The boop . . . boop . . . boop . . . fades away. There’s nothing to warn about now.

Because there’s no air left.

My sight is rimmed with black. My head pulses with my heartbeat, which sounds as loud to me as the alarm once did. I turn from the planet—my planet—and start pulling, hand over hand, against the tether, toward the hatch. The ship bobs in and out of my vision as my whole body jerks. I’m panicked now and fighting to stay awake. I try to suck in air, but there’s nothing there to suck. I’m drowning in nothing.

Closer.

My hands slip, and I’m afraid—if I lose my grasp, if I fall all the way back to the end of the tether—I’ll never make it back to the ship. I’ll never make it back to Amy.

But if I have to die, I think, at least I can die looking at the planet. Is this what Harley thought? Did he see Centauri-Earth before he died? Was his last thought one of regret—that he threw himself to the stars when the planet was almost within his grasp?

I look down at my hands wonderingly. When did I forget to put one hand over the other as I pull myself along the tether? I’m still floating in the direction of the ship—the lack of gravity ensures that—but I have to keep pulling myself along the rope or I’ll never make it back to Godspeed—to oxygen—in time. I force my arms to move, drag my body closer to the ship. I pull harder than before. Desperation fills my muscles. My mouth hangs open, sucking at nothing. My throat convulses.

I’ve got to get to the ship.

My muscles are shaking, but I don’t know if it’s from exertion or suffocation. Just—one more tug—there. The hatch. My fingers scramble, trying to grip the edge of the opening. On the other side of the door is Amy. I crane my head up and, through my watery eyes, I can see her pressed against the glass. I heave, once, and my body propels up, floating through the zero gravity. I bounce against the ceiling of the inside of the hatch. Black spots dance before my eyes.

The hatch door grinds closed . . . so slowly . . .

I turn in time to see the planet, just barely out of sight, only visible here, at the rim between the ship and space—

—The hatch door locks into place.

And I see nothing but black.

Chapter 40

40

AMY