I have no doubt Vonn would help us only so long as it helps him: feed us, harvest us, use us for slave labor on Radix until we have nothing left to give. It’s how he’s always operated, pushing workers to their limits for the sake of getting the job done quickly—and the board spins it so the workers believe they’re sacrificing to save humanity. How desperate are they, now that Vonn doesn’t have ready access to a refresher crew from Earth? Even if a new crew was willing to give everything for the mission—new crews always are, what with the incentives they offer for families left behind—how would those crewsgetto Radix, if they can’t even manage to launch a simple supply delivery?
Honestly, I’d almost rather starve than accept interference of any kind from Vonn.Surelythere’s some other way to stretch or replenish our supplies that doesn’t include our being indebted to him down the line? More than just our short-term relief, we have to consider the potential for long-term misery: if Vonn and the board eventually put their heads together and realizethey can solve two problems at once by sending us out to Radix to replenish Vonn’s team, that’s it—that’s our entire miserable future, right there, and not even Shapiro will be able to stop it from happening.
We are not experts like our parents were. Aside from Shapiro, we have no one left to defend our worth but ourselves.
The infinite sea of stars curls in on itself, and for one silent, dangling second, I think I’m going to lose it. I steady myself, cradle my head in my hands. It’s too much, this. I can’t do it. I can’t do everything I need to do to keep everyone alive. Today has been too much, too much in every way.
There are six of us, yes, six of us in this together. But they’re waiting forme. Leo, Zesi, Haven, silent and waiting for my word.
If I can’t handle this, who will?
I shift four mugs of old, cold coffee to the side. “Let’s get a fresh pot going,” I say. “Meet at my place in twenty, make sure Nat and Heath are there, too.”
We never meet at my place, but with so much spinning out of control, I need to be somewhere I feel safe, steady. We’re going to handle this, handleeverything, and we’re going to handle it on my terms.
19
LIKE A FALLING STAR
LEO’S THE FIRST to arrive. He takes a long look at me, then breaks into a wide smile. “Look at us,” he says. “We look like we’ve been left to fend for ourselves on Mars or something.”
His smile is contagious. Just when I forget how much I need him, he’s there, bright and beaming and warm. “Not that far off, really,” I say.
“Not that far off except foreverything.” He smiles again. Mars exploration never did take off, especially once they learned more about the conditions on Radix, how perfect it’d be for terraforming. Mars has been reduced to a primitive reminder of all we thought we knew—and how very little anyone actually knows, compared to the vastness of the universe.
“How are you always this fresh, Leo? How do you do it? How do you not need sleep?”
“How do you know you’re not sleeping now?” he says. “How do you know this isn’t a dream?”
“I always wake up at the worst parts,” I say, purposefullytaking him seriously. “I would’ve woken up a long time ago if this were a dream.”
His smile fades, and he looks at me, reallylooksat me. “C’mere, Linds.” He pulls me in close, wraps his arms around me. They’re strong, and he’s strong, and it turns out I need this right now in a major way. I bury my cheek in his chest, he rests his chin on my head: perfect fit, as always. We’ve done this for years, ever since his height drastically outpaced mine. “We’re going to get through this, all right?” His chest rises, falls. “Weare.”
We.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s just—little things, you know?” Her chocolate. How everything in this place is always exactly as I leave it, because I’m the only one who lives here now. The stars outside our every window, a constant reminder of all I’ve loved and lost.
“I get it,” he says. And I know he does. He was incredibly close with his father, and loved his mother to pieces. They were good people, the best. “I think it’s okay to think about them, you know? I think they’d want us to remember.”
I don’t know how to think about those things without falling apart, is the problem. And if I fall apart, the station does, too. But I don’t say so—I can’t. I try, but the words won’t come out.
Someone pounds at my door, startling us apart.
“Helloooo?” Haven calls, her voice ever clear from the far side of the door. “A little help here? Hands are full of coffee!”
I rush over to let her in, find everyone else close behind her.Haven and Natalin and Heath carry two mugs each, full to their brims. Zesi has a French press in both hands, each wrapped in a little neoprene sweater to hold in the heat.
I shift things around on our—my—coffee table, make room for the French presses and mugs. Haven and Natalin curl into the love seat, a functional purple built-in that’s too big and too small all at once. The guys spread out around the table, each claiming a piece of the woven, rust-colored rug that makes our cork-on-concrete floor slightly more bearable. They leave my mother’s chair for me.
The mood settles like a falling star, bright and brighter until it burns out to blackness. I take a sip of coffee, set the mug carefully onto the table. “It’s been a long day, and it’s late, so let’s jump right in,” I say. “I’ll follow up with each of you on an individual basis tomorrow—especially you, Natalin, I know the food situation’s looking pretty grim—but for now, we need to talk about Shapiro and the messages.”
Natalin starts to protest, but I cut her off before she can derail me. “The messages present a number of issues,” I say. “For one, we’ve been silent so long they think we’re dead. We’re already low on supplies, and it sounds like they’re not planning to send us more anytime soon—even when they find out we’re alive, they won’t be able to, due to their pilot quarantine. I know this complicates the food crisis in a major way, Nat, so please be assured that isn’t lost on me.”
I glance at her face, try to get a read on how irritated sheis that I’m steamrolling her like this. She nods, lips tight, but doesn’t interrupt.
“Making contact with Shapiro isn’t the hard part, thanks to Zesi’s breakthrough with our external comm system—our system seems to be working just fine, we simply didn’t know how to get into it until today,” I continue. “Problem is, we need to come to a consensus on what to tell him.”
“How is that a problem?” This from Natalin. I knew she wouldn’t keep her thoughts to herself for long. “He thinks we’re dead, and we can easily tell him we aren’t. Zesi mentioned, on the way over, about some sort of shipment from Radix?”
