Chapter 4

Arthur brought me breakfast, but my throat could barely manage to swallow.

"Arthur, come with me to get an urn. I don't have many days left. When it happens, take my ashes home for me."

"Naomi..." He held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded anyway.

At the supply depot, Carl and Susan were both there. She pointed at me, wide-eyed.

"Naomi, are you and Arthur out here on a date?"

Carl glared at me and yanked me toward him hard enough to bruise my arm. Susan reached over and turned the urn over in her hands.

"Is this a gift from Arthur? The pattern's so distinctive—he really put thought into it."

The base was too far from any city for real deliveries; only the occasional traveling vendor passed through, and none of them sold urns. I'd bought the nicest box I could find as a stand-in.

Carl stared at me, waiting for an explanation.

"Everyone deserves to go home in the end. When I die, I want this to carry my ashes back."

His brow furrowed. "Stop using death to threaten me."

I didn't bother explaining anymore. "I don't expect you to believe me."

I turned to Arthur instead. "Let's head back."

Susan covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Naomi, your imagination is really something. That box is way too delicate to hold ashes—it's basically a makeup case." Her voice dropped, sly. "I get that you're jealous the captain looks out for me, but you shouldn't keep piling pressure on him like this in front of everyone. What are people supposed to think of him?"

Carl snatched the box from my hands and smashed it to the ground. "Enough, Naomi! How long are you going to keep this up? Susan's frail as she is, and she's never once made a scene like this. You're built like an ox—can't you stop embarrassing me?"

I picked the box back up, brushed off the dust, and looked him dead in the eye. "I'm embarrassing you? The entire base knows I can barely stand anymore. Are you really that oblivious, or are you just choosing not to see it? Why don't you go ask the team doctor yourself?"

He went quiet for a second before finally reaching for his phone. Susan tugged at his sleeve.

"Captain, the doctor is Naomi's close friend. Can we really trust whatever she says?"

He hesitated, then put the phone away and walked past me, his shoulder slamming into mine hard enough to stagger me. He didn't seem to notice—his face was pure disgust.

"Naomi, you'll stop at nothing to win this placement over Susan. If I didn't already know your body could handle this, you'd have almost had me fooled. Go home and think about what you've done. You're not to leave your room until Susan's flight home."

Arthur tried to speak up for me. I just squeezed his arm and answered flatly, "Fine."

A week passed. My complications only got worse. I couldn't walk without a wheelchair anymore, and even squinting, I could barely make out shapes through the blur.

I called Carl.

"Carl, sign the divorce papers. I don't want to be buried next to you when I die."

"How long are you going to keep up this act? I'm sick of it too, you know. Do you really think a strong, healthy woman like you can compete for sympathy against someone as delicate as Susan?"

He let out a long breath. "I'll make sure you get the next rotation home, all right? Are you satisfied now? Just stop making scenes."

The phone slipped from my hand.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. Without a word, he hoisted me onto his back. "We're done counting on Carl. Let's find the liaison. He'll get you home."

I nodded, half-conscious.

We finally made it to the liaison's door, only to hear Carl's voice again from inside.

"Derek, don't believe a word Naomi tells you if she comes to see you. I know exactly what shape she's in—there's nothing actually wrong with her. I don't understand why she keeps trying to compete with Susan like this. Does she have no compassion at all?"

My heart stopped. My chest clenched like a fist had closed around it.

"Arthur," I whispered, "take my ashes home. That's my last wish."

I went limp and slid off his back, my eyes falling shut. Something must have made Carl turn around—his pupils shrank, and he came running, stumbling over his own feet.