Brightly Burning(95)

When I witnessed my second sunset, I was no longer in any position to express awe; I was still damp and my muscles ached, the gravity of Earth and our long journey no match for my space-light bones. By the time we reached Reshma’s settlement, Jon was telling any of us who would listen about new plans for endurance training so as to acclimate to our new environment.

The settlement was built right on the main road; first we saw several dozen small houses, which quickly gave way to multi-dwelling units, then businesses and shops, a veritable main street. Residents peered out of windows and stopped on the street, gawking at us as we passed.

Reshma explained that the town was called New Delhi, not the real city of old, but named in honor of it, as we were apparently very close to those ruins. Jon cracked a joke about how it should have been called New New Delhi, but I was too tired to laugh. We left the road, going onto a side street, until Reshma stopped in front of a building. Xiao translated the Mandarin written on its front.

“This is the hospital,” she said. “Hugo must be here.”

The words stopped my breath.

Jon took that as his cue. “Xiao, could you ask them if we could sit down somewhere, maybe dry our things, if there’s a fire?”

“And eat something,” Justine chimed in. “I am starving.”

“I’ll go with you, since you’ll need a translator,” Xiao said. When I protested, pointed out that surely she wanted to reunite with Hugo as badly as I did, she demurred. “I’ll have my turn.” She said some words to Reshma, indicated me, and from the way Reshma’s face softened in pity, I knew Xiao had told her about Hugo’s and my relationship. My checks burned at the attention.

Based on the medical bays I’d seen on the fleet, I was expecting shiny metal and a sterile air, but New Delhi’s clinic entry hall was lit by candles, and the air was fragrant with spices—?cloves and cardamom. But underneath, I could make out the smell of sick and ointments.

“He has suffered burns. And has mostly been sleeping,” Xiao translated for Reshma before they led me toward the back of the building and stopped before a plain door. Then Xiao departed, promising to fetch me food. I thanked her and tried to tell her not to worry about it, but she smiled and patted me on the arm, repeating her intentions.

When I opened the door, my stomach dropped; I choked on shock, bile rising in my throat.

He suffered burns. Reshma had said it. I’d seen the damage to the bridge, but I’d not really thought about it, spent any time imagining what that could look like. I stumbled a few steps forward, put my hand to my mouth to stop from crying out. Hugo lay on a bed spread-eagle, large leaves of some kind draped over his chest, abdomen, upper arms. Skin, tender and pink, peeked out from the edges. His right leg was in a cast. A large swath of his cheek, extending to his collarbone, glistened with ointment. The burns were less severe there, but that was a relative statement. I could see yellow, angry blisters bubbling across his skin from the door.

There had been an engine fire on the Empire when I was a girl; thankfully my father had been off-shift and was unharmed. But against his instructions, I’d snuck down to the scene of the accident. I wanted to see the bodies. They were angry red and black, charred—?some unrecognizable. Hugo was lucky to have escaped that fate. But he would certainly bear many scars. And a painful recovery.

I found myself thankful he was asleep. It afforded him some relief, and me the chance to slip in quietly to a chair by his bedside. I held my breath, touched tentative fingers to an uninjured spot on his shoulder, to his cheek, through his hair. He was real, and he was alive. I licked the salt off my lips, wiped at my eyes.

“Hugo, I’m here. I came all this way to make sure you were all right. And I’m really mad at you for doing something so stupid as running off to Earth by yourself.”

He wheezed, breath rattling in his chest, then coughed, stirring. Perhaps to respond to my ill-timed joke.

“I imagined death would feel better.”

I frowned, trying to puzzle out his meaning.

“Hugo, you’re not dead,” I reassured him. I touched the back of my hand to his forehead, which was burning up. His eyes fluttered open, but he did not turn his head or seem to see me.

“I must be dead. You’re here, which is impossible. So you must be a ghost, and I am in purgatory.” His breath caught, and he winced, his burns obviously smarting. “That would explain the pain. Atonement.”

I didn’t know what to do or say—?he thought he was imagining me, and how could you convince a person under such a delusion of what is real verses imagined?

I stood, and carefully but firmly kissed him. “I’m real, Hugo, and I’m here. Now stop being so dramatic. Bianca was right.” Hugo finally opened his eyes wide, blinked up at me.

“Stella,” he breathed, breaking into a smile, then wincing. The burns on the left side of his face impeded physical expressions of joy. I had to settle for words and the light that danced in his eyes. “I don’t understand. How are you here?”

“The Stalwart sent down a forward party before they settle here. I convinced them to track your ship, turn it into a rescue mission.”

“But why would you come after me? You must hate me. What I did.”

“I could never hate you.” I took his hand, careful not to disturb his arm. “I got your letter, and I understand. Xiao told me about your mother—” I cut myself off. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “Hugo, I’m sorry.”