The Burning Dark (39 page)

Ida saluted Carter. Carter hesitated, then perhaps realizing Ida’s plan, saluted back, and then the ramp was closed.

Ida stood in the passageway inside the
Bloom County,
took a deep breath, and then jogged toward the flight deck.

47

The main viewscreen of
the U-Star
Magenta
showed the aft view as the shuttle limped away from the
Coast City.
The disk of Shadow convulsed as a giant flare of solar material was ejected from its surface. Silhouetted against the star, the incomplete torus of the space station looked tiny.

“Come on, come on,” Carter muttered, knuckles white as he pushed the main thruster controls. Next to him Serra sat motionless, her eyes closed, her skin pale and a layer of sweat across her brow. On her lap sat the space radio, the blue light illuminating her slick skin, making her almost glow. She moaned in pain.

Zia clutched the arms of the commander’s chair as she watched Carter wrestle with the controls.

“Can’t this piece of junk go any faster?”

“Engines are still cold,” said Carter. “Shuttles aren’t known for their quick getaways.”

Zia glanced at the viewscreen. She assumed the shuttle’s computer was filtering the light from the star, making it safe to look at, but after a moment she closed her eyes, just in case. She imagined her own ship, the famous P-Prof
Bloom County,
racing toward the star as they pulled away, the Spider at the heart of the craft waking, sensing the star nearby with a terrible hunger. She only hoped that it would all work. Otherwise, they weren’t making it out of the system alive and would join the others taken by Izanami to fill the ranks of the Funayurei.

Serra cried out. Her scream was primal, animal, full of pain and despair. Zia’s eyes flew open and she saw Serra jerk back in her chair, her back arched, before she slumped into it and didn’t move. Her breathing was shallow and fast.

“Hey, Serra! Hang in there!” Carter risked letting go of the uncooperative yoke with one hand as he reached over and rocked her knee.

Something flared on the viewscreen, white and red and expanding, flooding the shuttle’s control cabin with blinding light. Zia squinted into the screen, one arm raised instinctively against the light. The violet white disk of Shadow had gone, replaced by a rippling mass of colors as the star went nova.

“Bingo,” Zia whispered. The gateway was closed; it had to be. She only hoped Izanami had still been behind it.

“Shit,” said Carter. “Hold on to something.”

A few seconds later, the
Magenta
was pitched forward at forty-five degrees as the shock wave from the stellar explosion reached them. An alarm sounded, and the control cabin’s lights flicked to an angry emergency red.

The trio bounced in their seats as Carter pulled at the controls, helpless as the shuttle rode the leading edge of the explosion.

On the viewscreen, the
Coast City
and the
Carcosa
boiled away into nothing but hot atoms in space a hundred thousand klicks behind them. Another alarm sounded, and Carter swore as the yoke kicked in his hands. Then the
Magenta
righted itself and the emergency lighting switched back to white. On the viewscreen, the nova slid out of the bottom of the picture as Carter pulled the shuttle up and accelerated, just enough to escape the explosion, the still-cold engines screaming in protest.

Serra sighed and rolled her head against the back of her seat. Carter reached over to Serra and squeezed her hand.

It was over. Shadow was gone, along with the space station, along with, Zia realized, everyone still held captive aboard the
Carcosa.
They couldn’t have saved them, that she knew, but she also wished there had been some other way.

Zia watched the empty viewscreen for a moment. Then she stood and left the control cabin without a word. In her hand she held the space radio, which she had picked up from where it fell as the ship had bucked.

*   *   *

In the
Bloom County,
there was—had been—a window directly above her cot. It was a custom installation, but it let the starlight fall on her as she slept.

The
Magenta
was Fleet-standard modular design, and had no such customization in its simple, functional crew quarters.

But there were inspection windows in the cargo hold, which is where Zia had dragged her bedding and mattress, making herself a nest under the angle of the ceiling on a high shelf on one side of the hold, directly underneath the porthole. It wasn’t that comfortable, but it would do for the long haul back to the nearest way station—they had discovered the
Magenta
’s drive had been damaged in the shock wave from Shadow’s explosion, and Carter had estimated the crawl to port would take ten cycles or more. If they were careful with the shuttle’s standard emergency supplies, they would make it. Just.

But she had the starlight, and that made her happy. That, and something else.

Zia rolled over and reached forward to adjust the controls of the silver space radio set that sat on a shelf on the wall beside the makeshift bed. After a second or two there was a pop and a crackle and the room was filled with the rolling sound of the ocean. There was another sound too, of someone breathing, faint, thin, and far away.

Contact had been established.

“Good night, Ida.”

Hiss-pop-crackle-pop.

Zia lay back, closed her eyes, and listened to the echo of stars as the
Magenta
powered out of the Upsilon system, the system that had once been bathed in the strange light of Shadow, the light that would fuck you up. But now the star field was a dazzling spectrum of color as the remnants of the star glowed in space.

A voice spoke, thin and reedy and an infinite distance away, but Zia was sleeping under the stars and dreaming of her mother, of her father.

“Good night, Zia Hollywood,” said Ida.

Somewhere in the roar behind him, a woman laughed.

MAY 19, 1961

Five … four … three … two … one …

One … two … three … four … five …

Come in … come in … come in …

LISTEN … LISTEN!… COME IN!

Come in … come in … Talk to me! Talk to me!…

I am hot!… I am hot!

What?… Forty-five?… What?… Forty-five?… Fifty?…

Yes … Yes … Yes … Breathing … breathing … oxygen … oxygen …

I am hot.… This … Isn’t this dangerous?… It’s all … Isn’t this dangerous?… It’s all …

Yes … yes … yes … How is this?

What?… Talk to me!… How should I transmit? Yes … yes … yes … What? Our transmission begins now.…

Forty-one … this way … Our transmission begins now.…

Forty-one … this way … Our transmission begins now.…

Forty-one … yes … I …

I feel hot.… I feel hot.… It’s all … It’s hot.…

I feel hot.… I feel hot.… I feel hot.…

I can see a flame!… What?… I can see a flame!… I can see a flame!…

I feel hot.… I feel hot.… Thirty-two … Thirty-two … Forty-one … Forty-one …

Am I going to crash?

Yes … Yes … I feel hot!… I feel hot!…

I will reenter!… I will reenter.…

I am listening!…

I feel

By Adam Christopher

Empire State
The Age Atomic

Seven Wonders

Hang Wire

The Burning Dark

About the Author

ADAM CHRISTOPHER is the author of
Empire State, Seven Wonders,
and
The Age Atomic
. Born in Auckland, New Zealand, he grew up watching Pertwee-era
Doctor Who
and listening to The Beatles, which isn’t bad for a child of 80s.

In 2006, he moved to the North West of England. When not writing, he can be found drinking tea and obsessing over superhero comics and The Cure. Visit him at
www.adamchristopher.co.uk
.