Page 236 of Carousel

Sisters, I pray. Please don’t let me find him dead.

I’m not sure what I would do with myself if I did.

But then I do know.

The airlock. I’d go straight to the airlock.

I come to the end of the dank entryway I’m in. A grated archway – also already open – leads out into a larger space almost entirely filled by a massive brass tank the vague shape of a human heart. The humming is louder here, coming from the tank itself, which is fitted with various gauges and levers and has multiple valves. Thick copper pipes run like arteries from it all along the walls and up into the ceiling. There are metal grates within the ceiling, too, which I suppose must be for ventilation, but they don’t seem to be doing much for the mist, which is even thicker in here. It’s clinging to me.

I can’t see Cosmer. I stand there, just staring at this beating core of the ship, before deciding, just in case, to walk all the way around the tank.

And that’s when I finally find him.

He’s slumped against the back of it. No mask. Eyes shut and mouth slightly parted. He’s kicked his boots off, and now he’s barefoot. At first glance, I could convince myself he’s just fallen asleep.

But there are too many things I don’t like about the scene. The way he looks paler than ever. The way his legs are awkwardly splayed.

He almost blends in with the pipes with his lean, pale silhouette and copper hair. Just another part of the tank.

All of me wants to run to him. I know I should run to him.

But instead, I slow down. Take one step at a time.

Because, what if.

What if?

At least, in these seconds until I reach him, he could still be alive.

At least, in these seconds, I still have hope.

But it’s bleeding out of me like a valve in my own heart has been turned.

CHAPTER 46

The Metal Ladder

Ithink the traces of osimidite are getting to me. I’m light-headed. Not really in my own body. Not really in my own brain. It seems to be fighting against what it’s witnessing, like it doesn’t believe it. It keeps telling me how much he doesn’t look like Cosmer. Couldn’t possibly be Cosmer.

I lift my blouse higher, shaking myself, and clear the last few steps faster. I drop down to him and force my body to do what needs to be done.

His arm is floppy as I grasp it.

But my heart stirs. Because there is warmth under his clammy skin. A faint pulse in his wrist.

I bend over his neck and feel the shallowest of breaths against my cheek.

I exhale so forcefully it hurts my ribs – and at the same time let go of a few tears I didn’t know I’d been holding in.

“Cosmer, you idiot,” I croak.

Then I slap his face. Probably harder than I needed to. But maybe he deserves it.

I thought I might get some reaction from that, but I get nothing.

And I’m miserable.

Because he’s alive. But he could be dying, or his mind could be mush. Unrecoverable.