I can’t believe it. I fumble with my straps, fingers trembling too much to grip the release lever.
A large hand covers mine and holds it firm as we turn the mechanism. I look up into bright almond colored eyes and the stupidest self-congratulating grin.
“You’re still an ass,” I say.
“I know. But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
###
By the time my unsure legs lead me to the flight deck, even with Vallon’s assistance, it’s overrun by the other passengers. Everyone is huddled around the pilot with Penelope’s eyes, thanking her profusely. Hand after hand is shoved at her, all wanting a piece of our savior.
The elders among us fall to the ground at her feet in an ancient, universal, display of reverence. Tears fall freely, and like never before in my brief history, they aren’t hidden in shame.
//I did most of the work,// Vallon says, and to my utter surprise, doesn’t say it out loud. His innermost thoughts are only for my mind.
//I’m sure you did.// I squeeze his hand, the one that hasn’t let go of mine since he helped me out of my harness.
Across the room, a few braver folks look out the windows, trying to get a glimpse of our new home. Frost crackles across the thick panes of glass, leaving scant few pinpricks of visible blue light.
Many months I’ve spent staring out at the vast black nothing from my room’s porthole, wishing for just one speck of something in the distance. Even the stars refused to keep me company in there. Not that I deserved it.
There was a light in the rec room window once. That one spark of hope was probably why Marshall loved it there. I never mentioned the “War Room” plaque on the wall. There was enough of that word outside our little bubble.
Besides, that light didn’t last much longer after Marshall went to sleep. It kept getting smaller and smaller, until I had to squint to see the tiny purple dot in the distance. One day, the day before I met Penelope I think, it was gone.
//Sshh,// Vallon runs a hand down my back and for the first time it doesn’t feel slimy. I inhale the his male virulent strength, welcoming the musk of him into me. He points toward the thawing windshield. Pale blue light spreads across the glass, eating the sheet of white in its path.
A breath of wonder sweeps through the room as all heads are turned toward the sparkling ice planet. Gliese. Home. We’re here.
I lean into Vallon and let go of the tears I’ve been holding back. I’m safe, now. Brooks is out there, on the other side of that breathtaking view. I will see him in just a moment, after the ice dust settles. And then, I will find Howie.
//We did it, Howie. I’m coming.//
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Victories that are easy are cheap.
Those only are worth having which come
As the result of hard fighting
- Henry Ward Beecher
There isn’t a sound in the flight deck as the last bits of ice melt away. Everyone else must be holding their breath, too.
And then we see it. All at once, coming out of the fog… people. Our people. Hundreds of them.
Cheers erupt through the crowd. Passengers strain to search for their loved ones. I scan for Brooks’s cherubic little face.
Vallon shoves them all aside to put me right against the glass. There are too many faces — young, old, men, women — none of them Brooks. Where is he? I can’t find him. I don’t see Brooks.
But I do see —
Vallon steps in front of me and stretches out his arms as cover, knocking people to the ground. “Move!” He orders everyone away from the window. At first, none obey. Then, one by one, their cries of joy turn guttural. They fall away from the window, conceding control to the only one among us who can wield it.
I step to the side, clinging to Vallon’s jacket, and watch as men in similar uniforms charge at us. A loud clanging noise sounds at all the outer walls in unison. A deathly morose beat.
They’re surrounding us.
Our people.
Our own people stand before us, holding… pipes? No. Guns.
Guns don’t even exists anymore. Yet, here they are. In the hands of our own. Pointed at us.
Metal pipes fashioned into guns, held like assault rifles from the history files.
Before I can react, a booming male voice shatters the stunned silence. I hear him, not only from out there, but inside. In my chip, and ever chip around me. He’s hacked us!
//As loyal servants of Her Majesty, we hereby commandeer this vessel for her Galactic Army. All souls on board must comply immediately. Open the hatch.//
There’s a distinct metal-on-metal sound that some hidden part of me recognizes.
One hundred chambering bullets.
Exodus Page 17
