by Kass Morgan
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Arran said with a rueful smile. Just days ago, their squadron had managed to foil a Specter attack on the Academy; they were still recovering from their near brush with death while preparing for the larger assault that now seemed inevitable. But it was impossible to focus on the task ahead with their squadron mate Orelia missing. Arran hadn’t seen or heard from Orelia in nearly two days, despite sending her eight messages and making multiple trips to her room.
Vesper let out a dry laugh. “I don’t mean in the larger, existential sense, obviously. You just looked particularly tense back there.”
Arran glanced over his shoulder at the guards they’d just passed. There were about a dozen lined up on each side of the long corridor, their helmet shields pulled down over their faces. They’d arrived a few hours after Arran’s squadron had blown up the Specter ship, and while they were ostensibly here to protect the cadets, that knowledge couldn’t overwrite the fear stored in his pounding heart. “I didn’t expect to see so many guards,” he said with a shrug.
“After facing down the Specters, it’s the guards that make you nervous?” Vesper asked with a teasing smile. “Afraid you’re going to get a speeding ticket?”
“That’s not what we worry about on Chetire,” Arran said quietly. On his ice-covered home planet, the most remote in the solar system, the guards served as a constant visual reminder of who was really in charge—the wealthy Quatran mine owners whom the government allowed to act with impunity. They used the government-paid guards as their own private security service, breaking up strikes and silencing anyone brave, desperate, or foolish enough to protest the cruel treatment of the miners.
Vesper pressed her lips together and looked chastened. “Sorry. I keep forgetting how different things are other places.”
“It’s fine. I need to remember that the guards are here to keep me from getting blown up by the Specters, not to bash my face in.” He lowered his voice. “Have you heard anything about Orelia?”
Vesper shook her head grimly, then glanced down at her link and scrolled through a message, blushing slightly.
“So I assume things are back on with Rex?” Arran said, smiling despite the anxiety roiling his stomach.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I guess.” She sounded uncharacteristically flustered, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “It seems a little silly to worry about something like that, given everything that’s going on.”
“It’s not silly at all. If we don’t allow ourselves to be happy, then what are we really fighting for?” Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite keep a wistful note out of his voice, prompting a sympathetic smile from Vesper, one of the only people he’d told about his breakup with Dash.
Arran had spent the first few weeks of the term in a frenzy over Dash, analyzing the minutia of every interaction as his brain struggled to reconcile the outward signs of flirtation with the irrefutable truth—that no one as handsome, smart, and charming as Dash would ever fall for an awkward Chetrian. His skepticism was compounded by the fact that Dash was the son of Admiral Larz Muscatine, the most outspoken opponent of admitting Settlers to the Quatra Fleet Academy. However, the persistent, disarming Dash had eventually convinced Arran to trust him, and for a few blissful weeks, Arran had his first experience of true happiness.
Then, a few days ago, Dash told him that word of their relationship had reached his father, and that if Dash didn’t break up with Arran, he’d be forced to leave the Academy. Dash—the first boy Arran had ever loved, the first boy he’d ever kissed, the first person to make Arran feel like he’d mattered, like he deserved the future he’d dreamed of—had dumped him a few weeks ago. The jagged pieces of Arran’s broken heart were still embedded in his chest like shrapnel.
“Hey,” Sula said, falling in step with Vesper and Arran. “Are you two also on patrol duty this afternoon?”
“Yup,” Arran said as Vesper nodded, her attention once again fixed on her link. “Is this your first shift?”
“I had my first one yesterday,” Sula said, rubbing her eyes. “Five straight hours of staring at a radar screen.”
Arran frowned. “They shouldn’t assign you back-to-back shifts like that.”
“I don’t really mind,” she said with a weary smile. “It’s nice to feel like we’re actually doing something, you know? I like to think that my little sister sleeps better knowing that I’m up here, helping to keep her safe.”
Arran’s heart cramped as he thought about his mother parsecs away on Chetire, alone in their sparsely furnished, spotless cabin. “I do know,” he said. But before he could say anything more, his monitor trilled in his ear. “Report to the superintendent’s office immediately. Based on your current location, your estimated travel time is eight minutes.” From the look on Vesper’s face, it was clear that she’d just received the same notification.
They excused themselves, telling Sula they’d see her on the launchport, then hurried to the administrative wing. “Any idea what this is about?” Arran asked as a knot of dread formed in his stomach.
“Nope,” Vesper said, imbuing her voice with forced cheer. More than anyone at the Academy, the superintendent’s daughter knew that a summons rarely boded well.
As they turned into the corridor that led to Admiral Haze’s office, Arran saw Rex approaching from the other direction. His grim expression softened when he saw them, and he raised his hand in greeting. “I assume we’re being invited for a surprise party, right?”
Vesper rolled her eyes and gave Rex an affectionate smile that made Arran’s chest twinge with a mixture of happiness and sorrow. The sensors outside Vesper’s mother’s office detected their presence, and the door slid open before any of them had time to lift their links to the scanner. To Arran’s surprise, Admiral Haze wasn’t alone. Commander Stepney, the head of the Quatra Fleet, was standing next to her desk, looking graver than Arran had ever seen him.
Admiral Haze wasted no time getting to the point. “Thank you three for coming. What I’m about to tell you is highly classified. So classified, in fact, that none of you should even know the name of this level of security clearance, let alone the actual intelligence. But given the extraordinary circumstances, I’ve been permitted to brief you. Orelia has been arrested under suspicion of treason.”
She paused and scanned the cadets’ faces, searching for a glimmer of recognition—a sign that they’d somehow known or suspected. But from the stunned silence, it was clear that Vesper and Rex were as aghast as Arran.
“We believe that Orelia was passing information to the Specters,” Admiral Haze continued. “Her knowledge of the spread spectrum roused our suspicion, and after further investigation, we discovered that, a few weeks ago, someone broke into the command center and sent an outgoing transmission with the Academy’s coordinates. Now, I’m only going to ask you once: Did you ever notice anything unusual about her behavior? If you know anything, speak up now, and there will be no disciplinary consequences. But that deal lasts only until you leave my office, so consider your actions carefully.”
Arran’s head had begun to spin; he felt dizzier and more disoriented than he had during his first ride on the shuttle, watching the ground fall away beneath him. Orelia had grown up on Loos. She’d been eleven years old when the Specters destroyed her capital city. How could she ever work for the callous, cold-blooded killers who’d murdered half a million people?
“With respect, that doesn’t make any sense,” Arran said. “Why would she have wanted to help the Specters? And how would the Specters have even contacted her to begin with? I don’t understand how…” He trailed off as the commander of the Quatra Fleet fixed him with a steely glare.
“She wasn’t helping the Specters. She is a Specter.”
Arran stared at Commander Stepney, his already overtaxed brain unable to make sense of the words.
“Sorry, what?” Rex said, echoing Arran’s own mess of confused thoughts.
“Your squadron mate is a Sp
ecter spy who infiltrated the Academy by posing as a cadet. She admitted it during questioning.”
The real meaning of the word questioning unfolded in Arran’s mind—interrogation. The Quatra Fleet’s technical ban on torture didn’t extend to anyone accused of treason, a loosely defined term that could be applied to a variety of scenarios. “Where is she?” Arran asked, surprised by his own vehemence. “What are you doing to her?”
Commander Stepney shot him a cold look. “I’m troubled by the fact that you seem more concerned about the welfare of a Specter spy than that of the Quatra System. Moreover, I find it staggering that none of you realized something was wrong with that girl. You spent how many hours together?”
Arran winced as the words unleashed a tide of shame. He should’ve never spoken like that to the commander of the Quatra Fleet, regardless of the circumstances.
“But Orelia didn’t do anything suspicious,” Vesper said carefully, looking from Arran to Rex, who nodded his agreement. “She was quiet, that’s it. And she’s the one who figured out how to blow up the ship. She saved all of our lives.”
“She wouldn’t have had to save anyone’s life if she hadn’t sent those coordinates to the Specters.” Commander Stepney was nearly shouting by this point. “And now our enemy knows our exact location.”
Admiral Haze stepped forward until she was standing between Commander Stepney and the cadets. “They say they didn’t notice anything suspicious, and I believe them.”
When Stepney spoke again, his voice was icy. “I think we should continue this discussion in private.” He turned to Arran, Vesper, and Rex. “You three are dismissed.”
They saluted and hurried out, none of them speaking until they’d left the administration wing. Finally, Arran broke the silence. “It has to be a mistake, right? How could Orelia possibly be a…” He pressed his lips together, unable to produce the word.
“I don’t know,” Rex said, shaking his head. “Someone had to transmit those coordinates, and even without the security footage, you have to admit, it’s strange that Orelia knew about the spread spectrum.”
“Really?” Arran snapped. A flame of anger flickered amid the cloud of confusion. “Or maybe there was some major intelligence screwup and it’s easier for them to blame a cadet than admit their own mistake.”
“Maybe,” Rex said, unfazed by Arran’s outburst. “But I really don’t think that’s what’s going on here. As much as it hurts to admit it, we have to face the truth—Orelia wasn’t who she claimed to be.”
CHAPTER 3
VESPER
This was a real patrol flight, not a training session in the simulcraft or the short mission Squadron 20 had been sent on as a reward for winning the tournament. The crafts would be flown by fully qualified fleet officers—first-year cadets like Vesper and Arran were only there to analyze the radar screens. But as Vesper climbed up the steps of the battlecraft, she felt a pang of longing as she turned right toward the tech bay instead of left toward the pilot’s seat. It didn’t matter that she’d never flown anything nearly as large as a battlecraft; her yearning to grasp the controls was like a physical ache. She missed everything about flying, but today she especially missed how it demanded her complete focus, ridding her head of all nonessential thoughts. Her brain had been spinning out of control ever since they’d left her mother’s office. How could Orelia be a Specter?
An eon didn’t feel like enough time for Vesper to wrap her head around the moonshaking, extraordinary revelation. No one had ever actually seen the elusive, violent beings that’d been launching deadly attacks on the Quatra System for decades. Any enemy ships the fleet managed to destroy were blown up in space at long range, making it impossible to catch a glimpse of the bloodthirsty killers inside. That’s why they were called Specters. No one knew whether they resembled Quatrans or whether they belonged to an entirely different genus. But based on their callous ability to kill millions without ever making contact, most people assumed that the Specters were an alien life-form—certainly not a quiet blond girl who, when she finally opened up, demonstrated surprising empathy. It was hard enough to understand why Orelia would pass information to the Specters, let alone believe that she was one herself.
Yet that hadn’t been sufficient defense for Stepney. Vesper’s stomach twisted as she recalled the look of disgust on the commander’s face as he shouted at them. She’d devoted the past five years of her life to earning a spot at the Academy, and then worked tirelessly to distinguish herself during the first term. Against all odds, her squadron had won the tournament and destroyed a Specter ship heading toward the Academy. But now the commander of the Quatra Fleet was furious with them, and all her hard work was in vain.
Unlike the fightercraft, which only had one cabin, the much larger battlecraft had multiple levels. Arran and Vesper would be stationed on the main deck, scanning the radar for signs of enemy activity, while Sula would report for duty in the control room on the lower level near the weapons bay. “Remain seated for launch,” the copilot’s voice rang in Vesper’s ear; once they’d boarded the battlecraft, their monitors had automatically synced up with the ship’s network.
The announcement was followed by a series of low beeps that signaled the ship was moving along the tracks of the launchport toward the airlock and would soon depart the Academy. She felt a slight tremor as the port side of the battlecraft knocked against the side of the hangar. Normally, this would cause her to sigh dramatically, prompting an affectionate eye roll from Arran. But at the moment, she had much bigger things on her mind than witnessing a poorly executed launch. She couldn’t stop herself from picking over every piece of information she knew about Orelia. It wasn’t much. For the first few weeks, Orelia had barely spoken during their practice sessions in the simulator. No one was that shy. Looking back, maybe it should’ve been clear that Orelia had been keeping some kind of secret.
She glanced over at Arran, who seemed similarly lost in his thoughts, staring listlessly at the monitor, something he’d been doing with increasing regularity ever since his falling-out with Dash. She wished there was something she could do about it, to talk sense into her misguided childhood friend, especially now that Arran needed Dash’s support more than ever. Of all of them, he’d been the closest to Orelia, and this news would affect him the most. Now wasn’t the moment to let pride or misunderstanding separate two people who were clearly in love. But it’d taken the better part of a term to earn the intensely private Arran’s trust, and she sensed that he’d never forgive her for meddling.
She was grateful that she and Rex had moved on from their blowup at the end-of-term celebration, where she’d learned that he’d purposely thrown their first battle to win a bet, a loss that had sent the hypercompetitive Vesper into a downward spiral. She’d forgiven him for misleading her, and he in turn had forgiven her for the cruel things she’d said to him in anger—barbs that still made her wince thinking about them. But for some reason, Rex wasn’t bothered by Vesper’s occasional outbursts. Unlike her ex-boyfriend, Ward, who always told Vesper to “relax” and “stop getting so worked up,” Rex seemed to appreciate her intensity. She suppressed a smile, thinking about the message he’d sent her before her patrol shift: Come help with my tie before dinner? I can’t remember the trick you showed me…
Dash had lent Rex an extra set of evening clothes for the Academy’s formal dinners, and the first time he’d worn it a few nights ago, he’d messaged Vesper for help with the tie—a visit that’d ended with them wearing far fewer clothing items than they’d started with. She had no doubt that the highly competent Rex, who’d received the highest score on the aptitude exam of any first-year cadet, could figure out the mechanics of tying a tie on his own. But she was happy for him to keep up the charade for a bit longer.
“Cruising speed reached. Resume normal operations.” Vesper unhooked her harness, and she and Arran began to scroll through the radar screens, checking for any unusual movement on the edges of the solar system. It was bo
th tedious and nerve-wracking work. The Specter ships were undetectable while traveling at light speed, which meant they could appear on the outskirts of the Quatra System without warning.
“Any movement?” Vesper spun around to see Captain Arrezo striding across the deck toward the navigation bay, looking both elegant and powerful in her white uniform with its gleaming brass buttons.
“Nothing, Captain,” Arran said while Vesper shook her head.
Arrezo frowned, her attention diverted by her link. “Sula’s reporting some inconsistent readings on the electrical system. Korbet, will you check it out?”
“Right away.” Arran saluted and hurried off. Although, officially, first-year cadets didn’t specialize, Arran’s technical aptitude had already been noticed by the faculty.
Just as Arran stepped into the hall that led from the main deck to the stairway, a bone-shaking rumble filled the air and the ship pitched to the side. As a pilot, Vesper was normally unfazed by sudden, stomach-dropping movements, but that was in an agile fightercraft, not a massive battlecraft. Unable to secure herself in time, she skidded out of her seat and crashed against the wall with a painful thud.
“We’ve been hit!” the pilot shouted. Even from a distance, Vesper could see his knuckles turning white as he used all his strength to steady the swaying ship. “Is everyone okay?”
Captain Arrezo was still upright, bracing herself against the wall with one hand as she spoke into her link. “It’s the Specters. Attack positions.” Her calm, steady voice poured from the speakers. Then she lowered her wrist and swiped through various configurations of the radar screen. “Where the hell did they come from?” she muttered. “Did you see anything before the blast?”
