Page 102 of Bound By Stars

I twist back to see over my shoulder. A collection of styluses. Not strong enough. A few rubber bands. Useless. And metal prongs? No. A compass. With two sharp points. Perfect.

I extend my pointed foot, but it’s just out of reach. I step on the stylus it’s propped up on, gently rolling it toward me. The compass moves a few millimeters before slipping off onto the carpet. It’s too far away.

I survey the office again, but there’s nothing in reach. I sink back into the chair.

It’s no use. I’m completely alone. Closer to a planet of people who think I’m their enemy than home. How am I going to get out of this mess if I can’t even get out of this chair?

The floor shakes, and the walls rattle once again.

A thundering rhythm outside the office door sends me to my feet. What’s going on out there? Is someone coming for me? Jupiter? Footsteps pound past, receding into the distance. I sink back into the seat.

Why would he? I believed he’d betrayed me instantly. I didn’t listen when he told me he didn’t have anything to do with his family taking my design. All I had were assumptions and, true to who I am, I made all the worst ones. He had proof staring him in the face. Those messages. Messages I’ve never read. Messages I’ll never read.

All these years, I thought my dad found a better life and left us in the past. But he kept trying. Why hadn’t they been delivered?

Mom. Has she been intercepting them all these years? Just like the contest announcement letter. Letting me think he didn’t care. That he’d tossed me aside for a new life. But why? Did he send for us, and she decided we wouldn’t join him without even asking me? Was it all about keeping me on Earth?

It doesn’t matter. None of that matters now.

I glance up at the glowing replica on the desk again. As it turns, the first-class escape pod bay flashes red, OFFLINE blinking in and out with the shape of the missing limb of the ship. Maybe she was right. I should have stayed on Earth. Then I wouldn’t be chained to this ship, and Reve wouldn’t have been in the pod bay.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pull my legs into my chest. I couldn’t even let him off the hook the last time we spoke. Why do I have to be so unforgiving? So rigid? He died and I never told him he was my best friend. Even though I was impossible, even though I flaked when my dad left, he never stopped trying. Not like I did. I sob into my knees until my head throbs, my eyes burn, and I’m gasping for air.

I let my head fall back, hitting an exposed bolt and sending pain radiating through my skull. I look up. They’re all over the metal walls, along either side of every seam.

Facing the wall, I grab hold of the wide pipe my wrists are anchored around. The wooden chair creaks under my foot as I hoist myself up. Finding another huge bolt with the toe of my left shoe, I extend my arms overhead. I reach for where the pipe curves at a ninety-degree angle to run along the ceiling, but I can’t quite make it. Wrapping my hands all the way around the cylinder, I lean back and lift my right foot to the edge of the porthole, moving my arms upward. Still too far.

I push off. The chain scrapes the back of the pipe. My left foot slips from the bolt and I catch my hands around the top. Kicking my dangling feet, I shimmy backward toward the center of the room, over the open space in front of the desk.

As I hang from the ceiling, debris floats past the outside of the little round window. How much of the ship is gone? How much is left? I’m too afraid to look back at the mini holomap to find out. It can’t be long until the environment regulators give out and everyone freezes to death. Or the oxygen system fails, and we all suffocate.

You can do this, Weslie. Just let go. Artificial gravity will do the rest. Or break your wrists.

I take a few quick breaths and release the pipe. The cuffs catch me, jerking me to a stop. Metal cuts into my skin, and I cry out. My bones and tendons are being pulled apart, strained, and torn. The chain isn’t breaking. I swing my feet toward the desktop, taking pressure off my aching wrists. The skin feels like it’s been split, but there’s no blood.

A rusty-red sliver of Mars peeks over the bottom of the window. I’m so close. I can’t accept that I’ll never see the Elysium habitat on another hyper-speed Asha tour. Or walk into that presentation room in front of all those company heads and Jupiter’s mom and blow them all away. Or establish a life on a planet where I can do more than merely survive, where my mom doesn’t have to waste her days in a factory and spend her nights hunched over a workbench to make ends meet. I haven’t dreamed about this for years only to die a handful of days away from my destination.

And now, there’s Jupiter. If he forgave me, if he believed me, would we have a chance in real life? If I die here, I’ll never find out.

The room violently lurches underneath me. Another explosion. I’m running out of time.

I look up at my throbbing wrists and down at the floor.

The ship shudders again. Last chance.

I curl my fingers around the metal chain attached to each cuff, close my eyes tight, hold my breath, and jump. It snaps. My back hits the floor, knocking the air out of my lungs.

Breathe. I need to breathe. I cradle my aching hands against my chest and clench my eyes shut.

The office door slides open. The alarm still shrieks in the hall.

No, no, no! I finally suck in air, but they’re already inside. It’s too late. I’m too late. A feral cry rips through my chest. They’ll lock me up somewhere to die. And I’ll never see Jupiter or Asha or my mom or anyone else again.

“Weslie.” Jupiter falls to his knees beside me, cradling my head.

I open my eyes, and tears run down the sides of my face into my hair. “You came.”

“Of course.”

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