Page 129 of Last of Her Name

Until I realize it’s the Prismata’s debris starting to pummel the station.

“Go, go, go!” Pol shouts.

Natalya is in, gliding on her own little shimmering stress field. Riyan’s on the bridge above, tessellating Mara up beside him and strapping her into the pilot’s chair. The ship interior is lit by theValentina’s pale blue auxiliary lighting.

“The Prism’s dead!” Riyan reminds us.

“Thrusters,” I murmur. “The solar backup should let us use the thrusters.”

Pol catches my eye and nods.

“If we undock,” he adds, “we can use the thrusters to generate enough force to break free of the station. If we stay attached, we die. We’ll have a better chance of surviving that way, making ourselves a smaller target, but we have to do itfast.”

“No use,” Mara says, falling into the pilot’s seat. “The solar backup can’t power both the thrusters and the unmooring clamps. I can’t undock from this side.”

“From this side?”

“There are analog controls in the station, but there’s no time to make it back aboard—”

Behind me, the hatch seals shut.

Pol and I whirl around to see my parents on the other side. They stare at me through the hatch’s round glass window. Their eyes are sad, but they’re smiling.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no—”

“Go, Stacia,” Dad says, his voice muffled. “Whatever life you choose, we know you’ll make it a good one.”

“We do love you,” says Mom, pressing a hand to the glass. “No matter what, you were always our Stacia.”

“NO!” I reach for the door lever, but my parents shut the station’s paired hatch, sealing us out.

I look up, unable to speak or think or breathe, as they engage the manual undocking equipment. I can see the sweat on Dad’s chin as he hauls on one large lever, while Mom frantically opens a panel and operates the gears behind it.

The clamps holding the ship in place give way with a clank, and Mara immediately fires the thrusters while yelling at us to hang on. TheValentinasails free of the station, and in the last glimpse I have of my parents, they’re holding each other, visors pressed together, hands on each other’s helmets.

“We’re sorry.” My mother’s last words are a crackle of static in my ear, over my comm channel. “And we love you.”

As theValentinapulls away, I can see the Committee ships spread across the sky, and the smaller transport shuttle Volkov must have used is docked at the far end of the station. The remaining Loyalists seem to be trying to pull free on their large, bulky battleship, but they aren’t fast enough.

The wave of debris from the Prismata rips through the station; it’s like watching a paper crane go through a shredder. Panels go spinning, glass shatters, walls rip and tear free. Some of the debris pelts the clipper, and theValentinashudders but holds firm. Riyan and Natalya tessellate a stress field around us to block the larger pieces, but turned away from the cloud, we are a much smaller target. Even so, Mara has to work hard to dodge the bigger fragments. The clipper dives and spirals wildly, and we all hang on hard.

In moments, it’s all gone—the station, the Loyalist ship, the Committee fleet. Zhar and Volkov.

My family.

I sink to the floor, shaking. Pol kneels beside me. Together we stare through the hatch window, watching the destruction fade away.

Debris becomes dust, and dust becomes nothing.

I let out a long breath and curl over, drawing breath in raspy heaves. Pol pressurizes the air lock and then removes my helmet. My hair slips free, sticking to my sweaty face. I dig my gloves into the floor and hear a sob rip from my throat.

Pol puts an arm around me. He says nothing, just holds me, his breath as ragged as mine. Tears run from his eyes, cutting dark paths down his cheeks.

Hours later, Natalya rouses us. I don’t remember drifting off, but my throat is still sore from crying, and Pol looks terrible. She wordlessly hands us a canteen of water, then slips out of the air lock and back onto the bridge. Soft auxiliary lighting casts a blue haze over theValentina’s interior, and through the air lock window, there’s nothing but inky darkness and the distant stars. Mara is asleep on one of the sofas, out of her space suit, with her injured leg propped up.

I stare at her, unable to summon the anger I felt earlier. Whether she betrayed us or not, I suppose it all would have ended the same. And she was just trying to do the right thing, as best she could. We all were. And we all failed.

Pol hands me the water. I drink deep, then pass it to him. I feel exhausted, wrung out. All I want to do is hide in my cabin and burrow into my bunk and do nothing, ever again. Just sleep.