Page 2 of Bound By Stars
I race back, manually switching her on and waiting the four painful seconds it takes for her to reboot. Mental note: make important commands less casual.
The porter slides one of the massive doors closed and then ambles across the platform to the other, glaring at me pointedly. He’s taking his time, but he’s not going to wait.
“If I miss the last flight to the ship, I’m going to dismantle you,” I say under my breath right before she comes to life again. “Platform. Maximum speed, ILSA.”
She zooms to the base of the stairs, and I sprint after her, blinded by the dust cloud trailing her.
The porter smirks. “You have a ticket?”
I flash him the solid black tab with the ship’s name in elegant script I’d found folded into my notification letter. Hot rage expands in my chest, but I push it down.
He walks back down to let me in and then nods to the half-open door. “Hurry to the scanning bays.”
ILSA and I are split up. I’m ushered into a pod that conducts a full-body scan, checking for weapons and signs of disease. The space is tight. The air feels thin. I clamp my eyes shut and follow the prompts, counting my breaths. The doors slide open, and relief washes over me.
Exiting through a wind tunnel that fluffs my hair and nearly takes my sweater off, I look back at the intrusive machine. Anger turns to shame when I realize it’s clearing the dust.
“Step into the next chamber, please.” Another porter, short and stocky, leads me on with a hand at my back.
I suck air into the depths of my lungs before I’m pushed through the next set of doors.
“Hello, Boundless traveler.” An overly cheery robotic voice fills the small space, coming from every direction. Two bright blue footprints glow in the center of the floor. Instructed by the robotic voice, I line up my feet and stretch my arms wide. The walls slowly move in around me.
No, it’s just in my head.
“Please line your hand up with the outline to your right and insert your ticket to complete identification profile.”
Chest heaving with shallow breaths, I comply.
Two quick tones, one high, one low, and the doors part in front of me. My ticket is released.
“You are ready to board your expedition to Mars. Thank you for traveling with White Star Line. Please continu—”
“On the transport or we’re leaving without you,” an attendant in a gray jumpsuit calls over the roar of engines, glaring at me from the open door of the capsule where all the other passengers are strapped into their seats.
We hurry inside. ILSA immediately parks next to the luggage rack, settling low and engaging her magnetic stabilizer for the ride, and I claim one of the four remaining seats and buckle in.
The doors slide closed. A layer of sweat sheens my face. My pulse races. It’s too small. No windows. The doors seal. Airtight. What if we run out of oxygen? Don’t think about it. Breathe.
“Weslie,” ILSA announces loudly from the end of the aisle.
Half the passengers turn their heads toward her.
“Your heart rate has increased exponentially. Elevated heart rate can be brought on by exertion, fear, stress—”
“Silent mode, ILSA!” I call out, squeezing my eyes closed against the inevitable stares.
Someone tugs on my straps, and my eyes fly open.
The attendant twists her lips and raises her eyebrows like she’s silently telling me it’ll get scarier before this is over.
The fear must be written across my face. I’ve never left the ground, let alone Earth.
When she’s pulled on every set of restraints, the attendant takes her seat in the small cabin at the front, next to the pilot. “Preparing for departure.”
The engine noise grows louder and stronger, vibrating my bones.
Across from me, a man pinches his eyes shut, mouthing something that looks like a prayer. His lips move faster and faster like he’s trying to get out as many words as he can before he dies, while the woman to his left is slumped in her restraints, already peacefully asleep.
