Page 19 of Bound By Stars
Thud, thud, thud. A muffled rhythm comes from down the hall.
I creep along, craning my neck to look around the curve as I go. It’s empty. Quiet.
Thud, thud. I jump back from the airlock door next to me as a face appears in the small, circular window. Wide, gold-brown eyes. Pale lashes. Jupiter.
“Thank the universe. It’s locked from the outside. Will you open the door, please?” His voice sounds hollow through the thick, airtight door.
One corner of my mouth pulls into a half grin.
“Just turn the latch and open. It’s pretty self-explanatory.” He points down like I don’t know where it’s located.
I raise my eyebrows, recalling what he said in class, and splay my hands like I’m examining a complex circuit board instead of a door latch. “I don’t know if I can figure it out. None of the buttons are lighting up.”
His lips tighten and he stares back at me, his shoulders rising and falling with a steadying breath.
“I can’t remember”—I press a finger to my lip—“is itleftyloosey?”
He rests his forehead against the glass. “I wasn’t trying to offend you. I was trying to help. Hale can be an ass sometimes. So will you please just open the damn door?”
I tap my finger against my bottom lip and let my head fall to the side like I’m thinking really,reallyhard.
“Oh, for the love of the universe!” His gaze moves around the door like he’s given up on help. “I’ll figure it out myself.”
I lift onto my toes to watch him as he smacks a button, a triumphant smile spreading across his face, and tries the latch again. The light in the airlock goes red.
“Decompression initiated,” a robotic voice announces.
Our eyes lock through the glass. Neither of us is playing anymore. I pull at the latch with all my weight, but it doesn’t budge. The airlock is sealed, pumping air out of the chamber, and depressurizing to match the vacuum of space. And Jupiter’s not in a protective spacesuit.
I get right up to the little window, so I can see as much as possible inside. “There’s got to be a control panel somewhere along the wall. Find it now!”
Jupiter searches frantically, hands hovering over the mechanisms inside like he’s afraid he’ll accidentally eject himself into space if he touches anything else. “I don’t see a panel!” His voice is strained like air is being sucked straight out of his lungs. This isbad.
I feel along the door and find a port, grab ILSA, and hook her up. “Override decompression, ILSA.”
Inside the glass, Jupiter’s eyelids droop and I slap the wall. “Stay with me, Jupiter. I might need your help in there.” But he’s fading. “ILSA! Hurry!”
The red light shifts back to white. There’s a soft click inside the thick door. I yank the latch and heave it open.
Jupiter’s long body crumples. I try to catch him, but he flattens me on the pod bay floor. He’s dead weight. Unconscious. I can’t tell if he’s breathing. “Help, ILSA.”
She rolls him off me, so he’s on his back. ILSA was built for this. Life-sustaining. I sit up slowly, sore from another fall. We have to stop interacting like this.
“Your heart rate is elevated. Are you in distress, Weslie?” She’s specifically attuned to me, ignoring the unconscious boy beside me.
“Helphim,” I demand.
“How would you like me to proceed?”
Oh god. She isn’t programmed to read other people’s medical distress.
“I don’t know. Revive him.”
“Weslie, your heart rate and blood pressure are abnormal. You seem to be displaying signs of acute—”
“Help! Can anyone hear me?” I yell down the hall, but there’s no response. I could send a message if I were connected to anyone on this damn ship. What is the use of a lifesaving bot if it won’t do shit while someone is dying!
I slide to his side on my knees, lowering my ear toward his mouth. Nothing. “ILSA, give me instructions for CPR.”
