LITMIR.BIZ

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do you mean?”

      “Right now, we’re spinning. Whole Ark is. But when I hit the release, the airlock will open, and we’ll be free floating. Takes a minute to engage the thrusters, so we’ll still be spinning for a minute. Then there won’t be any gravity at all. It takes some getting used to.”

      Apparently, Isaiah had done this before. Where had he gone that time?

      I took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

      His long fingers spread out on the dash, delicately brushing the switches and buttons until they found a square yellow knob. “All right. Here we go.”

      The pressure that had forced its way up to my throat was joined by the new sensation of my neck being pulled down into my stomach from deep inside me. The tension in my innards spread to beneath my belly. I heard myself make a strange, guttural sound, but I didn’t start screaming until the pulling and pressing reached its icy hands inside my head.

      I was spinning. Heavy arcs of swinging motion overtook me in waves. I screamed louder and louder, until my voice broke. We were completely helpless.

      A dull pain bit into my right forearm, and I realized Isaiah was trying to get me to hold his hand.

      Then, gravity gave out, and the stars swung slower and slower around the clear pane of the Arkhopper. We went around and around, and the pressure forced its way fully into my skull, blackening my vision. The stars winked away. The dash went dark.

      I kept screaming.

      I knew I had to stop, but I couldn’t. Isaiah’s hand was frantic against my arm. He’s afraid for me. He’s worried.

      Then, gravity released us completely, relieving me of what wits I still commanded. My body lifted from the seat.

      I think I’m dying. I definitely wasn’t breathing. The world was red, with streaks of gray. My face felt cold. Everything was so cold, except my hand.

      “Charlotte. Char, baby. Come on. You still with me?”

      My throat tried to swallow, but failed. “What was that?! What happened?”

      “I don’t know.” Isaiah was calm, except for an errant muscle working its way through his jaw. “I couldn’t hear Control.”

      “No. Right.”

      “Because of all the screaming.”

      “Ah.” I looked at him, pulled a face. “Sorry.”

      “Take my hand, Turner.”

      I spread my fingers, and his fingers slid across my palm. I folded my hand to his. It occurred to me that this was Isaiah’s first order. I laughed. What a stupid waste of an order. The streaks of gray in my vision shrank hard, and the red was abruptly angry.

      “Marcela. Come in,” Isaiah’s voice was tense. It made him sound like someone else. “Mars, you there?”

      “I’m here, sir. Cabin lost some pressure right out of the airlock. Some kind of defensive mechanism, maybe, or something standard that we just weren’t prepared for. I couldn’t warn you because of… the noise. Life support is rebooting. You’re two minutes out, but there should be enough air to go on if she calms down.”

      “This isn’t her fault, Mars.”

      “I wasn’t—yes, sir.”

      “Get us back on track right now.”

      “Yes, sir. Eighty seconds.”

      “Sign off, too. I don’t think she likes your voice.”

      There was a moment of silence. My stomach seemed to float in a space all its own, only briefly knocking into my ribs and lungs.

      “Char, you have to breathe slower. You gotta calm down.” He gave my hand a little squeeze, and I found I could make sense of his words.

      I focused on nothing but Isaiah’s hand and its warmth against my own. It wasn’t the first time his steady grip had taught me how to breathe again. I squeezed him back.

      “Hey. There you are.” His voice was warm, too. And tangibly relieved.

      “Sorry ’bout that. Space is not really my thing.”

      “You’re one stone-cold criminal, Charlotte Turner.”

      “I’m so dizzy.”

      “Just concentrate on your heartbeat. Make yourself slow down. And for real, stop screaming. I’m already blind. Don’t want to be deaf, too.”

      “I don’t remember it being like that when the OPT docked.” I frowned. The truth was that I didn’t remember anything from when the Off-Planet Transport docked with the Ark. I’d been drugged, along with all the other passengers. “Was it that bad?”

      Isaiah made a small noise. “It was worse. They had to slow the rotation anytime an OPT docked. When you woke up, they were already back in full swing. Planned it that way. Apparently a lot of people got the Lightness.”

      “Lightness?”

      “It’s a thing they call it when you don’t have gravity.”

      “Why not just call it ‘zero gravity?’”

      “No, that’s just the fact of it. The Lightness is about whether you can take the fact, or not. Some people plain can’t.”

      On my second journey through space, I didn’t feel like talking anymore than I had on my first. But this time, I sat with Isaiah, not a wing full of strangers. He was a solid mass in the seat next to mine. He was a co-conspirator and a familiar comfort. For the moment, he was both a captor and a friend. It was a strange mix. In his hands, just out of my reach, he held everything I’d wanted since my mother died. I could not leave him, yet I wasn’t completely sure I wanted to. The Arkhopper stopped spinning, and the stars ceased flinging themselves around us.

      The sky was full of them. I mean, full. The more I concentrated on the black spaces between the stars, the more stars I saw. They were everywhere. My spine lifted away from the seat behind me, pressing me softly toward the straps all around me.

      I missed my mother. My grief over her death was a constant companion. It swept along the bins of the cargo hold, barely a step ahead of the guards. It roamed the halls of the Remnant, and lately, it had paced the floor of my cell, sometimes weeping at the loss of her, sometimes laughing at her memory. It lay in my bed at night, wrapping its long arms around my ribs, pressing them in and out as I breathed. At times it spoke to me in tenderness, reminding me that she had loved me. Now, it intoned mercilessly that she had died in this blackness, free from gravity forever. Free from light.

      She should have seen the sight in front of me: an infinite flood of stars, each more subtle than the last, filling the voids as my sight adjusted to the dark, then blurring out with my tears until I blinked.

      She loved the stars.

      My grief raged against me only rarely these days, but as gravity released its grip on my body, it reached long fingers around my throat, threatening to choke me. In a strange way, sitting with Isaiah was like sitting with an older version of myself, a past I had never escaped, and I didn’t try to stop the few tears that fell. He’d seen worse from me. His hand tightened over mine, and my grief lessened its noose round my neck.

      I did not squeeze him back.

      At length, I spoke, but my gaze remained on the stars. “I’m angry, Isaiah. So angry. I don’t know why.”

      He didn’t respond, but he didn’t take his hand away, either.

      When the Asian Ark came into view several hours later, I found that I had slept. I pulled myself together. I had a long way to go that day and not a lot of information to work with.

      I had found my father. My mother would be glad of that, glad that we were no longer angry at each other. But I had yet to find my brother,

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