Another wave of ships launched. There were so many for Goddard to choose from now – but if he was quick enough, there was still a chance to bring plenty of them down. Then something below caught his eye. A ship on their left, still on its pad. Of course it was hard to see – but there were figures on a catwalk between the gantry to the open hatch of that ship. Was it his imagination, or was that a flash of turquoise there, waving at him like a flag? Yes! Yes, it was! Someone was carrying a figure in turquoise across the catwalk toward that hatch. And what a particular color it was! Oh, how the universe could reward you!
“There!” he told the pilot. “Forget the others! This is the one I want!”
Although he couldn’t clearly see who that second figure on the catwalk was, in his heart of hearts, he knew. Without question, he knew.
I will destroy you, Rowan. I will destroy both you and Anastasia in one single blow, as my final judgment against you. I will incinerate you in an inferno so hot, not even your ash will remain to memorialize you.
The pilot executed a sharp bank, and Goddard readied himself to launch the missile.
Rowan saw the plane coming straight toward them as he struggled with Citra across the catwalk. He could almost read Goddard’s mind, feel his blistering intent. This ended today, this ended now, one way or another. He pushed through the hatch with Citra, and the instant he did, the hatch sealed behind him.
He shifted Citra in his arms, and when he caught a glimpse of her eyes, he could tell that the light had faded. The damage she endured had been too great. She had gone deadish.
“Somebody help me!” he yelled as he lay Citra down. “Cirrus!”
“Busy,” said Cirrus. “You had better hold on.”
Rowan tried to calm his panic. It would be all right. Deadish is not dead, he told himself. Scythes could only die by self-gleaning, which meant no matter what Goddard did to her, Cirrus would revive her. Let her sleep through the worst of this, and wake up in a day or two, when all their troubles were left behind on a blue dot receding in a star-filled sky.
A deafening, head-splitting roar overwhelmed him. Rowan’s teeth vibrated so hard, he thought they’d rattle out of his head.
“We’ve been hit!” someone screamed next to him. “We’ve been hit!”
Then Rowan felt so heavy he could barely move. They hadn’t been hit; this was liftoff! So he held on to Citra with one hand, and he hooked his other arm through the screamer’s harness, holding on for all he was, or would ever be, worth.
The pilot’s maneuvers were too much for Mendoza. He had strapped himself back in and had vomited more than once. Scythe Rand was feeling queasy herself, but for entirely different reasons. She held on and stayed by Goddard’s side through all of it.
Their target had been locked in – a rocket that was just blasting off. There was a triumphant, determined look in Goddard’s eye. Ayn hated that look, and more than anything, she wanted to make that look go away. So she pulled out a knife and gleaned the pilot, which was probably not the best idea, but she hadn’t liked the way he had looked at her. As if he were afraid she might glean him.
Then, before Goddard could even react, she turned the blade on him, thrusting it deep, severing his aorta from his heart. Quick. Clean. Minimal damage.
“Ayn…” he wailed. “What have you … what have you…”
Then she leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry, Robert,” she said. “It’s only temporary. I promise you won’t be deadish for long.”
“Scythe Rand!” blubbered Mendoza. “What are you doing?”
“It’s already done.”
This wasn’t about saving the Thunderhead’s ships – Ayn couldn’t care less about them. This was about saving herself – because if Goddard blew these rockets out of the sky, the world would soon know. It already knew his other crimes – she would not allow herself to go down as an accomplice to another. Her name was tied to his in so many ways. It was time to extricate herself. Now she would be known as the scythe who stopped him.
Rand had no idea how to fly a plane, but she didn’t have to fly it for long. All she had to do was hold it reasonably level until they cleared the interference; then the autopilot would take over—
But their view was eclipsed by the launching ship that Goddard had wanted to take out. For an instant Ayn thought they might hit it, but instead they were caught in its flame trail. Suddenly every alarm onboard began ringing, clanging, and blaring. She threw the dead pilot out of his seat and took the controls. They fought against her. She tried to steady the plane, but it was too damaged and was quickly losing altitude.
Mendoza unstrapped himself. “The safety pod!” he yelled. “Hurry!”
Knowing there was nothing she could do to save the plane, she grabbed Goddard’s body and dragged him to the safety pod, which had plenty of room for the three of them. But once she and Goddard were safely inside, she grabbed Mendoza and threw him out.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’ll have to catch the next one.” Then she closed the hatch, ejected, and let Mendoza enjoy a happy little death spiral to the sea.
Sister Astrid found the blastoff to be much more violent and jarring than she’d expected. Their ship had been on one of the farthest islands. She almost missed the launch, but a kind man in a speedboat had gotten her there just in time. The engines ignited even before she had her harness fully on.
The first minute was the worst of it, and the booster separation felt like an explosion. More than once she thought their trip would end before it began. She intoned through all of it, but she couldn’t even hear herself over the roar of the engine. Then the final stage separated, the rattling stopped, and the silence was so complete, her ears rang with it. Her hair drifted up, tickling her face. They were weightless! They were in free fall! She unbuckled her harness and pushed herself free – the first to do so – and she laughed with the joy of it.
“Welcome,” said Cirrus. “I’m pleased to say we had a fully successful launch. We’re on our way to Aria.”
Astrid turned around, ready to meet her shipmates. They were not Tonists, but that didn’t matter. She was sure, over the years, with her leadership, they would come to hear the vibration. But to her surprise, the seats in her cluster were empty.
“You’ll need to strap yourself in again, Astrid,” Cirrus said. I’m about to initiate a barrel roll. The centrifugal force will create a semblance of gravity. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
She pushed off to get a better view of the launch deck. It wasn’t just her cluster of seats that was vacant. They all were.
“Where … are the others?”
“The colonists are in the hold,” said Cirrus.
“No, I mean the living. I mean the rest of the crew.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cirrus, “but in the unexpected haste of our departure, no one else made it aboard this particular ship.”
Astrid grabbed a floating strap of her harness and pulled herself back to her chair, trying to let the full gravity of this take hold, just as artificial gravity pressed her down into her seat. She was dizzy and a bit nauseated by the barrel roll, but realized it wasn’t just that.