.” He hauled me onto my feet, leading me into a labyrinth of trunks and crates that had been stacked on top of one another and strapped to the floor. I felt a kick as we departed the Stalwart and made our way into open space.

I tripped along behind Jon, until he led us to a room aft and below that looked as if its sole purpose was to provide safety and comfort during reentry. A few dozen faces swiveled at our entrance, peering up at us from high-backed seats into which they were strapped. I recognized a few from the Stalwart, but no one I was close to. Half the seats faced away, so I wouldn’t get a full sense of the party until we landed. Jon had mentioned Sergei brought surprises. But I was full up on those for the moment.

Jon had to lead me like a child over to a free seat, and he took care to strap me in. We both ignored that he got blood on his hands and had to wipe it away on his trouser leg. He sat across from me, eyes creased with worry and fixed to my face. Sergei’s voice came over the address system, light and airy like we were taking off for a pleasure cruise, surreal in my grief.

“Hello, everyone! Prepare for immediate departure, and strap in tight. From what I have learned about this model in the last five minutes, we are equipped with a parachute slowing system, so do not be alarmed should we experience a sudden jerk about halfway down.”

A murmur of concern went through the room. “Don’t worry, everyone. Sergei is the best pilot I know,” Jon said, clearly the group leader and voice of authority. “Trust me, you want him piloting more than me.”