Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

  Chatine snorted. “They know I’m a croc. They rescued me from Bastille. They’ve seen my tattoo.”

  “Sure, but do they know about your nefarious plot to steal zyttrium right out from under their noses?”

  “What? I wasn’t going to—”

  “Who do you think they’ll believe?” her mother chimed in, picking up right where her father left off in the coordinated dance they’d been performing all their lives. “You, a known convict with a criminal past? Or their favorite new friends? Fabian and Gen,”—she nodded at the scraps of fabric on the table—“who discovered these sacs hidden under your bed and became the heroes who exposed a con artist in their midst.” She let out a scandalized gasp.

  Monsieur Renard took another menacing step toward Chatine, his eyes narrowing wickedly. “Are you so sure they’ll trust you over us? Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

  Chatine’s heart squeezed in her chest. She knew her parents were right. They were like celebrities in this place. Etienne had said so himself. Why would the Défecteurs believe her—someone they barely knew—over them?

  Defeat started to clamp around her neck. Heavy and rusted like the chains on Bastille. When would she ever get out from under this shadow? When would she finally shed the burden of their name? Renard. As hard as she’d tried, she’d never been able to escape it.

  Not when her family had run from Montfer and come to live in the Frets.

  Not when Chatine had changed her identity and became a boy named Théo.

  Not even on Bastille.

  Everywhere she went, her past, her family, her blood followed her. And would continue to follow her. It had been branded on her as permanently as her prisoner tattoo.

  When was she going to learn that she couldn’t escape herself?

  Now, she thought, standing up taller and sucking in a deep, courageous breath. Right now.

  “Fine,” she said, and her father seemed to sag ever so slightly in relief. That is, until she continued. “Expose me. Tell them who I am. Tell them whatever you want. I don’t care. I’m prepared to leave. Just as long as you leave too. Because whatever you say, I will make sure that we all go down together.”

  Her father evidently wasn’t expecting her to call their bluff, because for the first time in her life, Chatine saw fear flash in her father’s eyes. True, genuine fear. He looked to Madame Renard, whose face was blank with shock. Clearly, they weren’t willing to bet on the trust of the Défecteurs either.

  Her parents shared one of their silent exchanges that Chatine had never been able to decipher, and then Monsieur Renard turned back to meet her unwavering gaze.

  “I have a counteroffer.”

  Chatine smirked. “I’d expect no less.”

  “We’ll go,” he allowed, and Chatine tried to keep the triumph from her face. “But … we’re not leaving empty-handed.”

  Her mother gave a resolute shake of her head and added, “We’ve worked too hard and put in too much effort to leave without anything to show for it.”

  Chatine narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like where this was going, but she knew the rules of negotiation. You never got exactly what you came for, but if you were lucky, you walked away with more than you were willing to lose. “How much is it going to take to get you to leave quietly?”

  Monsieur Renard sneered. For a moment, Chatine believed that he was actually enjoying this. And Chatine supposed she would be lying if she said she didn’t get just the smallest drop of a thrill from it. She supposed all fathers and daughters had their thing. This was theirs.

  “Ten blocs” Monsieur Renard announced. “That should give us enough to live on for a few years.”

  “Five,” Chatine replied.

  “Seven. And you have to steal it for us.”

  Chatine considered. Could she really remove seven blocs of zyttrium from the storage chalet without anyone noticing? She’d have to be strategic, move things around a little to cover her tracks. Her breath hitched, and she felt ill at the thought of the task that stood in front of her, but then she returned her gaze to what was actually standing in front of her—the most hideous, vile, despicable vermin on the face of the planet—and all her hesitation melted away.

  She could do this. She could figure this out. She had to. One last time. One final job.

  It was the con of the century. Because, for her, it was the con that would end all cons.

  “Pack up your things,” she said as she grabbed one of the handmade sacs from the table and turned toward the door. “I want you ready to go when I get back.”

  - CHAPTER 51 - ALOUETTE

  THE HARNESS SLOWLY DESCENDED OVER Alouette’s shoulders. There was a beeping noise as it snapped together and yanked her back into the seat. She could feel her blood running, fast and furious, through her veins. She didn’t like how trapped and constricted she felt. It made her mind run back to that horrible bordel. The needle buried in her arm …

  “Gabriel, how are you doing?” Cerise asked, and Alouette reminded herself that she wasn’t the worst off in this situation. She glanced over at Gabriel, who was strapped into the seat next to her, the harness pushing down against his bandages.

  He struggled to give Cerise a smile in return. “Titanique, Sparkles.”

  Alouette could hear the tremor in his voice. She couldn’t even imagine how much pain he must have been in right now. Pain like she’d never experienced.

  Despite his protests, they’d forced him to drink from the extra vial of the inhibitor that Dr. Collins had given them. So at the very least, Alouette knew Gabriel was safe from the general should he activate the TéléReversion program. But it did little to reassure her. His injuries were bad and getting worse by the hour.

  “So does anyone know what this is going to feel like?” Marcellus asked in an anxious tone. He was strapped into the seat on the other side of Alouette.

  Cerise shook her head. “I’ve never hypervoyaged before.”

  “I’ve read accounts,” Alouette offered. “I think you enter sort of a fugue state. At least at first. Until your body adjusts.”

  “What’s a fugue state?” Cerise asked.

  Thinking back to the sisters’ Chronicles and the chapters devoted to space travel, Alouette tried to remember the descriptions that were recorded from the original settlers who had hypervoyaged from the First World to the System Divine. “I think you feel like you’re sort of detached from your body. Disassociated from everything around you.”

  “Good,” Gabriel said weakly. “If we crash and die, I don’t want to feel it.”

  Alouette swallowed down what felt like razors in her throat. She knew Gabriel was trying to lighten the mood, like he always did. But there was also something morbidly accurate about his remark. She understood Marcellus’s desperation to get back to Laterre quickly. She felt it too. But she knew the risks of hypervoyage. She’d read about them for years. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was suicide. At first the autopilote hadn’t even allowed them to activate the hypervoyage engines. Cerise had been forced to hack the safety override.

  Now all Alouette could do was pray that she was wrong. That they would safely make it back to Laterre. That Alouette could get Gabriel to the Refuge, and that Marcellus and Cerise could get the inhibitor into the water supply before the general tore the planet apart.

  “Where’s Dr. Collins’s canister?” Alouette asked, just now noticing that Marcellus didn’t have it with him.

  “I wrapped it in a thick blanket and secured it in a storage locker in the cargo hold,” he told her. “I figured it would be safe from any turbulence there.”

  “Final checks complete,” a calm robotic voice announced. “Commencing hypervoyage in fifteen … fourteen … thirteen …”

  Alouette wished she could steal a smidgen of that calm and inject it straight into her veins.

  There was a loud rumbling sound, followed by a cacophony of short, staccato beeps. Then the whole voyageur seemed to buck beneath them, like a g
iant animal scraping the ground, getting ready to pounce.

  “Ten … nine … eight …”

  Alouette opened her eyes and stared straight ahead of her, out of the bridge’s front window. Stars hung everywhere in the vast sky, and somewhere among them was Laterre. And Vallonay. And the Frets. And the Refuge.

  Home.

  The word echoed in the far, deep corners of Alouette’s mind. Ominous and impossible and hopeful all at the same time.

  When the Lark flies home …

  There was no more doubt behind Sister Denise’s words now. No more bitterness festering inside her. There was only determination.

  Yes, Sister Denise, she whispered into those far, deep corners of her mind. I’m finally flying home.

  “Four … three … two …”

  The ship was rumbling so hard now, Alouette’s teeth were chattering and her spine began to ache. Her eyes darted to the left, to Marcellus’s jump seat. He was looking at her, too, and when their gazes connected, it appeared that he was about to say something.

  Au revoir?

  Good luck?

  I’ll see you on the other side of space?

  But he never got the chance.

  “One.”

  The voyageur let out a boom and a roar. The world around Alouette shook violently. The stars outside the window blurred into a single infinite glow. Then, as if a switch had been flicked inside of her, every molecule of Alouette’s body seemed to ignite and blast off. Backward, forward, downward, and outward, into the giant abyss of space.

  Everything went dark.

  Everything turned to nothing.

  Alouette couldn’t see anything or feel anything. And the only thing she could hear was a fast and rhythmic whooshing in her ears.

  Ba-bummm. Ba-bummm. Ba-bummm.

  At first, she wondered if this was what hypervoyage sounded like. If this was what bending space sounded like. It wasn’t until the last shred of consciousness had deserted her body that she realized it was the sound of her own solitary and terrified heart.

  - CHAPTER 52 - MARCELLUS

  BA-BUMMM. BA-BUMMM. BA-BUMMM.

  Marcellus was surrounded by stars. So many stars. Bigger and brighter than he’d ever seen them. They made the ones that hung in the TéléSky of Ledôme feel insignificant and futile. Like sad little replicas that would never live up to their real inspirations.

  “If you grow up to become general like me, you’ll be able to visit the stars whenever you want. Would you like that, Marcellus?”

  He could hear his grandfather’s voice. But he knew it was not his grandfather of now. It was his grandfather of the past. The one who hung Bastille in the sky. The one who Marcellus yearned to be exactly like, but who always managed to make him feel like a fraud.

  A sad little replica that would never live up to its real inspiration.

  Ba-bummm. Ba-bummm. Ba-bummm.

  “Yes, please, Grand-père. I would like that very much.”

  His grandfather laughed and ruffled Marcellus’s hair. “Well, if you work hard every day, train diligently, and do exactly as I tell you, I have no doubt that one day you too will be the General of the Ministère. You too will command a planet.”

  Marcellus recognized the memory now. He was four years old, on his very first trip in a voyageur. His grandfather had taken him to Kaishi, where the general was scheduled to meet with the System Alliance as a delegate of Laterre.

  He remembered the feeling of the supervoyage engines rumbling beneath him. The stars pulsating in the dark sky. His own wonderment as he took in everything. The whole universe laid out before his eyes.

  But most of all, he remembered the want. That boiling determination to do exactly what his grandfather asked of him. To be the person his grandfather wanted him to be.

  Had the general been plotting to take over the planet even then?

  Which Regime had he been grooming Marcellus to govern?

  The corrupt, divided one that currently resided over Laterre? Or this new, terrifying, “streamlined” version that his grandfather had been working so hard to instill?

  Ba-bummm. Ba-bummm. Ba-bummm.

  Slowly, Marcellus became aware of his own heartbeat, pulling him out of his memories, tugging at his consciousness. His mind scrambled to connect back with his senses. And then there it was. A tingling in his fingertips, in his palms, the soles of his feet, the tip of his scalp, the end of his nose. Every nerve felt like it was waking up, coming back online. His body, the seat under him, the floor below, began to reemerge through the nothingness to become real again.

  Finally, light splintered in through his eyelids, unfurling in a mess of colors and glowing shards. He blinked once and then twice, and the fragments began to coalesce.

  He saw, in front of him, not stars, but the whole world.

  His world.

  Great swirls and eddies of clouds enfolded themselves around the familiar, glowing planet. It spun on its axis like a great billowing ball of white and gray thread.

  They’d made it. Laterre stood before them like an oasis in the sky, and they were alive.

  The ship began to rumble beneath him. Gently at first, but rapidly building in intensity, until Marcellus’s whole body was shuddering.

  Is that normal?

  He turned toward Alouette to gauge her reaction, but he couldn’t even see her. The ship was shaking so badly now, his eyes could no longer focus on one object. Her face was jumbled and disfigured, like some of the First World paintings he’d seen hanging up in the Grand Palais—entire people reduced to nothing but colors and shapes.

  She seemed to be shouting something, but he couldn’t make it out.

  “What’s happening?” he tried to ask, but suddenly, something shot across his vision. A spark in the darkness. He turned back toward the window and just managed to catch the tail end of a large object hurtling through space. It almost looked like a comet.

  No, Marcellus thought as a wave of panic crashed into him. It looks like a …

  The voyageur pitched forward, sending Marcellus slamming into his restraints. Then a terrible sound crackled in his ears. It was blaring and violent and deafening.

  A siren.

  Definitely not normal.

  And then a voice. Too calm to be human.

  “Emergency. Primary engine critical. Emergency. Secondary reactor detached.”

  Detached?

  Was that what he’d seen flying past the ship?

  “Emergency. Primary engine critical. Emergency …” The recorded message proceeded to loop on and on, punctuated by the screech of the alarm.

  “The ship!” Cerise shouted from somewhere beside him. “It’s coming apart!”

  Marcellus struggled to make sense of the words. But his head felt like it was splitting open. His brains would soon be splattered across this windshield.

  Coming apart.

  Another object flashed before him, and suddenly he understood. The ship was breaking.

  “Oh my Sols! Look!” Cerise pointed to a monitor on the console that showed a view of the back of the ship. A great jagged gash had been torn across the voyageur’s shell, and protruding between the two silver wings was a giant mess of fiery metal, twisted antennas, and shattered solar panels.

  They’d hypervoyaged right into a satellite.

  “Emergency. Tertiary reactor detached.”

  Marcellus finally found his voice. “We have to get to the escape pod before the hull breaches and sucks us all out into space!” He banged down on the mechanism controlling his restraints until his harness released with a low hiss. He leapt out of the seat and paused, waiting to see if he would stand or float. His feet stayed rooted to the ground, which meant the gravity simulator was still intact.

  Alouette was already on the move, jumping out of her seat and rushing toward Gabriel. He was still unconscious. His head slumped against his chest.

  “Help me get him out!” she cried, her fingers fiddling with the restraints.

  As the ship
continued to lurch back and forth, Marcellus staggered toward Gabriel’s chair, his legs feeling wobbly beneath him, like he’d drunk too much champagne. Alouette managed to get the harness unlatched, and Gabriel tipped forward with a low moan. Marcellus dove to catch him before he slid clear out of the seat.

  “What’s happening, mec?” he garbled into Marcellus’s shoulder. “Is the ship going to explode?”

  “Yes!” Cerise shouted. “This time, the ship is actually going to explode.”

  Marcellus bent down and, with a grunt, managed to heave Gabriel over his left shoulder. He stood up, feeling the extra weight immediately.

  Out the vast window, Laterre—blanketed in its thick swirl of gray and white clouds—was getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer by the second, and a fresh wave of panic slammed into Marcellus.

  “Where is the escape pod?” Alouette asked.

  “In the evacuation bay,” Marcellus said. “Lowest deck.”

  “This way!” Cerise called out, leading them to the primary stairwell. Marcellus stumbled behind her, with Gabriel feeling like a sac of titan blocs on his shoulder. And the violent shuddering and screaming of the collapsing voyageur did not make it any easier. The alarms continued to carve permanent tunnels through Marcellus’s ear drums.

  “Emergency. Primary reactor detached.”

  “We get it!” Cerise shouted at the ceiling of the stairwell. “The ship is breaking!”

  The voyageur jerked sideways in response, knocking Cerise off her feet. Her head smacked against the side wall, and she staggered to catch herself, pressing a hand to her right temple where there was now a bleeding gash.

  “Are you all right?” Alouette called from behind Marcellus.

  Cerise just let out a grunt in reply and surged forward down the last flight of steps. The evacuation bay was dim and low-ceilinged. Darker than even the cargo hold that they’d arrived in. At the end of the deck, Marcellus could see a large hexagonal hatch, locked with a single heavy lever.