Brightly Burning

by Alexa Donne

  “Like when the Ingrams were visiting,” I supplied. It explained why there’d been absolutely no incidents that entire time. Hugo nodded.

  “Though Mason meddled enough to draw her out of her stupor.” His derision was clear. Something was wrong with the Mason story, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “She doesn’t mean to cause harm,” Hugo said, getting up and going over to his mother. He knelt in front of her, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face, like he’d done with me. Only this gesture wasn’t at all romantic. Hugo was rendered a boy in front of her, and for her part, Cassandra blinked slowly down at him, face contorted with confusion.

  “Why do you look so old?” she asked, her entire demeanor changed. “You’re only fourteen, Hugo. You shouldn’t be in such a hurry to age.”

  “I don’t mean to, Mom,” he said.

  “Tell your father not to give you so much responsibility, then. Entangling you with that . . . girl, working on that godforsaken virus for the government.” Her expression turned stormy, a shade of her previous hysteria. “It’s wrong what he’s doing. I asked Phillip to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. Why won’t he listen, Hugo?”

  “I know, Mom.” Hugo stroked her arm, squeezed her shoulder. “Dad doesn’t mean to upset you. And I . . . I want you to meet a friend of mine.” He turned to me, returning to the love seat, squeezing my hand. I felt panic grip my heart. “This is Stella Ainsley.”

  Cassandra squinted over at me, mouth set into a frown. “That’s a dreadful haircut,” she said, and I nearly choked on rage, with only Hugo’s squeezing my hand to ground me. But she was clearly unwell, had no clue where—​or when—​she was. She thought Hugo was a young boy and her husband was still alive, and she did not recognize her own handiwork on me. “And where did you come from?”

  “Stella came over from the Stalwart,” Hugo explained calmly. Cassandra’s expression darkened.

  “That’s one of the targets,” she said. “You don’t want to stay there.”

  “Stella and I are to be married.” Hugo’s response was hasty, as if he was trying to steer the conversation away from where Cassandra wished to take it. The diversion worked. She looked me up and down, the frown seemingly permanent.

  “She’s not very pretty, is she? And what about Bianca, Hugo? You and she are already betrothed.”

  “I don’t love Bianca; I love Stella,” Hugo said, and my heart fluttered despite Cassandra’s wound. “And I find her very pretty. And clever, and kind. You shouldn’t say such awful things.” I squeezed Hugo’s hand in thanks and scooted closer.

  “You’re only fourteen; too young to marry.”

  “I’m nineteen, mom. You need to remember this time. Dad is gone, and I’m not him. I’m going to marry Stella. You can’t try to hurt her again.”

  Cassandra began to violently shake her head back and forth, muttering a litany of noes. Her moment of lucidity passed; she gulped for air, cried, thrashed against her restraints. “He was a murderer!” she shrieked. “He made murderers of us all!”

  Lieutenant Poole reappeared with Hanada in tow, the latter carrying a small metal case from which she extracted a syringe.

  “Not her,” Cassandra growled, pulling against her restraints. Hanada was uncharacteristically silent, no biting retort passing her lips. Indeed, she appeared contrite as she administered the dose.

  “Don’t you see she’s trying to steal you away?” Cassandra pleaded with Hugo, who grabbed ahold of my hand, palm clammy, as if to anchor himself to me.

  “Mom, please. I’m not Dad.”

  Cassandra was not convinced. She continued to shout accusations at us, the drug slow to take effect. Hugo’s hand tensed in mine; he squeezed to the point that it started to hurt. I feared he’d come undone if we stayed much longer, so I took the initiative, dragging Hugo to his feet, out the door, back to the elevator. I had to take his right hand in mine, press it to the bio-lock as he stood numb, peering back in the direction of the screams. I pushed him into the elevator, hit the button for Deck Two, and nudged him gently along until we reached his study.

  “Here, drink this,” I commanded, pushing a glass of liquor into his hands. Hugo did not second-guess me, gulping down half the glass in one go. I took a sip myself, relishing the way the liquid burned down my throat, like bitter ashes.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked once Hugo had finished the glass. He seemed less shaken. I, on the other hand, felt my pulse quicken, and sweat prickled on my brow.

  “I should ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m fine. It’s only hair.” I made sure to reinstate my poker face and braced myself for the conversation to come. “What did your mother mean, Hugo? About your father working on a virus and the Stalwart being a target?”

  Hugo’s eyes flashed with surprise and an underlying panic. “She’s not well. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You heard her. She thinks I’m my dad.” He was hedging. He was lying. Tears burned in my eyes; I blinked them back, willing myself not to fall apart.

  “Hugo, please tell me your family wasn’t responsible for the Kebbler virus.”

  He looked away, to the window, as if the black expanse would absolve him. “I can’t. Now you know.”

  “It killed so many children,” I choked out, letting the tears slip freely down my cheeks.

  “Now you know why my mother killed my father. You know all my secrets.”

  Not quite. “Mason came here to prove that your mother was still alive. That you disobeyed a fleet order of execution, right?” He nodded. “Then why did he leave? It was a month ago, and nothing’s happened.”

  Hugo flinched.

  “Something has happened?”

  He grabbed my hands, grasped them so tightly, it hurt. Wild eyes burned into mine. “I didn’t know. You must believe me. Mari’s been doing off-the-books experimentation for years, concocting new and deadlier viruses. And Mason knew.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mason is from the Population and Control Department. Population control is his job. He came here for the virus . . .”

  I extracted my hands from his and looked at Hugo, who looked like his father, a man who had doomed thousands to death not that many years ago.

  “Hugo, what did you do?” I practically whispered.

  “Everything wrong.”

  “So that’s it?” I said, taking a step back, positioning myself closer to the door. “You just hand over a virus that will ravage the poor of the fleet? And I’m guessing you have a vaccine that will save the rich?”

  No reply. Just waves of rage and guilt from the hunch of his shoulders, the way he refused to look at me.

  “It’s not too late. Just don’t give Mason what he wants. We’ll figure out another solution.”

  “It is too late,” Hugo said to the crystal in his hand. “Mason already has what he needs.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  His words were a lead weight in my stomach, and a shot of adrenaline to the heart.

  I ran.

  To my quarters, where the door was still open from the earlier assault, where I cordoned myself off to think. Mason had the virus, and I was sure the Stalwart was a target again. Everything made sense—​other ships taking over food production gradually during the last several years. A safeguard in the event the Stalwart suffered a major catastrophe, whether that meant reentry to Earth or a deadly virus wiping out most of the population. I had to warn them, warn George, but Mason was likely still monitoring my communication. And besides, what good would warning them do? You can’t hide from a virus, and running wasn’t an option either. The Stalwart was a sitting duck.

  I yawned despite the adrenaline, but a glance over at my bed, to the brown hair still on my pillow, soured any wish I had to sleep. Instead, I went into the bathroom.

  “Rori, where can I find a pair of scissors on board?” I asked, determined to salvage my new look, distract myself from the horror gripping my heart. My broken heart. I just needed to even out
some of the egregious pieces. Cassandra hadn’t cut with an eye for symmetry.

  “You can find scissors in the kitchen, Stella.”

  I stole away below deck, my feet bare to save me from making noise that might wake Albert, whose quarters were directly next door. The kitchen was dark, full of lumbering shapes that set my imagination running. Were I younger, I would have conjured up monsters from the shadowy bulk of a refrigerator unit.

  “Lights on,” I commanded, illuminating the room. And revealing a man crouched in the corner, fork poised before his lips. “Sergei!” I shrieked, a little more loudly than I liked. “What are you doing here? In the dark, no less!”

  “Just having a little nosh,” he said, his voice a higher pitch than usual. I narrowed my eyes, taking in a half-dressed state and a pair of slippers I recognized. Xiao’s. Suspicions confirmed.

  “It’s good you’re still here,” I said. “I need you to take me away. Immediately.”

  “What about your wedded bliss?” His expression turned suspicious.

  “That doesn’t matter right now. I need to get to the Stalwart as soon as possible.” I spied a pair of scissors resting in a knife block and snatched them up. “And how are you with cutting hair?”

  “Better than whoever got you started.”

  I didn’t dignify his wry remark with a response, but handed them over. As Sergei snipped away, I talked myself into my new plan. He would take me to the Stalwart, where I could warn George, Jon, Jatinder. Then I’d have to go to the Empire for Charlotte. She’d be a target now as one of the poor of the ship, though maybe not if the Empire was smart enough to spare the tea farmers. Why sabotage their new bumper crop? The warnings might be futile, but they might not. Charlotte, at least, could likely quarantine herself in her quarters, avoid anyone who got sick.

  “All set,” Sergei said with one last snip of the scissors. “And if you’ll give me an hour, we can depart. If you are sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, taking the scissors and returning them to their rightful place. “I’ll see you in the transport bay.”

  My new trunk proved invaluable, as, true to my intention, it fit all my worldly possessions. Seeing everything, every bit of clothing, my tabs, the ties for my hair, my old friend Earl Grey, packed neatly into one space made real my ultimate decision. I wasn’t coming back. My happiness couldn’t come at the expense of lives. I wouldn’t condone murder just because I loved the murderer. I stole one last reminder of him, the only thing in my room that was not mine to take—​the triptych. I would write Jessa later, a letter to explain my sudden departure. I needed a few days to come up with some reasoning she might understand, a lie I could be happy with.

  I retraced my steps from only three days before, but this time I made my way alone to the aft end of the ship with my trunk. There were no flirtations, no kind words or teasing, only the hollow sound of the ship in the early hours of the morning. But when I got to the transport bay, Hugo was there, blocking the way. My breath caught in my throat.

  “You’re leaving,” he said, barely a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Please don’t go. Stay here; stay with me.” Clammy hands grabbed mine, my trunk rocking back with a clunk onto its base. “Please.” His tone was hushed, but his eyes were ablaze. I stumbled over the sadness, the desperation I found in them. My thoughts started tumbling over in my head: how many steps it was back to my room. How long it might take to unpack. The things I could live with.

  But then there were all the things with which I could not live.

  “No,” I choked out, extracting my hands from his grip. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want to do this alone. Not anymore. Not again.” Hugo’s eyes shimmered, as if he were going to cry, but no tears fell. I managed no such strength, hot tears running down my cheeks, splashing salty onto my lips.

  “That’s what happens when you choose yourself over everyone else,” I said, wiping angrily at my cheeks. “I can’t. People are going to die. A lot of people.”

  “I know. If I could stop it, I would,” he said. Finally, Hugo stepped aside, leaving the door unblocked, his expression resigned.

  “Will I see you again?”

  I hesitated; considered lying. But I didn’t. “No.”

  “And you always keep your promises.”

  What else could I say? That I loved him? I’d miss him? The truth wasn’t always the best remedy. I grabbed my trunk.

  “Wait. Don’t leave yet. Please. Wait here, just a minute. I have something for you.”

  I was tempted to ignore him, to steal away, hop on Sergei’s ship and take off before he could stop us and give me some gift that might make me change my mind. Instead, I waited.

  Hugo reappeared maybe five minutes later, a small, rigid black bag in hand. Something inside rattled, like glass clinking against glass. “It’s the last of the vaccine supply,” Hugo said, forcing the handle into my hand. He moved to touch me, maybe squeeze my shoulder, but instead I felt a sharp pinch in my forearm.

  “Ow!” I looked down to see a needle sticking out of my arm, Hugo just finishing up depressing the handle.

  “I’m sorry; I had to,” he said. “If I didn’t make you take it, you’d give yours up for someone else.” He withdrew the needle and stepped back with a sad smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the kind of person you are.”

  I hated him for his love. It ripped its claws into my chest and squeezed the breath from my body, drawing my tears once more. This time, there was no dignity in my crying. I could hardly control my breath, nor the anguished sounds that spilled from my lips. Hugo pulled me into a crushing hug, and I let him, my pride in a puddle on the floor. He buried his face in my hair, and I burrowed into the warmth of his chest. I inhaled a shaky breath, holding the air in my lungs, as if to capture him in my sense memory, exactly like this. Solid and warm and mine. I tilted my chin up, let him kiss me. Just once. Chaste. Then I pulled away.

  “Hugo, I—” I tripped over what I wanted to say, words that would ultimately both soothe and hurt him. After a deep breath, I opted for the harsh truth. “You did it to protect your mother, right? Giving Mason what he wanted. I understand how much you love her, but she wouldn’t want this, Hugo. Her life for everyone else’s. You have to know that. It’s not worth the price.”

  His jaw was tight, eyes now guarded. He offered a terse nod, and that was it. It was over.

  I gave my own nod and turned around, marching with resolute steps toward Sergei’s shuttle. Every step was heavy, as if someone had turned the gravity up a few notches, some part of me reluctant to leave. I released a deep sigh as Sergei took my trunk and the vaccines from my hands.

  “Is he still there?”

  “Da.”

  “How does he look?”

  I received no reply, but his face said it all. Not good. I refused to glance back, lest I lose my nerve.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, pausing on the steps up to the shuttle just briefly to hear the whoosh of the outer bay door as it shuttered. I pictured Hugo behind the glass, watching me dis­appear through the metal door. Saying something to the glass, something I would never hear but would appreciate anyway. Something more satisfying than that nod.

  I strapped myself into the passenger seat, vaccine bag clutched tight against my breast. And as the shuttle took off and I felt us rocket away from the Rochester for the last time, I knew in my heart that Hugo hadn’t stayed at the window to watch. He’d left. The space behind the window was cold and empty and gray, like the space where my heart used to be. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to weep.

  “Stella, we have problem.” It had been nearly two days, and I’d spent much of them knocked out, Sergei’s sleeping draft my only solace. I chose to numb myself from the reality of my situation; if I thought too much about it, regret washed over me like lead.

  Sergei frowned down at his tab screen, then up at me. “Stalwart does not simply receive visitors. You have no visa.”

&n
bsp; “What?” I climbed into the copilot seat and read the message for myself. The Stalwart was suspicious of who we were, why Sergei was requesting permission to land only temporarily. I’d planned to be on board for only a day or so; then we’d head to the Empire. Now everything was in jeopardy. I looked out the window at Earth and the fleet, slowly but surely growing larger in our view. I’d need to figure this out fast; we were almost there.

  “Tell the Stalwart I’m coming back. Permanently,” I said, making a split-second decision. “They’ll take me back if I can work.”

  “Do you really think that wise?” Sergei’s expression made clear that he did not. “We can go to Empire instead. Much nicer place to be stuck.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t abandon my friends there. The children. They need these vaccines.”

  “And what about your cousin?”

  “You can still go to the Empire, can’t you? Just to make a delivery of the vaccine?” Sergei nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go to the Stalwart, and you to the Empire. And then . . .” And then I’d be back on the Stalwart forever. Or at least until all their systems failed and we plummeted back to Earth. Whichever came first. “Let me vaccinate you now.”

  “Like I told you before, I am fine. I’ve survived many viruses before this one. Do not waste your precious vaccine on me.”

  “Humor me, Sergei,” I said. I was not getting off this ship without giving him a dose. “And confirm with the Stalwart I can come back. Permanently.”

  Sergei looked at me as if I were mad, and perhaps I was. The right thing to do often sounded crazy.

  Either the Stalwart had changed or I had; I suspected the latter. The transport bay seemed smaller than last I’d seen it; the finishing duller. The Stalwart had never been a nice ship, but the Rochester had clearly spoiled me, as I found myself wrinkling my nose in distaste at features that never irked me before. And perhaps the heavy sense of foreboding I felt was because I would never again leave the hulking carcass of this ship.