Brightly Burning

by Alexa Donne

  “Don’t think about the Ingram, then. Think about yourself.”

  I had thought about myself in the past twenty-four hours. Thought about the type of person I wanted to be. The type of person I could live with being. “I think you should marry Bianca,” I said, all in one breath and before I could second-guess myself. Hugo’s face fell. “Merging with the Ingram is really the right thing to do,” I continued, avoiding his gaze, telling the rest of my thoughts to my shoes. “But in all honesty, I don’t think you should listen to what I say. I think you should follow your own heart. Make this decision for yourself. Speaking plainly, I find it a bit childish that you tried to force me to make the decision for you in the first place.” When I finally allowed myself to look at him again, I found Hugo affecting something close to a smile.

  “You, Stella, are my favorite bold girl.”

  “There’s competition for that title, then?”

  “Jessa remains in contention, but you always manage to be honest with me when I most need to hear it.” Hugo took a step closer, closing the space between us. “You’re just a bit fearless, aren’t you?”

  “Or impulsive,” I offered with an awkward chuckle, unsure of how to navigate his proximity. Insolent. That had been Aunt Reed’s favorite moniker for me.

  All thoughts of my aunt, and indeed natural instincts like breathing, left me as I found myself in the crush of Hugo’s embrace. It was a full-body hug, warm and solid, his voice vibrating through me like I was a tuning fork.

  “Never change,” he said into my hair. “And remember your promise to return. I’m holding you to it.”

  He was holding me, still, tight. Then a warning tone sounded, signaling someone moving about in the transport bay, and the moment ended.

  “Your shuttle’s ready,” Hugo said as he pulled away, leaving me cold. “Safe travels.” His hand still touched mine, fingers encircling my wrist. I was sure my pulse was thready under his fingers. I nodded and pulled myself away before I lost the nerve to go.

  “I’ll write to you if my aunt’s illness is prolonged. I’ll have to send additional lesson plans for Jessa if that’s the case. And speaking of Jessa, maybe spend some more time with her while I’m away?” Hugo opened his mouth to defend himself, then must have thought about the last time he saw her. I’d kept count. It was more than three days ago. I continued to deliver the bold honesty he allegedly enjoyed from me. “And maybe lay off the drinking a bit. Jessa doesn’t care for it when you drink.”

  I turned at the entrance to the bridge and waved, not catching Hugo’s expression, his face obscured by shadows.

  Sergei greeted me in the transport bay. “I knew I’d come to collect you sooner or later,” he said, beckoning me forward. I handed over my bag, which he stowed as I shook my head at him.

  “I’m coming back. Not running away.”

  “Uh-huh.” He closed the shuttle door behind me and gestured to my old seat. “Strap yourself in, and we’ll be on our way.”

  As soon as I sat down, securing myself in and then reclining, the promise of sleep settled over me like a warm blanket. As the engines kicked off and I felt us propel out into space, the adrenaline faded, leaving me to my thoughts. I repeated my last conversation with Hugo on a loop in my mind. He’d compared me to his sister—​again—​but that hug hadn’t felt sisterly at all. Did brothers hold their sisters so tight, hand on their lower back, whispering in their ear?

  But it didn’t matter what it was or wasn’t. I’d advised Hugo to marry Bianca, to honor his arrangement with the Ingram, and though I’d pushed that choice back on him, I had faith he’d do the right thing. I repeated once again, When Hugo and Bianca get married, I will leave.

  I needed to move on.

  But first, I slept. How many hours, I couldn’t tell. When I woke, Sergei was enjoying his own repose, so I read for a while, ate a bit, peered out the portal glass at the black skies. When finally he woke, I was in a new and strange state of mind. Emotionally spent, my wilder feelings confined to a box, which I closed and hid away at the back of my mind.

  “Sergei, who was the last person you ferried from the Rochester? Before me. You said others had left.”

  “Finally asking the right questions, are we?” He invited me to join him in the cockpit. I settled in for an exchange of gossip among the stars. Sergei delivered. “The previous captain, Phillip, had a valet, barely lasted six months past the . . . transition.”

  I guessed that was code for “after Hugo’s parents died and he moved to the moon.”

  “There were others. I cannot say what their purpose on board was, and they did not like to talk. But I did manage to get out of them that they were no longer needed. Then there were several governesses before you. At least three, come and gone. Last person was a medical officer. Attacked in the night and in a very bad state. Far too afraid to tell tales.”

  Attacked. Like Mason had been. “You have no idea who or what attacked him?” I asked. “Could it have been a cat?”

  Sergei shook his head. “No cat has claws that big. Or the grasp of weapons. Something hit him. Repeatedly. Speculation was the young captain cannot handle his drink.”

  “No,” I said. “He wouldn’t be moved to violence like that.”

  “It’s just one theory,” Sergei hedged. “You must be curious, no?”

  I was, but I didn’t want to reveal too much to Sergei, who clearly liked to tell tales. I didn’t want him telling his next passenger my theories about Hugo and the Rochester. That someone had tried to kill Hugo, twice. Then Mason. I was sure it was all connected; I just couldn’t see how, or why.

  The trip passed as quickly as three days in a tiny metal box possibly could, though at least this time I was equipped with reading material. I’d powered through three Jupiter Morrow books by the time Sergei announced we were approaching the Empire. As we docked, a feeling of dread started to wend its way up my spine, which didn’t dissipate once Sergei opened the door and we descended into the blindingly white transport bay. It was like I was here yesterday, boarding the orphan transport for the Stalwart. Nothing had changed. Everything was white, bright, and sterile.

  “Send me a message when you are ready for pickup,” Sergei said, handing me my bag. “Though I would not blame you if you decide not to return.”

  “I’m going back,” I said with more force than intended.

  Sergei shrugged. “I don’t see why you ever left this ship, if you’ve got family here.” He turned in a circle, taking in the room. “It’s swanky. And this is only the transport bay.”

  “Bye, Sergei,” I said, waving him off as I turned to leave.

  I knew exactly why I’d left. I was about to go see her for the first time in six years.

  Chapter Twenty

  As I passed through the brightly lit corridors of the Empire, it was impossible not to think of death. The Empire had always telegraphed the morbid for me, from my parents’ death to my uncle’s untimely demise shortly thereafter. Then the outbreak of the Kebbler virus sent me to the Stalwart. The Empire was perpetually cloaked in death in my mind. And in my aunt’s quarters, the sense of it was palpable. The sharp tang of medical waste hit my nose first, followed by a heaviness in the air, stale and too warm, like hot breath. And my cousin’s expression as the door swung open: grim.

  “Finally, you’re here,” Charlotte said, ushering me inside. “I think she’s been holding on just for you.” She did not seem pleased by this fact; indeed, Charlotte had never enjoyed the attention I garnered. Never mind that it was entirely negative, but still I overshadowed her, as did her brother, the household favorite. Between adoration for Charles and hatred for me, her mother had little left for Charlotte, who was quiet and unimposing by nature.

  “Your message was short on details,” I said, treading familiar territory. Down the short hall to the living and dining quarters, which branched off into a series of bedrooms. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Cancer,” she said, stopping in front of a familia
r door. The door to the red room. “It’s just like you left it.”

  So it was still terrifying? I dropped my bag by the door and demurred. “Can I see her first? There will be time to unpack later.” I wanted to avoid the red room if possible.

  Charlotte shrugged. “Sure. Suit yourself.” She crossed over instead to another all-too-familiar door. Aunt Reed’s room. I stared at it, frosted, white, and gleaming. Hesitated, until Charlotte reached past my shoulder and hit the button for me. The door slid open, soft as a whisper. I inched over the threshold, poking my head around the door.

  The first thing I was struck by was how small she seemed. Aunt Reed had never been statuesque or physically imposing, though she loomed large in my memory. Now she was tiny, skin shiny with sweat and eyes ringed with dark circles.

  “Stella, is that you?” she croaked, squinting in my direction and beckoning me closer with a bony arm. I approached, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough to catch the cloyingly sweet smell of a perfume attempting to cover up the scent of recent sick. Her hair was greasy, stringy; her lips chapped. But she was still fundamentally my aunt. She scowled up at me. “You took your time getting here, didn’t you? Insolent, as always.”

  “My posting is a bit far away from the fleet, Aunt. I apologize.”

  “That’s right. I heard you got a fancy job.”

  “Indeed,” I said, falling easily back into the formality she required. “It’s a small private ship where I teach a young girl.”

  Aunt Reed shook her head weakly against her pillow. “Imagine you, teaching some little girl. To be difficult, I’m sure of it.”

  “Aunt, why am I here? Why did you call for me? You clearly maintain your dislike of me.”

  Called out, she set her mouth in a straight line. “Only you would speak to a dying woman in such a way, Stella Ainsley, but touché.” Suddenly she rose, half a foot off the pillow, a hacking cough breaking the conversation. She shook, clearly in pain, and without thought, I steadied a hand on her back, supporting her. I fetched her a pouch of water from the bedside table when she asked. She sucked it down greedily but stopped quickly, pushing it back into my hand. “Don’t give it to me next time. We’ll run out of rations.”

  “You’re on water rations?” A lot must have changed on board since last I lived here. Aunt Reed smiled bitterly as she settled back down onto the pillows.

  “We’ve been relegated to the dregs of society since all the money’s gone, but the water rations are shipwide.”

  I kept a straight face, did not pry, though I desperately wished to know the story. I’d get it out of Charlotte later.

  “To answer your question,” she continued, her voice hoarse but strong, “I asked you here to make amends. You are the only one left alive for me to gain absolution from.” She sighed deeply, seeming to sink into her pillows. “But I will have to wait to die tomorrow, for I am too exhausted to hash it out with you right now. Good night, Stella.”

  My cue to leave was unmistakable, so I did, though not without some confusion as to the time. It was still morning.

  I found Charlotte in the living room, reading. “How is she?” she asked, looking up from her tab.

  “Cantankerous,” I replied a bit glibly, then sat in the love seat across from her. “And tired. She’s resting.”

  “She does that a lot now.”

  “How long has she been ill?”

  Charlotte closed her tab, apparently giving up on her book. “She was diagnosed a year ago.”

  “A year?” I said. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  She looked confused. “Why would we tell you? Mama only started to care a few weeks ago when it got really bad. Before that, you never came up.”

  Of course not. Charlotte didn’t look particularly affected or guilty. I dispensed with any guilt I might feel about prying into their circumstances. “Aunt Reed said something about the money being gone. What did she mean?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Charles spent all our money on booze, women, and high-stakes games. Then he died.”

  I was taken aback, both by the news and by the matter-of-fact way she said it. He’d been awful to me as a child, but it was strange to think he was gone. We were all still so young.

  “Charles died? When did that happen?”

  “Six months ago. Which was when they cut off the drugs from Mother. And here we are. The final countdown.” I noticed dark circles under Charlotte’s eyes. Exhausted.

  “Can they do that?” I asked. “Just take away her medication?”

  “Apparently. We’re no better than a common food ship now, it would seem. Left to die in our own good time.”

  I took the knock in stride. “And the water’s being rationed now?”

  “For the last two years.”

  As Charlotte sank back against the couch cushions, threw her head back, and closed her eyes, I reflected on how much had changed. My aunt was penniless, defenseless, and dying. My elder cousin, who used to torment me, was dead. The glorious Empire, reduced to water rationing. The medical rationing for the poor was nothing new, unfortunately.

  An unholy sound, like a sputtering engine, came out of Charlotte as she slipped into a doze. I was on my own, the Reed household determined to sleep. My eyes darted to the door to the red room. My old room. I had to go in there at some point. Why not unpack now, connect my tab to the network? I hauled myself up and trudged over, grabbing my bag and hitting the button to open the door.

  “Lights on,” I said as I stepped over the dark threshold, to no effect. I’d forgotten what it was like to be back in an analog environment. I felt for the light switch on the wall and pressed it on, only to be bathed in eerie red light. How the red room got its name: long ago the lights had malfunctioned, so now they only ever registered red, the emergency-lighting system painting the room in perpetual anger. Of course it had become my room, the least-valued member of the Reed household, because heaven forbid either Charles or Charlotte had to have shared. I felt a pang of sadness; pity. Charles was dead. Nothing was as it had been.

  I threw my bag on the bed, taking out my dresses and underclothes, setting them up in the wardrobe. I retrieved both my tabs, setting my drawing one aside while I powered up the other. Immediately, it pinged to the network, home screen lighting up with notifications. I had messages—​four, in fact. Who would have sent me four messages in three days? I tapped the icon. George. And I realized it had been almost a week since his oldest message. Whoops.

  The first and second message were nothing special—​the usual from George. Movie recaps and general platitudes. More detail about how it was going with Joy than I wanted to hear. The third was a compilation of messages from the kids.

  But the fourth was ominous. I read it twice.

  Dear Stella,

  You were always the Earth science expert, instead of me. Do you think it’s safe to go back there? Jon’s really got me thinking about it lately. He told me not to write to you. Said to be careful what I say. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was jealous.

  I hope you’re okay. It’s odd I haven’t heard from you. Joy is great, but I miss you. If I have to go down to Earth and face who knows what, I’d want you to be there.

  I miss you.

  George

  It was out of character for him. Paranoid. Emotional. And Jon had told him not to write. Did Jon know what I knew, about Mason reading our messages? I was sure it wasn’t because he was jealous. My eyes began to strain—​a symptom of the red room—​and I gave up trying to read. I could still faintly hear Charlotte snoring in the living room. I did my best to convince my body I was tired, crawling under the covers, not even bothering to undress, and tried to nap.

  I slept longer than expected, waking to the rich smell of curry, which set me immediately salivating. Curry meant it was Thursday, and substantive food meant it was dinnertime. I found Charlotte setting two plates and sets of utensils on the dining table, a tureen of steaming brown sauce and vegetables next t
o a container of rice.

  “It’s lucky you checked in with the port authority before coming here,” Charlotte said, “or they would have sent only enough for one.” That she would not have shared her meal was clear.

  “What about Aunt Reed?” I asked.

  “She hasn’t been fit for solid food for two months. And it’s a good thing, as we can only afford so many rations. I take it you paid for yourself?”

  I nodded. “I earn a good salary on board the Rochester.” We sat down, Charlotte at the head of the table, me to her left side. Charlotte sat where her mother used to, eyes flicking to each empty chair in turn, then to me.

  “Who would have thought that I’d end up an orphan, just like you?” She threw it out there, a passing comment before she went ahead and started serving herself. I pointedly did not draw attention to the fact that her mother wasn’t dead yet.

  “What are your plans?” I asked before going to town on my curry and rice. If they were truly bankrupt, the Empire wouldn’t let Charlotte simply hang out on board for the rest of her life. You either worked or had enough money not to.

  “I’ll inherit our quarters, of course,” Charlotte started. “Mama didn’t have time before she got sick to arrange a match for me, but I’ve had my eye on one of the tea workers aboard.” She paused a beat, looking me hard in the eyes. “Don’t you dare breathe a word of that to her. It’ll kill her straightaway if she knows I’d deign to marry a field hand.”

  I nodded dumbly, looking past the threat to the more pressing, underlying question. “Why are there tea workers on board the Empire? The Mumbai is the only tea ship in the fleet.”

  Charlotte waved me off, nonchalant. “Oh, we started growing our own a few years ago, imported some workers from the Mumbai. Saves us fuel and import fees.”

  The Empire had imported workers from the Mumbai to grow their own tea. Charlotte continued talking, oblivious to my no-doubt-concerned expression.