Unearthed

by Amie Kaufman

  “They’re the advance team,” Jules whispers. “Sending back a message that it’s safe.”

  The two figures move up the corridor toward us, checking each of the portals, acknowledging the operational lights over the archways, and continuing to speak to each other in those distorted, muffled voices. Without further warning, more Undying start to appear, and not just from the single portal in the back—the whole corridor is filling fast, and the two original scouts are about to reach the end of the portals. And the corner where we’re hiding.

  Their heads are bulbous, their featureless faces jet black and almost metallic-looking, like the portals. There’s nothing to distinguish one from the other—they look like clones, like robots, like…aliens.

  Then the pair stop, just a few steps from where Jules and I are crouched, holding our breath.

  One of them has its head bowed, examining a device on its suit. It gives a little beep, then flashes green. The Undying scout makes one of its garbled sounds, then reaches up—oh god, it has arms…hands?—and unbuckles something with a hiss of released, pressurized gas.

  Then it pulls off its helmet.

  “At least the air’s safe.” Its voice is heavily accented, but unmistakably speaking English.

  Not its voice—her voice. Jules’s grip on my shoulder falls lax. We’re both staring, forgetting for the moment that we’re supposed to be hiding, that we’re only a couple of meters from invaders trying to take our only home from us.

  Because the Undying scout standing right there, where I could almost reach out and touch her, is a woman. A tall, golden-skinned woman who could walk down any street on Earth without attracting a second glance.

  Because she’s human.

  She glances at her partner, who’s in the process of removing his helmet too. “Well?” she says, taking a deep breath and then turning her back to survey the stream of Undying soldiers pouring through the portals behind them. “Ready to take Earth back?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Sorry about that. (Well, not really. We’re pretty unapologetic.) Rest assured, though, for Jules and Mia will be back in the sequel.

  There’s nothing in this world (or any other) that we’d rather do than write stories together, and we’re so grateful we get to do it for a living. This truly is a dream come true, so first of all, dear reader, we’d like to thank you. Without readers, booksellers, librarians, and reviewers, none of this would be possible. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for all your support.

  There are so many people who help us take these stories from our first ideas to the book you’re holding in your hands now, and we owe a huge thanks to all of them.

  First, our incredible agents Josh and Tracey Adams, as well as the wonderful Stephen Moore, and the network of foreign scouts and agents who’ve helped Unearthed find overseas homes. We’d be lost without you.

  In the United States, our wonderful editorial team are Laura Schreiber, Emily Meehan, Mary Mudd, and Deeba Zargarpur. Thank you for your wisdom, your patience, your insight, and occasionally for catching ridiculous mistakes before they make it out into the world! A huge thank-you as well to the whole Hyperion team—from sales and marketing, to the copy editors who save our bacon over and over, to publicity and everyone in between. We love working with you. A special shout-out to the amazing Cassie McGinty.

  In Australia, our other home, we are eternally grateful for the fantastic Anna McFarlane, as well as Jess Seaborn, Radhiah Chowdhury, and every single member of the Allen & Unwin team. We don’t know what we did to deserve you.

  We also had help from all kinds of experts—everything we get right is down to them, and of course everything we get wrong is down to us. Thanks in particular to Yulin Zhuang for checking our Chinese, Megan Shepherd and Esther Cajahuaringa for checking our Spanish, and Soraya Een Hajji for teaching us to curse in Latin. Dr. Kate Irving helped with all things medical, Anindo Mukherjee made sure we weren’t sending Mia and Jules to their deaths rappelling down cliff faces, and Christopher Russell helped design our musical mathematical puzzles. Alex Bracken and Megan Shepherd provided fantastic feedback on the manuscript at the exact moments we needed it—thank you, ladies!

  We’re so lucky as well to have a pile of friends who are always there to cheer, celebrate, and kick our butts when needs be. They include Marie Lu, Stephanie Perkins, Jay Kristoff, Leigh Bardugo, Kiersten White, Michelle Dennis, Alison Cherry, Lindsay Ribar, Sarah Rees Brennan, CS Pacat, Eliza Tiernan, Shannon Messenger, Alex Bracken, Sooz Dennard, Erin Bowman, Nic Crowhurst, Kacey Smith, Soraya Een Hajji, Peta Freestone, Liz Barr, Nic Hayes, Megan Shepherd, Beth Revis, Ellie Marney, Ryan Graudin, the Roti Boti gang, the Melbourne retreat crowd, and the Asheville crew.

  And finally, of course, we have to thank our families, who cheer louder than anyone—our parents, our siblings, Brendan (an extra I love you here from Amie for the world’s best, most patient, supportive husband), the Cousinses, Kaufmans, McElroys, Miskes, and Mr. Wolf—we love you, and we’re so grateful for you.

  And now, if you’ll excuse us, we hear other worlds calling our names—we’ll see you all in the next book!

  AMIE KAUFMAN & MEAGAN SPOONER are longtime friends and sometime flatmates who have traveled the world (but not yet the galaxy), covering every continent between them. They are sure outer space is only a matter of time. Meagan, who is also the author of the Skylark trilogy and Hunted, currently lives in Asheville, North Carolina. Amie, who is the author of the Elementals trilogy and co-author of the Illuminae Files, lives in Melbourne, Australia.

  Although they currently live apart, they are united by their love of space opera, road trips, and second breakfasts. You can find them online at amiekaufman.com and meaganspooner.com.

  Praise for

  THE STARBOUND TRILOGY

  the bestselling, award-winning debut series by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner

  ‘One of the most intense, thrilling, and achingly beautiful stories I’ve ever read.’

  —Marie Lu, New York Times bestselling author of the Legend trilogy

  ‘A testament to love, loyalty, courage, and the power of good over dystopian greed and perversity.’

  —Booklist (starred review)

  ‘A stunning, gorgeously imagined romance with epic sweep.’

  —Ingram Library Group

  ‘Absolutely brilliant. This is the sci fi I’ve been waiting for!’

  —Beth Revis, New York Times bestselling author of Across the Universe

  ‘With rich, complex characters and a dynamic—and dangerous—new world, THESE BROKEN STARS completely transported me.’

  —Jodi Meadows, author of the Incarnate series

  ‘Kaufman and Spooner couple an epic romance with dazzling science fiction in a tale that will appeal to lovers of both genres ... a must-read.’

  5Q (Quality rating of 5/5), Best Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror List, 2013

  —VOYA Magazine

  *Top Pick* This is not a lighthearted adventure story; this is a novel about survival. 4.5/5

  —Romantic Times book reviews

  THESE BROKEN STARS

  Book one in The Starbound Trilogy

  It’s a night like any other on board the Icarus. Then, catastrophe strikes: the massive luxury spaceliner is yanked out of hyperspace and plummets to the nearest planet. Lilac LaRoux and Tarver Merendsen survive. And they seem to be alone.

  Lilac is the daughter of the richest man in the universe. Tarver comes from nothing, a young war hero who learned long ago that girls like Lilac are more trouble than they’re worth. But with only each other to rely on, Lilac and Tarver must work together, making a tortuous journey across the eerie, deserted terrain to seek help.

  Then, against all odds, Lilac and Tarver find a strange blessing in the tragedy that has thrown them into each other’s arms. Without the hope of a future together in their own world, they begin to wonder—would they be better off staying in this place forever?

  The first in a sweeping science
fiction trilogy, These Broken Stars is a timeless love story about hope and survival in the face of unthinkable odds.

  Winner of the 2013 Aurealis Award for Best Young Adult Novel; The Huffington Post Best Overall YA Book of 2013; VOYA Magazine’s 2013 Best Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror List;

  Romantic Times Top Pick;

  and shortlisted for the 2014 Gold Inky Award.

  THIS SHATTERED WORLD

  Book two in The Starbound Trilogy

  Jubilee Chase and Flynn Cormac should never have met.

  Lee is captain of the forces sent to Avon to crush the planet’s rebellious colonists, but she has her own reasons for hating the insurgents.

  Flynn is leading the rebellion against the powerful conglomerate that rules Avon. These corporations terraform uninhabitable planets across the universe and recruit colonists with the promise of a better life for their children. But they never fulfilled their promise on Avon.

  Desperate for any advantage, Flynn does the only thing that makes sense when he and Lee cross paths: he returns to base with her as prisoner. But as his fellow rebels prepare to execute this tough-talking girl, Flynn makes another choice that will change him forever. He and Lee escape together.

  The stunning second novel in the Starbound Trilogy is an unforgettable story of love and forgiveness in a world torn apart by war.

  THEIR FRACTURED LIGHT

  Book three in The Starbound Trilogy

  A year ago, Flynn Cormac and Jubilee Chase made the now-infamous Avon Broadcast, calling on the galaxy to witness LaRoux Industries’ corruption. A year before that, Tarver Merendsen and Lilac LaRoux were the only survivors of the Icarus shipwreck, forced to live a double life after their rescue.

  Now, at the centre of the galaxy on Corinth, all four are about to collide with two new players in the fight against LRI.

  Gideon Marchant is an underworld hacker known as the Knave of Hearts, ready to abseil his way past the best security measures on the planet to expose LRI’s atrocities. Sofia Quinn, charming con artist, can work her way into any stronghold without missing a beat. When a foiled attempt to infiltrate LRI headquarters forces them into a fragile alliance, it’s impossible to know who’s playing whom—and whether they can ever learn to trust each other.

  With their lives, loves and loyalties at stake, only by joining forces with the Icarus survivors and Avon’s protectors do they stand a chance of taking down the most powerful corporation in the galaxy—before LRI’s secrets destroy them all.

  The New York Times bestselling Starbound Trilogy comes to a close with this dazzling final installment about the power of courage and hope in humanity’s darkest hour.

  ONE

  TARVER

  NOTHING ABOUT THIS ROOM IS REAL. IF THIS WERE A PARTY at home, the music would draw your eye to human musicians in the corner. Candles and soft lamps would light the room, and the wooden tables would be made of actual trees. People would be listening to each other, instead of checking to see who’s watching them.

  Even the air here smells filtered and fake. The candles in the sconces do flicker, but they’re powered by a steady source. Hover trays weave among the guests, like invisible waiters are carrying drinks. The string quartet is only a hologram—perfect and infallible, and exactly the same at every performance.

  I’d give anything for a laid-back evening joking around with my platoon, instead of being stuck here in this imitation scene from a historical novel.

  For all their trendy Victorian tricks, there’s no hiding where we are. Outside the viewports, the stars are like faded white lines, half-invisible, surreal. The Icarus, passing through dimensional hyperspace, would look just as faded, half-transparent, if someone stationary in the universe could somehow see her moving faster than light.

  I’m leaning against the bookshelves when it occurs to me that one thing here is real—the books. I reach behind me and let my fingers trail over the rough leather of their antique spines, then pull one free. Nobody here reads them; the books are for decoration. Chosen for the richness of their leather bindings, not for the contents of their pages. Nobody will miss one, and I need a dose of reality.

  I’m almost done for the night, smiling for the cameras as ordered. The brass keep thinking that mixing field officers with the upper crust will create some sort of common ground where none exists, let the paparazzi infesting the Icarus see me, the lowborn boy made good, hobnobbing with the elite. I keep thinking that the photographers will get their fill of shots of me with drink in hand, lounging in the first-class salon, but in the two weeks I’ve been on board, they haven’t.

  These folks love a good rags-to-riches tale, even if my riches are no more than the medals pinned to my chest. It still makes for a nice story in the papers. The military look good, the rich people look good, and it gives the poor people something to aspire to. See? say all the headlines. You too can rocket your way up to riches and fame. If hick boy can make good, why can’t you?

  If it wasn’t for what happened on Patron, I wouldn’t even be here. What they call heroics, I call a tragic debacle. But nobody’s asking my opinion.

  I scan the room, taking in the clusters of women in brightly colored gowns, officers in dress uniforms like mine, men in evening coats and top hats. The ebb and flow of the crowd is unsettling—patterns I’ll never get used to no matter how many times I’m forced to rub elbows with these people.

  My eyes fall on a man who’s just entered, and it takes me a moment to realize why. There’s nothing about him that fits here, although he’s trying to blend in. His black tailcoat is too threadbare, and his top hat is missing the shiny satin ribbon that’s in fashion. I’m trained to notice the thing that doesn’t fit, and in this sea of surgically perfected faces, his is a beacon. There are lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, his skin weather-beaten and marked by the sun. He’s nervous, shoulders rounded, fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket and letting go again.

  My heart kicks up a beat. I’ve spent too long in the colonies, where anything out of place might kill you. I ease away from the bookshelves and start to weave my way toward him, past a pair of women sporting monocles they can’t possibly need. I want to know why he’s here, but I’m forced to move slowly, navigating the push and pull of the crowd with agonizing patience. If I shove, I’ll draw attention. And if he is dangerous, any sudden shift in the energy of the room could trigger him.

  A brilliant flash lights up the world as a camera goes off in my face. “Oh, Major Merendsen!” It’s the leader of a gaggle of women in their mid-twenties, descending on me from the direction of the viewport. “Oh, you simply must take a picture with us.”

  Their insincerity is poisonous. I’m barely more than a dog walking on its hind legs, here—they know it, and I know it, but they can’t pass up an opportunity to be seen with a real, live war hero.

  “Sure, I’ll just come back in a minute, if—” Before I can finish, all three women are posed around me, lips pursed and lashes lowered. Smile for the cameras. A series of flashes erupt all around me, blinding me.

  I can feel that low, stabbing pain at the base of my skull that promises to explode into a fully fledged headache. The women are still chattering and pressing in close, and I can’t see the man with the weathered face.

  One of the photographers is buzzing around me, his voice a low drone. I step sideways to look past him, but my eyes are swimming with red and gold afterimages. Blinking hard, my gaze swings from the bar, to the door, the hover trays, the booths. I try to remember what he looked like, the line of his clothes. Was there room to hide anything under his dinner jacket? Could he be armed?

  “Major, did you hear me?” The photographer’s still talking.

  “Yes?” No, I wasn’t listening. I disentangle myself from the women still draped over me on the pretense of stepping closer to speak with him. I wish I could shove past this little man, or better yet, tell him there’s a threat and watch how fast he vanishes from the room.

&nbs
p; “I said I’m surprised your buddies on the lower decks aren’t trying to sneak up here too.”

  Seriously? The other soldiers watch me head to first class every evening like a man walking down death row. “Oh, you know.” I try not to sound as annoyed as I am. “I doubt they even know what champagne is.” I try for a smile too, but they’re the ones good at insincerity, not me.

  He laughs too loudly as the flash explodes in my face again. Blinking away the stars, I stumble clear and crane my neck, trying to locate the only guy in the room more out of place than I am. But the stooped man in the shabby hat is nowhere to be found.

  Maybe he left? But someone doesn’t go to the trouble of crashing a party like this and then slip out without a fuss. Maybe he’s seated now, hiding among the other guests. My eyes sweep across the booths again, this time examining the patrons more closely.

  They’re all packed full of people. All except one. My gaze falls on a girl sitting alone in a booth, watching the crowd with detached interest. Her fair, flawless skin says she’s one of them, but her gaze says she’s better, above, untouchable.

  She’s wearing the same hue as a navy dress uniform, bare shoulders holding my gaze for a moment—she sure as hell wears the color better than any sailor I know. Hair: red, falling down past her shoulders. Nose: a little snub, but that makes her more pretty, not less. It makes her real.

  Pretty’s not the right word. She’s a knockout.

  Something about the girl’s face tickles at the back of my mind, like I should recognize it, but before I can dig up the connection, she catches me looking at her. I know better than to mix with girls like her, so I don’t know why I keep watching her, or why I smile.

  Then, abruptly, a movement jerks my gaze away. It’s the nervous man, and he’s no longer meandering in and out of the crowd. His stooped posture is gone, and with his eyes fixed on something across the room he’s moving quickly through the press of bodies. He’s got a goal—and it’s the girl in the blue dress.