by Erin Bowman
As she swung the ship around, turning to face her attackers, a lifetime of memories crashed into her. Her lifelong desire to be a pilot. Her disappointment when a degenerative eye condition barred her from the Academy. It was her father’s footsteps she’d been following all those years. He’d died fighting for the Union. He was the one who had those beautiful sayings about love and impossible odds.
She could see him, briefly, in her mind. The way he’d held her before leaving for active duty that very last time. He was with her again now, shining in every star, filling the vastness of space, standing beside her seat with his hands resting on her shoulders as she fell into her element.
With nothing left to lose and everything to gain, Nova became invincible.
She fought the way she had at the Academy—wild and scrappy and free. She was daring. She was aggressive. She moved the ship as though it were a part of her, and in the heat of the battle, with Radical ships exploding like fireworks beyond her dash, she forgot that her legs were weak and her mind plagued by nightmares and her eyesight slightly beneath Academy standards. She was simply Nova Singh, the Union fighter pilot she’d always dreamed of being, guided by her father.
He stayed with her until she’d shot down four Radical bastards and caused another two ships to collide based on her impeccable maneuvering. Once the threat was gone and Halo was barreling hard and fast away from Kanna7, Nova risked a glance over her shoulder.
Amber and Coen had strapped in, but they’d both been sick from the turbulence. The bridge smelled, but Nova smiled.
“They gone?” Coen grunted, wiping his mouth.
“For now.”
“That doesn’t mean more won’t follow,” Amber said.
“They don’t need to follow.” Nova put the ship on autopilot and slid from her seat, all but collapsing onto the floor. Her legs were throbbing. She’d never felt so tired. “This is a military transit ship, meaning Halo has tracking software. The comms are linked with Paramount, Kanna7, and probably other Trios military channels. Burke can just watch us fly and have forces ready to apprehend us wherever we land. I’m kinda surprised that wasn’t his plan from the start.”
Nova craned her neck, finding the black compact box beneath the flight dash. She flipped the door open. A mess of color-coded wires stared back.
“So how do we land anywhere?” Amber asked.
“We secure the ship. Get ourselves off-grid.” Nova picked at the wires, racking her brain for memories from the Academy and lessons about tracking and comms. Everything was foggy. How could she remember how to fly a damn ship, but not the basics that made that ship function? Maybe it was like muscle memory. Sitting in that pilot’s seat was second nature. This box and the wires were just stored knowledge, stuff she’d learned but not something she lived and breathed.
Walking should pull from muscle memory, and yet that leaves you exhausted, too.
She pushed the thought aside and said, “I need someone to pull up a manual.”
Amber rushed to the dash. “Tell me what to do.” Nova walked her through the interface and soon Amber was reading the color codes from the manual. “Tracking is . . . olive green and black.”
“As in two separate wires?”
“No. Sorry. Wrapped together. A set of olive green and black wound together.”
Nova found the match and yanked one end free. “Comms?” she asked.
“There’s a half dozen.”
“Read them all.”
“Red for local channels. Navy for internal audio and video. External near planet is black wound with purple. External deep space is black wound with teal. And then there’s something called the Union Military Network. That’s black, white, and red wound together.”
“That’s the one that basically links this ship to Burke,” Nova explained. “But I’m gonna cut everything except the local and internal lines. It’s dangerous—we’ll have no way to reach anyone unless they’re within a few hours’ distance—but it’s the only way to be sure.”
“Only way to be sure about what?” Amber asked.
“That we can’t be tracked. Or spied on. All the other comm systems are part of a greater network, relying on relay points set up throughout the galaxy.”
“If there’s an external relay point, someone could use it to find us,” Coen said, understanding.
Nova nodded from beneath the dash. “Here goes nothing.” She gathered the appropriate wires and tugged them free. Several alerts beeped, warning about lost comms. She shuffled out from beneath the dash and struggled to stand, legs wobbling beneath her. She’d feel stronger tomorrow, after some rest, but hated feeling weak in the moment.
Nova collapsed into the pilot’s seat. “So,” she said, spinning to face the others. “Where to?”
“You know where I want to go,” Coen gritted out. His head was frighteningly quiet; a gaping, empty stretch. It was possible the distance between Kanna7 and Halo was simply beyond his abilities, but he desperately wanted to confirm that Thea was okay. She was supposed to be on this ship with him.
“Coen, you know we can’t. It’s a death wish.” Amber touched his shoulder reassuringly and he shrugged her off, disgusted. This was Farraday’s daughter. This girl was related to the person who had tortured and tested him, who was as responsible for Thea’s lost finger and near drowning as Burke. And now she was on Halo, standing in Thea’s spot.
“The only way we can help Thea is by alerting the right authorities,” Nova said. “Authorities who aren’t Radicals.”
This, Coen could agree with. “We go home, then,” he said. “To Eutheria.”
Nova shook her head.
“The whole point of escaping was to go home.”
“And I want that, too,” Nova said. “I still want it. But we’re in a military transit ship, Coen. Every port in the Trios will have this serial number once Burke reports it stolen. They might let us land, but we’ll be immediately arrested, and that’s assuming they don’t surround us and force a surrender as we approach the planet.”
“So the Cradle?”
Nova again shook her head. “The Trios’s military and the Cradle’s military are all supposed to be playing for the same team. Officials don’t know Burke’s a Radical. I bet he’ll report Halo’s serial to the Cradle, too. Nowhere in the Union is safe for us.”
“So not only did you leave Thea behind, but we’ve got nowhere to go?” Coen’s heart was pounding in his chest. His blood was boiling.
“She asked me to, Coen! She told me not to wait for her if it came down to it.”
“Of course she did! She’s selfless and practical to a fault. You were supposed to realize it wasn’t the right choice. If I was in that pilot’s seat, I wouldn’t have left her.”
“If you were in this pilot seat, we’d all be captured,” Nova snapped.
“You think I don’t know what happened on Achlys, but I know, Nova. This isn’t the first time you’ve left Thea behind. Your crew abandoned her in that storm. That’s how she ended up in my bunker. And you abandoned her again after your captain shot Dr. Tarlow. You’ve always been okay with leaving her behind.”
Nova stood—or tried to. Grimacing in pain and exhausted, she remained in her seat, teeth bared like an animal. “Don’t forget that she left you once, too. I wasn’t driving that rover when we were attacked while trying to repair Odyssey. She was. And she drove on after you fell from the back with Cleaver. She. Drove. On. It’s called preservation, doing what’s best for the bulk of the group. Sacrificing one to save many.”
The memories of that day flared to life for Coen—slipping from the rover, colliding with the hard Achlys ground. He hadn’t been mad at Thea, not truly. He had the skills to survive. It was only mindless infected he had to deal with then. The battle was easy, over within minutes. But he hadn’t left Thea on Kanna7 with an enemy she could defeat. He’d left her alone, truly, with Radicals who held all the power. He’d doomed her.
He tried to reach her again, straining his
mind, reaching into the depths of black quiet that now filled his head. She was gone. Unconscious, maybe dead. And if not that, she was outside his reach. None of the possibilities brought him any relief.
Amber said, “There is somewhere we can go. I overheard some things about a company on Casey. They’ve caused trouble for the Radicals. That sounds like a good ally to me.”
“Casey’s in Fringe-2.” Coen felt himself frowning. “I’m assuming you got this company’s name?”
“No, but my dad mentioned that security is lax in the Inansi Desert.”
Nova nodded. “Lots of fugitives and people on the run head there.”
“And Casey’s an independent rock,” Amber went on enthusiastically, “outside UPC jurisdiction. They’re not loyal to the Union in any way. Burke will expect us to flee straight home, but with this route, we can disappear. If we manage to find the company Burke fears, even better.”
“But it’s gotta be a two-month flight,” Coen said.
“Given our current position”—Nova glanced at the maps on the dash—“I’d say more like six weeks.”
“We still don’t have the supplies,” Coen argued.
“Halo has three cryo pods,” Amber offered, and Nova flinched. “You won’t lose any of the PT progress you’ve made,” Amber assured her. “When stasis works properly, it’s almost like hitting a pause button—no negative side effects.”
“I know.” The pilot bit her bottom lip. “I can plot our course before we go under. We’d be pulled out as we closed in on Casey.”
Coen could almost hear the gears working in the girls’ minds. Their hearts were beating slightly faster now, but not with fear. This was something gleeful. Something fueled by hope. It was a good idea, a safe option, but all Coen could think of was Thea, left behind on Kanna7, and Gina, stranded in a bed on Eutheria and growing weaker as he ran.
He was failing everyone he loved.
“What about my family? My sister is dying back home. The whole reason I worked the Black Quarry op was to get the money to help her with treatments.”
Nova regarded him sadly. “You’re a fugitive now, Coen, wanted throughout the entire Union. Any money you earned through Black Quarry has probably been retracted.”
“It’s not just about money. It’s not even about saving her at this point. It’s about saying good-bye. I want to be able to say good-bye, and you’re keeping me from her.”
“I’m not doing this to you,” Nova said. “Burke did this. The Radicals did this. But not me.”
He hated that she was right, and yet he was still furious. His chest physically hurt, as though it were being tightened in a vise. It was too much to lose at once—Thea, his family, the future he’d imagined. Everything was spiraling out of control.
“When we get to Casey, you can arrange transit home. You’ll be arrested before you even set foot on Eutherian soil, let alone in your sister’s hospital, but I won’t stop you. Just let the rest of us find some semblance of safety first.”
Coen stared at Nova, pulse boiling. She stared back.
Amber shifted uncomfortably. “Coen,” she said softly, “what do you think Thea would want us to do?”
He knew the answer immediately, and it made shame kick in his gut. Even with Thea wanting everything Coen wanted—like the reunion with Gina—he knew what course of action she’d argue for. If she was on Halo, he’d be having this argument with her, not Nova.
“She’d want us to go to Casey,” he said finally. “So I guess that’s where we’ll go.”
As Amber helped Nova move about the bridge, readying the ship for FTL, Coen updated them on Psychrobacter achli, explaining how it caused disastrous results in the older population but could be hosted by most teens. How he and Thea had figured this out on Achlys and how, after confirming the same themselves, the Radicals planned to exploit the superhuman skills of hosts to strengthen their military and give them an extraordinary edge when they made their move to claim independence for the Trios.
It was a lot to take in. Amber knew she was gaping. “So you and Thea could speak telepathically?” she asked.
“Yes, but it’s even more than that now. I experience pretty much everything she experiences. All our thoughts are linked. We can’t hide anything from each other. Distance seems to be the only exception. I can’t hear her anymore, and I’m choosing to believe it’s because of our location, not the fact that she’s dead.”
“They need her. She’s not dead,” Nova insisted.
“How is that sort of connection even possible?” Amber asked.
“Your father had a hypothesis that when two hosts created a strong bond, their abilities might deepen. He was right. After Thea and I bonded, he tried to replicate the bond with the animals but never had any success,” Coen went on. “Burke was pretty disappointed.”
“Because bonded hosts would be the most powerful weapons,” Nova mused aloud.
Amber frowned. “If Burke truly wanted to force another bond in humans, he’d have injected both me and Nova.”
“Or he had plans to bring additional potential hosts aboard Kanna7,” Nova said.
“I definitely wouldn’t put it past him,” Coen agreed.
Amber rested her hip against the dashboard, sighing heavily. “If this contagion gets out . . . What if I can’t host it?”
“We’d have seen obvious symptoms by now if that were the case,” Coen said. “You’ll be like me soon, minus the bond to Thea. I’d guess within the next ten to twelve hours.”
Amber wasn’t sure what was more terrifying: that she might now be like Thea and Coen, something superhuman, forever changed, or that her father and Burke might unleash a plague on the galaxy if they weren’t careful.
No, she knew what was more terrifying. An outbreak would be deadly, irreversible. It would mean the end of the Union. What was happening to her would only be dangerous if she passed it on to the wrong person.
“We need to figure out how to cure it,” Amber said. “Obviously I don’t want more kids subjected to studies and testing and military roles they didn’t sign up for. And even we could cause an outbreak if we’re not careful—you and me and Thea.”
Coen nodded in agreement. “Thea’s old boss seemed to think there was a possibility of a cure. She implied that she was close to finding one before she died.”
Nova said, “So we get to Casey and find this company Amber mentioned. They can alert trustworthy authorities. Thea will be freed. Galactic Disease Control will get to work on a vaccine or treatment or whatever. A happy ending for everyone.”
It sounded too neat and clean. Something was bound to go wrong, but Amber bit her tongue. They needed optimism now, not doubts.
Nova glanced up from the dash, where a star map showed their current position and destination. “I’m going to switch us to FTL. Let’s head to cryo, and pray that Burke doesn’t start an epidemic while we’re under.”
Cryostasis was torture.
It reminded Coen all too thoroughly that he was alone. The quiet in his head had become a throbbing pain, almost worse than the headache he’d been hit with after bonding with Thea. He wished for the bond fiercely now. He’d take the headache, the endless thoughts, the noise that had filled his mind.
He’d give anything to have her back.
As he lay in the stasis pod, the ship carrying him farther and farther from Kanna7, he began to dream about her.
Sometimes the dreams were nightmares: the torture they’d endured on the space station or the darkness they’d fled on Achlys. Other times the dreams were happier memories, good moments stolen during the bad. Their palms separated by a panel of glass. Her eyes tracing the tattoo on his torso. His lips brushing hers. There were even dreams that delved into fantasy, full of all the things he wished he’d said, the things he longed to do to her, with her.
And sometimes, in the cavernous depth of his subconscious sleep, when everything fell aside in favor of black emptiness, he imagined he could hear her again, nudging at h
is subconscious, whispering softly, Coen, Coen, are you there? Please say you can hear me.
She’d been right—Sol hated her plan—but the company on Bev was the answer.
It was run by Sol’s corporate buddies, who’d recently found a unique variety of corrarium on the tidally locked rock. AltCor, they were calling it. The stuff had powered a generator for a month with the fuel line barely dropping. She’d overheard Sol discussing it with the company’s owner on a vidcall a month earlier. It’s almost . . . sentient, the guy had said. Seems to . . . reproduce, for lack of a better word.
Despite Naree’s insistence that this fuel was the solution to their problems, Sol was hesitant. Corrarium was powerful enough. Paradox didn’t need something even stronger, especially not something untested or unresearched. But if corrarium didn’t give the drive the power they needed for a quick recharging cycle, nothing Naree programmed would. She couldn’t make energy out of nothing.
“This new fuel source, however . . . ,” she said, straightening Sol’s tie and brushing a bit of lint from his shoulder. “It’s at least worth a test. You do want us to succeed, don’t you?”
He glanced down at her. They were standing very close.
“Are we talking about the drive or us?”
The programmer feigned embarrassment. “Maybe both.”
History surged between them. She could see the lust in his eyes and she tried to mirror it, praying her disgust and guilt remained hidden. Sol was the biggest mistake of her life. The affair was what had gotten her into this mess, but if tapping into that history helped bend Sol to her will, she wasn’t beneath revisiting it.
“I’ll pay Dax a visit,” he said. “See if we can obtain a small amount for a few test runs.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I’d like that.”
She smiled for all the wrong reasons and let him think otherwise.
V
The Prisoner
