Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

  Through the thick walls of the crate, Marcellus could feel the spacecraft’s giant engines beginning to rumble beneath them. Alouette’s hand brushed up against his in the darkness, searching for him. He grabbed it and squeezed. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “Once we break atmosphere, it’ll be smooth.”

  “For the last time, I’m not scared,” Gabriel snapped.

  “Shh!” Marcellus and Alouette said at once.

  “Five … four … three … two … one …”

  The engines roared and pulsed, until it felt like the whole ship might be on the brink of exploding.

  “Okay, I lied,” Gabriel said. “I’m scared!”

  Marcellus reached out in the darkness and grabbed his hand too. This seemed to calm him down. Marcellus had never experienced a voyageur takeoff from the cargo hold, without the proper safety restraints and counter stabilization. It was an entirely different experience. The force of the liftoff was so strong, Marcellus wondered if they would be pushed clean out of the crate, through the thick PermaSteel hull of the voyageur, and into the nothingness of the air outside.

  He shut his eyes and felt both Alouette and Gabriel squeeze his hands tighter.

  But then, like a wave finally hitting the shore, all the power and fury of the last few minutes suddenly seemed to fade away. The voyageur broke through Laterre’s atmosphere, and the world went calm and still and quiet.

  Beside him, Gabriel exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath. “Was that it? Did the ship explode? Are we dead?”

  Alouette chuckled. “No. We’re not dead.”

  “Well, we’re going to be soon if Sparkles doesn’t put down her paté and open this crate right now.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” came a familiar voice from the cargo hold. “Gabriel is complaining. I never would have guessed.”

  “You know,” Gabriel yelled, “I’ve had about enough of your sarcasm. Just get us—”

  But his words were cut off by a banging sound, followed by a loud creak, and then blinding light flooded into the crate as the lid was yanked open. Cerise beamed down at them. “Awww … don’t you three look cozy?”

  Gabriel immediately released Marcellus’s hand and climbed hastily and clumsily out of the crate. He shook out his fingers. “Not funny. Next time you can ride in the ice box.”

  “Too bad it didn’t freeze off your tongue,” Cerise said as she grabbed Alouette’s hand and helped her out of the crate. Marcellus clambered out after her, wobbling slightly on his still-frozen legs.

  They followed Cerise out of the dim, windowless cargo hold; through a maze of low-ceilinged gangways; and up a series of grated PermaSteel staircases. Finally, they reached the voyageur’s flight bridge, a semicircular room with a bank of blinking consoles, plush flight seats, and glowing monitors on every free surface.

  Marcellus nearly crashed into Alouette, who had stopped suddenly in her tracks.

  “Oh my Sols,” she whispered as she stared, speechless and gaping.

  Marcellus followed her gaze toward the vast window that wrapped around the front half of the flight bridge, and it was only then that he understood her reaction.

  She had never left Laterre before.

  Which meant, she had never seen stars before.

  And as he stood beside her, staring out the window, he suddenly felt like he, too, was seeing the stars for the first time. Through her eyes. There were thousands—no millions—of them. Twinkling and glowing. As though someone had thrown a shaker of salt crystals across a vast, beautiful blanket. A blanket so endless and infinite and black.

  And there, nestled amongst the stars, hanging in the voyageur’s window like a priceless piece of First World art, was Laterre. A marble of swirling white and gray.

  “Whoa,” Gabriel said, stepping up to the window. “Titanique.”

  “Titanique?” Marcellus repeated.

  “Yeah, you know. Soop, stellar, awesome.”

  “Yes,” said Alouette, turning to share a smile with Gabriel. “It really is titanique, isn’t it?”

  Gabriel chuckled. “The planet almost looks nice from here.”

  Marcellus squinted into the sky, where he could just make out the faint shadow of Bastille, peeking up over the horizon of Laterre. For a fleeting moment, he let his thoughts drift back to Mabelle. And then to Chatine. He’d checked her location twice since leaving her couchette and both times he’d gotten the same frustrating response.

  “Location unknown.”

  Where was she?

  “I’ve installed the cloaking code,” Cerise announced, and Marcellus turned to see she was seated in front of the main flight console with her TéléCom open in front of her. He left the window and walked over to look at her screen. “The ship’s flight log will display Reichenstat as the destination, but the coordinates in the nav system are set to Albion.”

  In the center of the flight bridge, a hologram map glowed above a small pedestal, illustrating their flight path from Laterre, across the Asteroid Channel, to the pristine blue-and-green planet of Laterre’s long-time enemy. And suspended above the two planets, like the countdown of an explosif, was a giant clock, ticking down the time until their arrival.

  05.02.32

  5 days. 2 hours. 32 minutes.

  “I’m going to explore the ship!” Gabriel said, his eyes lighting up at the idea. “Anyone want to join me?” He glanced from Cerise to Alouette to Marcellus who all stared blankly back at him. “No takers? Okay then.”

  Once Gabriel had scurried off toward the stairs to the lower decks, Cerise rolled her eyes and continued, “I also managed to hijack an inactive Albion call signal to mask the Laterrian one on this ship. So that should allow us to cross into Albion airspace without any problems. But we can’t just land a Laterrian voyageur in an Albion spaceport. So we’re going to have to figure out another place to land. Maybe a private port outside of Queenstead, somewhere in the countryside. Hopefully our source can help us with that. Alouette, are you ready to transmit the message?”

  Alouette nodded and Cerise tilted the TéléCom toward her. The screen was empty apart from a single green circle in the center. “I built this while you were in the ice box. It’s a bit rudimentary, but it should do the trick.”

  Alouette tested it out, tapping her fingertip rhythmically against the circle in a sequence of long and short beeps. She looked up at Cerise with a smile. “That works.”

  “Okay, once you record the message, I’ll transmit it through the same network in the probe. Remember, you are sending this message as Denise. Tell the source you will be there in five days, and request coordinates for a meeting.”

  Alouette nodded and closed her eyes. On her thigh, her fingers bounced tentatively up and down, like she was pulling the secret rhythmic code out of her memories. Finally, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for the TéléCom.

  As the sound of soft beeps filled the flight bridge, Marcellus’s gaze drifted back to the window. To the millions of kilomètres of space that stood between them and Albion. He couldn’t stop the last coded message from circling through his mind on a constant loop.

  “Weapon nearly complete. Delivery in two weeks. I can stop it. Come now.”

  That message had been meant for Denise. What would the source do when four strangers showed up in her place?

  Once Alouette had completed the recording, Cerise took over, her hands flying over the TéléCom, accessing screens and portals that Marcellus had never seen before. It reminded him of when he’d first met Denise at the Vallonay Policier Precinct and she’d hacked his TéléCom right before his very eyes.

  “Okay. The transmission is sent,” Cerise announced. “Now I guess we just have to wait for a response.”

  Marcellus clenched his fists tightly at his sides. He didn’t like the fact that their entire plan depended on some mysterious source on Albion responding to a bunch of beeps sent through a space probe that hadn’t been operational in five hundred years.

  B
ut he supposed it was the only plan they had.

  “Did you know this ship has seven bathrooms and a full kitchen?” Gabriel suddenly came barreling back into the flight bridge, looking winded.

  “It’s called a galley,” Cerise said with a roll of her eyes.

  Gabriel ignored her. “And six bedrooms.”

  “Couchettes,” Cerise corrected.

  “And three escape pods!” Gabriel’s enthusiasm suddenly clouded over with fear. “Wait a minute, why does the ship need escape pods?”

  Just then, the voyageur began to rumble beneath their feet, and Marcellus instinctively grabbed on to the edge of the flight console, bracing himself.

  “What was that!?” Gabriel asked, his eyes wide. “Did we hit an asteroid?”

  “Don’t be such an idiot,” Cerise said, securing the harness of her flight seat. “It’s just the engines preparing to boost into supervoyage. You better strap in.”

  Gabriel practically dove into the seat next to her and fumbled to fasten the restraints.

  “Acceleration stabilizeurs activated.” The voice of the ship’s autopilote slipped into the air. “Accelerating to supervoyage in ten … nine … eight …”

  Marcellus and Alouette took two of the other seats and secured their restraints. This was the part of space travel that Marcellus disliked the most. Even with the stablizeurs, the acceleration into supervoyage was still intense and almost painful. But he loved the idea of how fast they were traveling once it was over. Not as fast as hypervoyage, of course, but still fast enough to cross half a system in less than two weeks.

  Marcellus had never actually experienced hypervoyage before. It was reserved for long journeys across galaxies. But he’d heard that it was fast enough to bend space and blur the stars.

  “Five … four … three … two … one.”

  The hum of the supervoyage engines shook the floors, the consoles, and the flight seats, making it feel like the ship might break apart around them. Then, a few seconds later, Marcellus felt it. The tug on his muscles, the clench of his bones, every follicle of hair on his head tingling. Finally, the pressure became too much, and Marcellus had to close his eyes.

  He wasn’t sure how long they’d remained closed. Maybe he’d passed out as people often do, or maybe he’d simply fallen asleep. But when he opened his eyes again, the tugging sensation in his chest was gone. Outside the window, the stars still shone bright and infinite. Laterre was now little more than a muted gray speck lost in the darkness. And somewhere out there, millions of kilomètres away, in the deep shadows of space, an enemy planet awaited their arrival.

  - CHAPTER 31 - CHATINE

  THEY WEREN’T NORMAL DREAMS. THAT much Chatine could be sure of. Because in normal dreams, Chatine was always running. Running toward something she could never catch, or running away from something she could never escape.

  In this dream, however, Chatine was floating. In water? No, in clouds. Chatine didn’t even know you could float in clouds. The clouds on Laterre always looked too menacing. Too dark and dangerous, as though they would pull you in and drown you in an instant. But these were not Laterrian clouds. They were not gray and soaked in rain. These clouds were white. Buoyant. Soft. They drifted through her fingers. They danced across the nape of her neck. They brushed up against her flesh, tickling the spot just above her left wrist, where her Skin was. She giggled at the sensation. When was the last time she’d actually giggled? She couldn’t even remember.

  The thought made her giggle harder.

  “She’s coming around.” A deep, male voice broke through the clouds. It was a nice voice. A soothing voice. It made Chatine giggle again. “What is that noise she’s making? It sounds like she’s being strangled.”

  A bright light shone into Chatine’s left eye. It was white and warm and beautiful. Was it a Sol? She tried to close her eye and bask in its warmth, but someone was holding her eyelid open.

  She vaguely registered that this should annoy her, but she couldn’t seem to pinpoint why. She normally didn’t like people touching her. But right now, she simply couldn’t bring herself to care. She felt so peaceful. So … fluffy. Yes, that was the word, she quickly decided. She felt as fluffy and buoyant as those beautiful white clouds.

  “Her pupils are dilating normally. That’s good. Still, I don’t like the look of that leg. We’ve got to keep her off it for at least another few days.” This, Chatine immediately recognized, was a different voice. Higher and tinklier. A woman’s voice.

  The man snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s been a total pest since I picked her up. I should have left her back on Bastille.”

  “But you didn’t,” said the woman. “Because you’re not heartless. You’re my sweet, kindhearted, heroic boy.”

  The other voice let out a whine. “Maman, stop. No. No more kisses. Please.”

  Chatine’s eyes fluttered open, and she tried to blink her vision into focus. Was that a ceiling above her? Yes, it was. A ceiling with soft white lights. Beautiful lights. Then a face popped into view, hovering directly above her. She recognized the man’s slender, chiseled features and deep-set, dark eyes.

  “Hey. I know you,” she garbled. “You’re that nice pilote man.”

  Etienne nodded. “Yup. That’s me. Monsieur Nice. How are you doing, Gridder?”

  Chatine smiled a loopy, crooked smile. “I feel good. I feel really good.”

  He snickered. “That would be the goldenroot talking. I told you, Maman makes the best.”

  Just then, another face popped into view. A woman. The sight of her made Chatine flinch. She seemed to have the same dark eyes as Etienne, but dripping down the left side of her face was a river of twisted, angry red scars. When the woman smiled, though, it immediately put Chatine back at ease. It was a kind smile. A smile that seemed to chase the scars away. Or, at the very least, soothe their anger.

  “Bonjour, Chatine.”

  “Bonjour, pretty lady,” Chatine replied.

  The woman chuckled. “You can call me Brigitte. It’s nice to see you awake.”

  Chatine grinned. “It’s nice to be awake.”

  “What do you think about trying to sit up and drink some water?” the woman asked.

  Chatine was instantly filled with delight. “I think it’s the best idea in the world.”

  Etienne laughed again. “Maman, how much did you give her?”

  Brigitte waved the question away. “She’s post-op.”

  Etienne scooped one hand under each of Chatine’s shoulders and gave her a push.

  “Okay, up you go. Jeez, you weigh nothing. We need to put some meat on your bones.”

  Chatine giggled again. “Meat on bones. That’s funny.” She turned and cupped one of Etienne’s cheeks with her hand and gazed deeply into his intense, dark eyes, feeling like she could easily get lost in them. “You’re funny. And very handsome.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yup. Definitely the goldenroot talking.”

  Brigitte brought a small cup of water to Chatine’s lips. Chatine sipped it slowly. It was cold and refreshing and so much cleaner than the water she drank back in the Frets or on Bastille. It tasted like it came straight from the sky.

  “Not too much,” Brigitte warned, pulling the cup away.

  Chatine licked her lips with a smacking sound as she glanced around the room. It wasn’t much bigger than her family’s old couchette back in the Frets. Except here, there were no rusting walls, no empty weed wine bottles strewn on the table, no cockroaches skittering across the floor. Instead, this room was neat and clean and cozily lit by tiny lights cupped into the ceiling. The whole space was bordered by shelves filled with what appeared to be various medical supplies, and, in the center of the room, a handful of neatly made cots sat side by side in a row. Cots just like the one Chatine was currently sitting on.

  She tried to remember coming in here, but her mind was blank. The last thing she could remember was being on the ship. What was its name again? Margaret? Martha?

&n
bsp; “Where am I?” she asked groggily as Etienne laid her back down.

  Brigitte pressed two fingers to the inside of Chatine’s right wrist and tilted her head, as though listening for something. “You’re inside my treatment center.”

  “How long have I been in here?”

  Brigitte released Chatine’s hand and placed it back on the bed. “Almost a full day.”

  Chatine startled, the fluffy, peaceful feeling running through her veins ebbing for just a second. “What!?”

  “Shhh,” Brigitte said, gently rubbing Chatine’s shoulder. “Relax. Try not to let yourself get too worked up. My son here says you have a tendency to overreact.”

  Chatine shot a look at Etienne who grinned back at her. She felt another strange inkling that this, too, should annoy her but it was as though the feeling was a slippery fish that she couldn’t keep grasped in her hand.

  “Normally, procedures don’t require that much healing time, but in conjunction with the shrapnel in your leg—which I was thankfully able to remove—we had to increase your recovery period.”

  Chatine could hear the woman speaking. She could pluck out words she understood as they floated by her. But she couldn’t seem to make sense of them.

  The woman nodded to Chatine’s left arm. “I’ll continue to monitor you until you’re healthy enough to leave; in the meantime, we’ll just have to keep the incisions clean.”

  Slowly, Chatine turned her head and let her gaze fall to the side. She knew the sight in front of her should have elicited some kind of strong reaction, but all she could feel in that moment was curiosity.

  Running up and down the inside of her left wrist was a rectangle of red seams. Four neat lines, where her flesh had been pinched and sewn together with what looked like thread.

  Had that been there before?

  Chatine was almost certain it hadn’t. But her mind struggled to remember what used to be there. Something used to be there.

  “You’ll have a scar, but it should heal nicely,” Brigitte said. “Skin removals are one of my specialties. In fact, I did two just this month.”