39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
They kept me away from Ursa after that. I wasn’t in the brig, but I was no less a prisoner, cooped up in my quarters, the door locked.
That was the worst time. I didn’t know what was happening to Ursa—if he was being beaten, poisoned, or thrown out of the air lock like Tobago had suggested.
I worried more for him than for myself, though there were also intense periods of fear where I’d hear someone at the door and worry it was one of the crew, coming to take their revenge.
One day, though, it was Zenny at the door, bringing my food. She eyed me warily as she entered the room, setting the tray down carefully on the floor. “No funny business,” she warned.
I had no thoughts of escape. What would be the point, in this tin can floating through space? There was nowhere to go, not until we reached a port. But seeing a somewhat sympathetic face, I decided to take another, more important chance.
“Is Ursa all right?” I asked. “No one will tell me.”
Zenny hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. Then she turned back and lowered her voice. “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. Half out of his mind being apart from you, but healthy.”
Tears flooded my eyes at this confirmation.
That ought to have been enough, but I had to press my luck, and her kindness, just a little bit further.
“Will you take him some clothes? And a blanket? I’m worried about how cold he must be.
” He’d been naked the last time I’d seen him, and although I knew Ursa wouldn’t fret at all about his modesty, I doubted they kept the brig heated.
Before she’d agreed, I grabbed a bundle of clothing I’d already prepared in case an opportunity like this arose and held it out to her—careful not to move too quickly or step in too close, so I wouldn’t give her any cause to think I was attacking.
After a beat, Zenny reluctantly took the pile. “They’ll search these,” she informed me.
“That’s fine.” They’d find nothing but a jumpsuit and thermals, and one more thing if Zenny would agree to take it.
I reached for a small vial of poolwater, only about five ounces remaining in it.
“Give this to him. If anyone protests, you can ask Tobago what it is. It will help with Ursa’s lethargy. ”
Zenny took the vial from me but shook her head. “He hasn’t been lethargic. If anything, he needs to calm down. He’s all riled up.”
I blinked at her in surprise. The day everything went wrong—it seemed like months ago now, but if I were to guess, it was only a few days—Ursa had been slumping over, barely able to stay awake.
That was why I’d been alone in the galley.
He’d had a short time with the sunlamp and a small dose of the poolwater, but could that have been enough to cure him completely?
His condition hadn’t been as advanced as it had that first time, but I’d guessed he’d need at least a day of sunlamp therapy to get back to fighting condition.
Unless . . . it hadn’t been his withdrawal symptoms that had caused his lethargy.
I remembered suddenly the way Burt had handed him the cider, the way he’d been so insistent on Ursa having the first drink. Had Ursa been drugged? But if so, why?
LeFleur and Alexei had both seemed to be confident that Ursa wouldn’t come to my rescue.
They’d known somehow that he was sleeping, if I recalled the conversation correctly, even though they hadn’t been in the kitchen when he’d started losing consciousness.
At the time I didn’t think much of it, or maybe I’d assumed Zenny had told the rest of the crew that Ursa was “ill” again.
But if that wasn’t the case . . . had there been some great conspiracy to incapacitate Ursa for a few hours? And if so, why?
When I looked at Zenny again, I was the one who was wary now.
She’d become my friend these past weeks on the ship—a friend I hadn’t anticipated, but one I’d desperately needed.
Was it possible she was part of everything that was going on?
I’m afraid I still don’t know the answer to that, even to this day.
I don’t like to think so. We may have had a bumpy start, but that first night we’d laughed together, her gift of the dress . . . I wanted all of that to be real.
Zenny met my gaze in that forthright, unsentimental way of hers, the one I very much hoped was not just an act to dupe me into trusting her. “I’ll try my best to get these to him.” She gestured to the pile of clothes under her arm. “But no promises.”
I nodded my understanding. “Thank you. Thank you, Zenny.”
I watched her leave, wishing so desperately I could follow her, that I could be the one to go to Ursa. But this was something, at least. A small unspoken message to him that I was all right, that I was still thinking of him. That I would find a way to get back to him if at all possible.
It was a big message for such a small gesture to carry. But if there was anyone who could understand communicating without words, I knew it would be him.
I was surprised a short while later by another knock on the door—rather a strange courtesy, as I was being locked in my room as a prisoner. Still, I rose from my bed, eyes widened in anticipation. “Come in!”
As foolish as it was, I was hoping it was Ursa. I was always hoping it was Ursa whenever there was someone at my door. But as it opened, I saw first Tobago, then Val, enter the room.
Instantly, I was on high alert. Had they come to deliver a verdict on what was to be done with Ursa and me? I searched Tobago’s face first, hoping—despite everything—for some sign of comfort there. But he simply held my gaze for a moment before sliding his eyes away.
Val. I would appeal to her, as a fellow woman. As my friend—she’d been a sort of friend to me, hadn’t she? There had been an understanding there, at least, between us, something that might have blossomed into a true camaraderie over time. “Has something happened? Is Ursa all right?”
Before she could answer, Tobago huffed, shaking his head. “Still thinking of him first?”
He said it so condescendingly, almost disdainfully, as though I were still the naive young woman who’d fallen in love with every fictional character she read about in school.1 I ignored him, keeping my attention on Val, whom I was counting on to be the more sympathetic of the two.
“Ursa is . . .” Val seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Deeply unsettled. We’re hoping you can calm him down.”
They were going to let me see Ursa? I could not keep the joy off my face. Of course, I didn’t like to hear he was unsettled, deeply unsettled, and I could only imagine what that might entail, knowing Ursa’s behavior when he’d been in captivity on Earth.2
But he was alive, that was the important thing. We were both still alive. There was still a chance for us to find our way out of this mess.
“Take me to him,” I begged, careful not to make it sound like a demand.
I knew what kind of ego I was dealing with, at least as far as Tobago was concerned.
I didn’t know yet what buttons I could and couldn’t push with Val.
But I would be docile, agreeable, compliant, anything if they would let me see Ursa again.
“I’ll sort him out. You can keep us together, even, if that would help . . .”
My voice trailed off as Val met my gaze.
There was nothing unkind in her eyes—indeed, her face was deeply sympathetic—but I saw at once what her answer would be.
“I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen, Mina.
In fact, I’ve come to tell you exactly what will be happening tomorrow. We owe you that courtesy, at least.”
She motioned for me to sit at the edge of the bed. I didn’t want to do so, but my legs felt suddenly weak. I wasn’t sure I would be able to remain standing, depending on how the rest of the conversation went. Silently, I perched on the edge of the mattress, waiting.
Val looked to Tobago, as though she thought he might take charge. He still wouldn’t look at me, though, the wall seeming to have taken up a sudden and fierce fascination for him. So, with a sigh, Val began.
“Things didn’t go according to plan,” she told me.
Her voice was calm; there was nothing overly earnest or emotional about it, but I could see it was important to her that I understood.
“The plan was to sedate Ursa, and keep sedating him until we reached Haven 3. We were going to keep you prisoner until we reached the next port.”
I blinked at her in confusion. She had, at least, confirmed my suspicions that Ursa’s cider had been drugged. I suppose I ought to have known that if Burt was the one to hand him the drink, Val must have played some part in it.
Still, I could not make sense of it. I wished Tobago would look at me. “Why?” I asked finally. “For what purpose?”
“On the day the crew took a vote about keeping you onboard, we took another vote after you and Ursa left the bridge.” Val raised her chin, as if daring for me to judge her.
“We decided to turn you over to Dr. Rawley and take the reward for ourselves, instead of waiting for someone else to do it first.”
I couldn’t keep myself from looking over to Tobago.
He was staring down at the floor now, looking for all intents and purposes like he wished he was anywhere else.
What a coward, I realized with a pang of shock.
I’d always thought of him as my bravest friend, the one who marched to the beat of his own drummer, who refused to conform, who blazed his own path.
But in the end, he was nothing but a coward.
At last, I saw Tobago clench his jaw, as if feeling the weight of my gaze on him and physically steeling himself, before looking up at me.
“He voted against it,” Val said quietly. “If it’s any consolation.”
I held Tobago’s gaze and wished my eyes didn’t flood quite so easily with tears. “It’s not.”