Supernova

by Kass Morgan

  “Maybe,” she said hesitantly.

  He grinned. “Great,” he said, apparently unbothered by her noncommittal response.

  Ward and Belsa split off toward the galley, leaving Vesper and Rex to walk in silence through the narrow corridor and down the spiraling metal staircase that led to the infirmary on one of the lower levels of the ship.

  They still hadn’t exchanged a word, or even made direct eye contact, since Rex had left her room the other day, and she tried to imagine what was going through his head. Every time she caught a glimpse of Rex’s face, she could see the pain in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure what it meant. If he still cared about her, then why had he reached into her chest and dug his nails into her heart?

  They both stood awkwardly while the infirmary supervisor explained their task—taking inventory of various medical supplies and ordering whatever needed to be refilled. In any other situation, Vesper might’ve resented this kind of grunt work, but today she was grateful to have a mindless task that didn’t require her to talk to Rex.

  Unfortunately, the medical-supply room was so small that the silence felt heavier than the highest gravity setting on the multi-environment track, and it was impossible not to be aware of every movement, every quiet sigh, every breath.

  As she watched Rex out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him staring at a shelf of medications without recording them on the inventory chart, as they’d been instructed, and she felt a flash of irritation. He’d told her that their relationship was too much, and yet here he was, staring off into space like a petulant child avoiding a chore.

  He flinched slightly, as if he could feel the weight of her gaze, then without turning around, he said, “The names on the bottles don’t match the names on the chart. It’s like they gave us the wrong list.”

  For a moment, Vesper’s spite threatened to get the better of her, and she considered ignoring him. If she were such a liability, then surely he could get along without her. But then she let out a weary sigh and stepped toward him to look at his chart. “What are you talking about?” She picked up a bottle of Ziosnene from the shelf in front of him and pointed to the corresponding entry on his chart. “There.”

  “That says Triocide, not Ziosnene,” he said gruffly, as if he resented having to talk to her.

  “Ziosnene is a form of Triocide,” she said, unable to keep herself from injecting a note of condescension into her voice. “Haven’t you ever had a headache?”

  He shot her a look, as if unsure whether or not she was joking. “I had a headache for sixteen years straight. That’s what happens on Deva when you live in old housing and can only afford a cheap gas mask. You grow up with low-grade carbon monoxide poisoning… and that’s if you’re lucky.”

  “Oh,” Vesper said, cheeks flushing. There was so much about Rex’s life that was completely foreign to her. Had he hidden the truth about his childhood so she wouldn’t pity him? Or had she simply been afraid to ask? Walking into Rex’s room for the first time had broken Vesper’s heart a little. There were no personal belongings at all: No knickknacks from home on the dresser. No holopics of friends and family on the wall. She didn’t even see any non-Academy-issued clothes peeking out of the drawers. Yet despite the lack of personal touches, it was clear that Rex took great pride in the room. The bed was perfectly made, Rex’s uniforms all hung neatly in the closet. But the detail that pinged against Vesper’s heart was the bottle of shoe polish and the small brush on the shelf above the desk. She’d thought that everyone had the attendants polish their shoes for them.

  For the first time, she found herself wishing she hadn’t always let Rex off the hook so easily every time she’d tried to ask him about his life on Deva only to have him deftly change the subject.

  “I guess Ziosnene wouldn’t have been that helpful, then.”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. There wasn’t any Ziosnene.”

  “Do you use a different form of Triocide on Deva?”

  He let out a short, bitter laugh. “We don’t have painkillers. At least, the poor people don’t. And everyone I knew was poor. If you had a headache, or cracked your head stumbling through the dark during a power outage, or got your face smashed in by thugs on your way home from work, you waited for it to pass. That’s all we could do.”

  Vesper reached for a bottle of antibiotics. “I guess you didn’t have these either.”

  Rex shook his head. “Nope.”

  Vesper thought about the elaborate lengths her father had gone to when she was sick growing up. Asking the attendant to make pricklefish soup, insisting that the doctor see Vesper in person instead of sending a medical bot to collect her vitals.

  “Listen,” Rex said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should be careful around Ward.”

  He sounded more concerned than jealous or possessive, which Vesper found vaguely touching. “You’re right. It isn’t any of your business,” she said, more curtly than she actually felt.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I just…” He trailed off, apparently unsure how to continue.

  Before she could respond, her link buzzed, startling her. She normally set it to sleep mode when she was on duty, but she’d been so distracted by Ward and Rex that she’d apparently forgotten. She looked down and saw a new message from Arran. She skimmed it quickly, then frowned and read it again more slowly, trying to process everything he’d told her.

  “What’s going on?” Rex asked.

  The almost tender concern in his voice momentarily made Vesper’s hackles rise—he didn’t have the right to use that tone with her anymore. But her need to share what Arran had told her overpowered her fleeting desire to put Rex in his place.

  Vesper glanced at the door and listened for a moment to make sure no one was moving around in the main area of the infirmary. “Arran thinks that the explosion was caused by malware planted inside the ship. That’s why we didn’t see anything on the radar—it wasn’t from a Specter pulse.”

  “Really?” Rex said, his eyes widening. “So it was an inside job?”

  “I guess so. I mean, that’s what it looks like.”

  “Do you think it was Orelia?” Rex asked quietly.

  “No,” Vesper said quickly, surprising herself with her firmness. “I can’t believe she would’ve sent that confession without mentioning the malware.”

  She readied herself for a contradiction or at least a hint of skepticism on his face. But to her relief, he nodded. “I think you’re right.” He paused for a moment, looking puzzled. “It’s a little strange that we haven’t heard anything else about the peace envoy, isn’t it? Everyone else seems to act like it’s all business as usual.”

  Vesper hesitated, unsure how much to tell him. If Rex seemed to refuse to trust her, why should she trust him? But then again, if anyone was capable of keeping a secret, it was Rex. “Okay, well… it turns out that my mom arranged this peace summit without consulting anyone.”

  “What?” Rex stared at her, startled. “The Federation hasn’t been involved?”

  “Nope. Even Stepney didn’t know what she was planning.”

  Rex shook his head and laughed, a sound so comfortingly familiar that it unleashed a wave of warmth through Vesper’s body. “Your mother is something else.”

  “I’m not sure it’s funny,” she said, although she wasn’t quite able to suppress a smile.

  “No, you’re right. It’s more impressive than funny. Your mother doesn’t let much stand in her way, does she?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Like someone else I know.”

  Vesper raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me reckless?”

  “No. Recklessness is certainly not one of your many notable qualities.”

  There was a hint of amusement in Rex’s voice, just enough to make Vesper bold enough to ask, “And what are those notable qualities?”

  “Intelligence, stubbornness, drive,” Rex said, counting off on his finger
s. “Kindness, stubbornness… hold on, did I mention stubbornness?”

  “Is that why you broke up with me?” Vesper asked quietly, feeling a sudden prickle of dread. “Because I’m too stubborn?”

  “Vesper, no…” Rex said as his face fell. “Of course not. That’s one of the reasons I lo—” He cut himself off and looked away, suddenly intently focused on the medicine bottles.

  Then why did you break up with me? The words spilled out of her heart, pooling in her chest, where she could only feel them, not speak them. What are you hiding from me, Rex Phobos?

  CHAPTER 13

  ORELIA

  “So that’s it,” Zafir said quietly, his eyes fixed on the small, deep blue sphere in the distance: a single planet alone in its otherwise empty solar system. He leaned in even closer to the window.

  The journey to Sylvan had taken six days. They could only travel at light speed until they hit Sylvan airspace, lest they create the impression of an attack instead of a diplomatic mission, and as they traveled closer to Sylvan, the tension grew so thick Orelia could feel it rubbing against her skin.

  Orelia certainly didn’t blame the Quatrans—they were going to face an unknown enemy that, until very recently, they’d believed had attacked their solar system unprovoked. The Sylvans were surely grappling with similar emotions right now.

  After they’d set off, Orelia had contacted General Greet through the secret communication device she’d brought with her to the Academy. The first conversation had been nothing short of a disaster, as once the general heard that Orelia was traveling with the Quatrans, she’d assumed that her secret agent had been turned or was being forced to lure the Sylvans into a trap. Eventually, however, General Greet had agreed to listen to the Quatrans’ proposal but only under certain terms. She’d meet with Orelia and one of the Quatrans; the others would have to stay behind on the battlecraft. And instead of landing on the planet, Orelia and the Quatran delegate—Zafir—would meet General Greet on one of her ships.

  “Did you ever think you’d actually see it?” Orelia asked.

  “No, not really. I certainly never imagined traveling there as part of a peace envoy.” He shook his head, then met her eyes. “And yet, somehow, that’s not even the strangest thing that’s happened to me recently.”

  “Strange?” she repeated, a playful challenge in her voice.

  “Unexpected. In a good way,” he said with a smile before turning his attention back to the window. “I can’t see any landmasses. How many continents are there on Sylvan?”

  “Just one. About twice the size of Galgo,” she said, naming the largest continent on Zafir’s home planet, Tri.

  “So it must be facing away from us now.”

  Orelia shrugged. “I’m not sure. You can’t see it from this distance.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Zafir said, brow furrowing. “We’re only 200,000 mitons away. You said it’s twice as large as Galgo?”

  “That’s right.” It was amusing to see Zafir so desperately out of his depth. Although Zafir’s research had led to significant discoveries about the Sylvans, it was still only a microscopic fraction of what the Sylvans knew about the Quatrans. “During summer on Sylvan, the oceans cover ninety-five percent of the planet.”

  “Right, of course.” Zafir let out a low whistle as he looked out the window, then turned back to Orelia. “But it’s only summer on one hemisphere.”

  “Sylvan’s orbit is elliptical, as you know. The distance from the sun matters more than the tilt of the axis.”

  “How long does summer last?”

  “About twelve Tridian years.”

  “That gives you lots of time to work on your tan,” he said, his glib tone belying the alertness and intensity of his expression. He’d spent years analyzing the minerals in Sylvan bomb fragments, and now he was hours away from meeting actual Sylvans. “I wish we were actually visiting the planet.”

  “If our peace talks are successful, you’ll go down in history as the man who ended the war,” Orelia said. “I’m sure you’ll be back.”

  “Lieutenant?” They both turned to see the pilot shifting his weight from side to side nervously.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve received a message from the Sylvans. The transport ship is on its way.”

  An hour later, Zafir and Orelia headed to the airlock where Colonel Beaune, Captain Avar, and the rest of the crew were waiting to send them off. Captain Avar’s dark eyes glowed with excitement as she wished them luck, and even Colonel Beaune seemed slightly awed by the proceedings. He shook Zafir’s hand warmly and even issued a gruff “good luck” to Orelia that seemed truly sincere.

  A panel on the wall began to beep, and everyone turned their attention to the monitor. One of the crew members, a young woman, gasped as the Sylvan ship came into view. Orelia didn’t blame her. The shape of the craft was the stuff of Quatran nightmares. A few briefings could only do so much to counter decades of propaganda and fearmongering, to say nothing of the carnage caused by the Sylvan bombs. The Quatrans had no evidence that the Sylvans wouldn’t kill them all on sight.

  Orelia knew how that felt. She wondered if her commanding officers knew that she had disobeyed orders when she refused to stop her squadron mates from firing on the Specter ship bound for the Academy. Or even worse—whether they knew that Orelia had provided the secret to destroying the ship, that she had Sylvan blood on her hands.

  The monitor beeped again and an automated voice rang through their monitors. “Permission to dock at airlock has been granted. Please hold. Estimated time to completion is… one minute.”

  “How are you feeling?” Orelia asked Zafir. To a casual observer, he would’ve looked impressively calm and composed for someone in his circumstances, but to Orelia, his movements seemed unusually stiff, as if it were requiring a massive amount of energy to appear unruffled.

  He gave her a tight smile. “It’s fascinating. I didn’t realize it was possible to feel dizzying excitement and petrifying fear all at once.”

  “Docking complete. Airlock is opening. Please step aside.”

  As the door opened with a loud hiss, Zafir’s smile slipped away, his expression all focus and determination. He and Orelia stepped into the airlock, and the door to the Quatran battlecraft shut behind them. Next to her, Zafir flinched just slightly before regaining his composure.

  The walk through the airlock tunnel to the Sylvan ship felt like both the longest and shortest journey of Orelia’s life. She’d spent so much of her life preparing for her mission to the Academy—a mission she’d known she was unlikely to survive—that she hadn’t thought much about what it’d be like to come home. And had she thought of it, she would’ve treated herself to the pleasure of imagining a hero’s welcome instead of a traitor’s return.

  As they approached the entrance to the Sylvan craft, the outline of the triangular door began to glow red. Zafir came to a sudden halt and looked at Orelia with concern. “Does that mean we should stop?”

  Orelia shook her head and forced a smile. “Red has the opposite meaning on Sylvan. Everything’s fine.”

  “Ah, all systems normal, then.” He caught her eye, and she almost laughed. Nothing about this endeavor could be further from normal.

  A series of low beeps sounded. Zafir inhaled sharply as the door turned transparent, revealing the silhouettes of five Sylvan soldiers, then opened completely. Orelia bowed in greeting, and Zafir did the same, as he’d been instructed.

  None of the Sylvans bowed back. “We will search you before you come on board,” one of them said in Sylvan, a boy about Orelia’s age who looked vaguely familiar. “Step under the scanner.”

  Orelia pressed her hands together to signal her acknowledgment, a gesture vaguely approximate to a Quatran one. “Stand over there,” she said to Zafir, gesturing at a faint circle on the floor. “They need to scan us.”

  Zafir did as he was told, and a few seconds later, his eyes widened as lines of transparent moving symbols began to w
rap around his body. “They’re your vitals,” Orelia explained quietly, self-conscious about speaking Quatran in front of the soldiers. “Your height, age, body mass, blood oxygen levels, antibodies, and a bunch of other stuff. It would also identify any concealed weapons, of course.”

  “Enough,” a slightly older female soldier snapped in Sylvan. “You’ve already handed over enough secrets to the enemy.”

  Orelia fell silent, cold dread seeping down her spine. Criticizing a fellow soldier in this manner was taboo in the Sylvan military, yet none of the other four soldiers seemed put off by the woman’s brazen breach of protocol and decorum.

  “Follow us,” the young male soldier said. “General Greet is waiting.” They didn’t restrain Orelia or Zafir, but the soldiers flanked them closely as they walked, prepared to spring to action at the first sign of trouble.

  Her heart had begun beating so fast, she was sure the sound would rouse the guards’ suspicions. Yet, to her surprise, Zafir seemed too fascinated by his surroundings to be afraid. “This is remarkable,” he whispered, craning his head and swiveling it from side to side to take in everything they passed. His eyes widened as something whizzed above their heads in one of the magnetic chutes that ran through the ship. Sylvan design centered on efficiency, cutting down on expense and waste, whereas the Quatrans considered buggy robot servants to be the height of technological achievement, a testament to how much they fetishized human labor.

  “Where are they taking us? Your general’s office?” Zafir asked quietly.

  Orelia glanced at the guards before she responded in case this also counted as sharing secrets with the enemy. “She doesn’t have an office.”

  “Or wherever the officers have private conversations on this craft.”

  “The Sylvan conception of privacy is very different from yours. We don’t have the same obsession with secrets.”

  He raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. She knew what he was thinking. Says the girl who created an entirely fake identity.