Page 21 of Last of Her Name

If I’d known just sitting there—trying not to breathe, not to move, not to use up any excess air—would be so mind-numbingly awful, I’d have just vented all the oxygenwithouta suit on and saved us both time by getting it over with.

But I’m too stubborn to die.

And I have people waiting for me.

So I think of them during the eternity it takes to reach Sapphine’s atmosphere: of Clio forcing me to try a popular romance show, and laughing when she caught me bingeing it obsessively through the night. I think of Mom, explaining some complicated surgical procedure with fiendishly grisly detail while I helped her clean her office. I think of Dad after too many glasses of his own wine, banging away on our ancient piano. He would urge me to dance, telling me stories about his wild younger days back on Snow, his home-moon in Alexandrine’s orbit.

Alexandrine.

He and Mom would have been right there in the thick of things when the Unionists laid siege to the imperial city. They never told me what they did during the war. Only that they’d fled the tumult and emigrated to Amethyne.

Theycouldhave been at the palace that day, when the Leonovs were murdered by the direktor Eminent and his men.

Theycouldhave left with a baby, smuggled her out the back door and onto a ship where Pol’s parents were waiting.

There’s nothing I can do except let the ship follow the pattern I already locked in, but now I wish I’d taken manual control. Then I’d have something to do besides sit here, trapped in this suit, trapped in my own head.

To distract myself from that unsettling thought, I ponder the crushed gravity generator instead.

I lean forward and pull up a digital notepad, keying in a quick message. Then I flick it, and it slides down the board to Pol.

What if this wasn’t an accident?

He glances at me, then types a reply and sends it over.

I was thinking the same thing.

Our eyes meet. Then rise to the glass roof, searching the inky space around us. Someone tagged us before we left Amethyne’s system. If it was a Union ship, we’d have a fleet on our tail already. Our plan to warp out of Sapphine’s system and shake our pursuer was crushed along with the gravity. We’re easy prey, limping along in our broken caravel. All anyone would have to do is pluck us from the sky—or shoot us out of it.

We don’t see any astronikas lurking in the darkness, but from the stories I’ve heard, orbital pirate fleets have ways of cloaking themselves from both radar and the naked eye—maybe Union ships do too. I’ve never heard of pirates who could crush a gravity generator, however. I’ve never heard ofanyonewho could do that. Not even vityazes with their top-of-the-line tech. But then, it’s not like the Committee has been sharing their secrets with me. Who knows what they’ve got up their sleeves?

Pol slides over another note.

We land, pick up a new generator, and we get out.

He follows it up with,FAST.

I nod and power down the holo to save power, then look out the window to my left so he can’t see the fear in my eyes. It’s a good enough plan, except it’s missing the most difficult step: surviving the landing.

Fifteen minutes later, my suit begins to beep, a red light flashing on the lower left corner of my visor.

Ten minutes of oxygen left.

The ship begins to rattle as we near the outer fringes of Sapphine’s atmosphere. I can feel sweat running down my face. The oxygen tube by my ear is still hissing, and suddenly it doesn’t seem annoying at all. In fact, I hope it goes on happily hissing for ages, for eons, for epochs. Because the moment it stops, I’m dead.

Sapphine fills the window, no longer just blue but every shade of blue, from palest gray to deep cerulean, all partially veiled by a ragged sheet of white cloud. We’re fully in her grasp now; the great planet pulls us in, lassoing theLaikawith her immense gravity.

Two minutes of air left. The beeping seems to get louder. My stomach lurches as I reach for the controls, preparing to take over for reentry. I swallow hard, trying to focus on keeping calm. If I throw up, it’ll all float around in my helmet, making it hard to see.

Also, gross.

“Stacia?”

“I got this. Quiet.”

“Stacia …”

Alarmed by his weak tone, I look over just as his eyes roll back and he goes limp.