by Claudia Gray
She has fought in countless battles. Volunteered for a suicide mission. Noemi has always been willing to give up her life for a just cause. Saving Earth’s existence and Genesis’s soul may be the greatest cause she’s ever served.
So facing the threat of death in battle—of finally having to make that ultimate sacrifice—ought to be easier now than before. But it isn’t.
Noemi prays, Please, God, you’ve brought me so much hope. So much possibility. You’ve even brought me love. For the first time in my whole life, I can see a future that’s—beautiful. And happy.
Please help me reach that future. Help me stay alive.
38
“IT ALL BEGAN LIKE THIS,” NOEMI SAYS.
Abel sits opposite from her in the docking bay of the Persephone, each of them fastening the edges of their exosuits. “What do you mean?”
“The day Esther died. The day I found you. We were flying into battle, and I wanted to pray, but I couldn’t find the words.” Her gaze is distant; her hands grip the shoulder straps of her pack, as though bracing herself. “That’s when my whole life changed.”
“Mine, too.” All the remembered darkness of thirty lonely years in the Daedalus equipment pod bay can’t steal Abel’s joy in the memory of Noemi’s starfighter coming to find him at last. He’d immediately known that she promised a chance at freedom.
But he couldn’t have guessed how much that chance would come to mean.
“I believe it’s customary at times of great risk to share feelings with loved ones, even if they know themselves to be loved.” Abel hopes this is not only true in fiction; he has few real-life examples of love to draw from. “Noemi, you have made me more than I ever could’ve been without you. You taught me what it is to love. When I believed Gillian was obliterating my consciousness, I realized you had been the best part of my life. You always will be.”
There is a high probability that his life will not last more than ten minutes after he enters the core disruptor engine. This is irrelevant. Abel feels sure that even if he lives longer than the usual mech life span of two hundred and fifty years, no experience will match knowing Noemi. No other human will ever come close.
Noemi smiles crookedly, the way humans do when they believe they may cry. “I love you, too.”
He has so longed to hear her say this. But he must say, “You’ve been through a great deal these past months, especially the last three weeks. Your entire existence has been changed. If you wanted to be alone for a time after this—to consider your options—”
“I know my options.” Noemi’s voice trembles. “I chose to be with you before my hybridization. Maybe everything else about me changed, but not that. Not what I feel for you. Abel, I love you. It lights me up inside just looking at you. For the first time, I feel like I was born for a reason other than fighting for Genesis. Being a soldier… that only gave me reasons to die. You’ve shown me reasons to live.”
“Noemi,” Abel says, then finds he has no more words. He gets to his feet, wanting only to take her into his arms—
“We have engagement!” Krall’s voice says over comms. “Get in there fast, Persephone.”
Abel steps back, arms falling to his sides as he prepares himself.
The Battle of Earth has begun.
The ship’s engines vibrate at a frequency that tells Abel they’re coming in at high speed. Harriet will be steering them directly toward the core disruptor, because disarming it is by far their highest priority. An entire planet’s life hangs in the balance.
If Genesis is going to target the Persephone, they’ll know within seconds. Abel considers it more likely that the larger vessels actively firing upon Genesis’s ships will draw their fire. But if someone takes time amid the fray to ID the Persephone, or even recognizes it…
But nobody fires. The ship is safe, at least for long enough to get them to the heart of the battle.
Time is short. Abel steps toward Noemi just as she steps toward him. They collide, clutching each other with all the fierceness that comes from knowing this could be the last time. She frames his face with her hands and kisses him, and for 1.13 seconds it feels as if the battle is far away.
At 1.14 seconds, vivid red light begins blinking off and on within the docking bay. It’s the warning for the air lock to cycle. He kisses Noemi once more, then snaps on his helmet. She does the same, sealing it tightly, then activating the personal force field at her belt. Abel activates his as well, for shielding against the deep cold of space.
Noemi steps backward, hanging on to metal handholds as air begins to vent from the bay. He has just enough time to grab the propulsion pack and strap it around his waist before the Persephone’s door pinwheels open, revealing blackness, stars, and small pops of light in the distance—explosions from the battle.
The suction drags at Abel, and he gives in to it, letting the vacuum pull him into the void.
At first, he’s tumbling through the emptiness of space, and all the planning and information they’ve done isn’t enough to keep Abel from feeling very small, and very lost. But he fires the propulsion pack in three staccato bursts, which allows him to regain control over his momentum. The battle surrounds him in every direction.
Abel seeks and quickly finds his target. The core disruptor hangs in space approximately 0.61 kilometers beneath. With his propulsion pack, he powers downward toward it.
The trip is a hazardous one. Thousands of ships fire on one another from three hundred and sixty directions, varying distances away—but too many of them seem to be very, very close. It’s a frenzy of energy and light. After only a few minutes, the death toll of this battle is already horrific. Amid the Consortium ships with their bright streaks of weapons fire, Genesis starfighters dashing about, and the darting, lethal warrior mechs lie at least a dozen vessels floating dark and inert. Everyone on board those vessels is now dead, dying, or hurtling through space in an escape pod—at least until a warrior mech spots them, in which case the pod will be destroyed on sight.
Fortunately Abel is too small a target to draw much attention. However, being hit accidentally, by a stray shot, will kill him every bit as surely as deliberate fire. So he uses all his considerable skill with trajectories to keep adjusting his course, dodging fire the entire way.
Noemi’s voice comes through his helmet. “Bet you wish you still had Smasher body armor around now.”
Her tone is deliberately light, so he matches it. “It wouldn’t be worth the loss of dexterity. Though I must admit—it was rather enjoyable, smashing things.”
“I’m within range of the first Damocles now,” she says. “Talk to you on the other side.” The channel snaps off.
Noemi’s emotions were high moments ago, but already she’s wholly focused on her task ahead. Abel feels a surge of pride. She will always be a soldier.
The core disruptor is now within 0.51 kilometers. Soon Genesis forces will spot him. They may not identify a single figure as a target, but there are no guarantees he won’t be blown to pieces.
Hopefully, he’ll have some protection.
Abel switches his comm unit to a different frequency, one Noemi specified for him. It ties him to Genesis communications—specifically, to one person. He says, “Captain Baz?”
After a pause, the voice comes through his helmet. “Who the hell is breaking in on this line?”
“It’s Abel. Noemi told me how to contact you.”
“Allahu akbar,” Baz whispers. “Tell me she’s found a way to stop this madness.”
“Possibly.” Abel can promise no more than that. “I’m attempting to board the core disruptor. I have no ship, only my exosuit. Some cover during my approach would be greatly appreciated.”
For 2.1 seconds, Baz remains silent. Finally she says, “This violates Genesis law—but Bellum Sanctum violates holy law. I know which I’d rather break. They’ve got me in a starfighter for this one, so I can handle this personally. Begin your approach, Abel. I’ll cover you.”
Abel n
eeds to remain focused on the core disruptor throughout his approach, so he can’t look up to see exactly how difficult it is for Captain Baz to cover him. All he knows is that he makes it down unharmed.
As soon as he makes contact with his target, he activates his mag boots so that he’s locked to the metal surface. The core disruptor is unmanned. Earth might’ve kept mechs aboard to monitor this weapon all the way to its goal, but Genesis had no mechs to use. They’ve simply towed it here and preprogrammed a course.
So nobody’s around to stop Abel as he pries open the outer panels and pulls himself into the interior. He has to find handholds within the various twists and turns of the panels and pipes that form the core disruptor’s outer shell. To make progress forward, he unlocks the mag boots, pulls himself toward the center, then locks them again until he locates another handhold. It’s slow going, since without artificial gravity, it feels as if he’s moving underwater.
With every few meters he moves inward, the vibration becomes more intense. The forces are nothing compared to the vibration that will begin when the core disruptor is fully activated upon its collision with Earth. He’s able to brace himself on the metal framework—barely—but will it be too strong for him to endure at the center?
Any human attempting this would’ve been killed minutes ago.
Finally, Abel reaches the center of the core disruptor and finds the surface of the engine. Abel feels the shaking throughout his body, violent almost to the point of pain.
Pain is irrelevant. Only the mission matters.
He pushes himself inside, hunched over with his hands on the mag boots, which are holding him somewhat still. The few organic elements of his skeleton ache, and even his metal bones indicate stress fractures are imminent.
But he keeps going, and going, and—
Abel reaches the center of the engine. Instantly he’s thrown against one wall, then another, then the floor. He is uncomfortably reminded of the principles of Brownian motion. There’s nothing here to steady him, so he ricochets around uncontrollably.
An especially hard collision could shatter his helmet, or even his skull. That collision is inevitable if he’s in here too much longer. A human’s spine would’ve been crushed by now.
It’s difficult for Abel to focus on the controls as he jerks from side to side; they’re hardly more than a blur. But he has his memories of the last time he was here. Orienting himself as best he can, he grabs a console with one hand. This keeps him from being thrown around the room, but causes excruciating pain in his overstressed arm.
The arm that hurts doesn’t matter. The other arm is free for him to reach for the controls, desperately trying to hit the correct one—
Suddenly the stabilizer field closes around Abel like a bubble. He sighs in relief as the engine’s inner shielding steadies him. From there he can straighten himself, lock his mag boots to the floor, and study the controls in more depth. He hits one set of controls, then the next, deactivating functions one after the other.
At last, with a great groaning of the metal around him, the engine goes dead. Darkness surrounds Abel, save for the lights of his helmet, and he laughs out loud.
It takes him only 21.76 seconds to rip out the controls. Given enough time, perhaps, the core disruptor could be repaired—but no one will be able to do it in this battle.
With satisfaction he thinks, Earth is saved.
The way out is easier and faster than the way in. Abel emerges from the framework of the now-dead disruptor to stare out at the battle. As he does so, his smile fades.
Although the weapons fire has diminished, the fight continues. Worst of all, the Damocles ships are still in action. Either Noemi’s self-destruct hasn’t taken effect yet, or she hasn’t been able to implement it at all.
Instantly he turns on comms again. “Noemi?” No reply. Her comms must still be off. “Persephone? What’s our status?”
“Abel!” Zayan cries. “You made it! Way to go on knocking that thing out—when it went black, half the Genesis ships gave up, like, that second, and it looks like Earth’s leaders are starting to get the picture—”
“Where is Noemi?”
This time Virginia answers. “She’s been in that center Damocles for an amount of time I would categorize as ‘way the hell too long.’ We’re still picking up her signal, though.”
Noemi’s in trouble, but she’s alive. Abel seizes onto this hope. “I need to get closer to her position, preferably within the next two minutes.”
“How are you supposed to do that with just a propulsion pack?” Zayan protests.
“I’m not. I’ll need you to take me there.” Abel readies himself. “Bring yourself to my position and prepare to move toward the center Damocles on my mark.”
“We’re on it,” Harriet says bravely. “If we’re in explosion range of the Damocles, then that’s just how it is.”
“You’re not going to stay in that position for more than one second. Just get me there.”
Virginia sounds puzzled as she says, “How are we supposed to pick you up and drop you off that fast?”
Abel braces himself. “I’ll handle that.”
The Persephone zooms toward him, its silver teardrop bright even amid the flashes of weapons fire. He spots some minor weapons scarring on the hull, but his friends have kept this ship safe despite terrible odds.
Harriet’s expert handling skills bring the ship almost directly to his location. No doubt she expects him to head to the air lock. Instead, he propels himself until his feet brush the hull—when he snaps on his mag boots. He lands as solidly on the Persephone as he would on a planet; the magnetic hold is as good as gravity.
No, better. He can cancel this the instant he needs it, and he’s going to need it.
Abel straightens until he’s standing atop his ship, looking out at the battle beyond. Through comms he says, “I’m on the hull. Let’s go!”
To their credit, none of the crew asks questions. Instead, they take off toward the Damocles.
With no air in space to provide resistance, Abel can ride atop the ship effortlessly. His view of the Battle of Earth is unparalleled. Even now, in its final stages, the firepower is something to behold. Yet the most staggering thing, to him, is the sheer level of destruction around him. Ships from large transports to tiny starfighters drift lifelessly in the void. Here and there, his sharp eyes detect the glint of a destroyed Queen or Charlie in its armored exosuit. Yet too many mechs remain in action.
Abel took control of all the warrior mechs during the Battle of Genesis. The effort damaged him, and he suspects trying it again on a larger scale would be even more destructive, possibly fatal. But if this is the only way to end the battle, he’ll have to try. He hopes it won’t come to that, but it might.
He must protect Genesis. He must protect human lives. Noemi has sacrificed so much for this, and her sacrifices cannot have been in vain. Abel won’t let that happen.
As the Persephone gets within range of the Damocles ship, he issues his last orders. “On my mark, accelerate—then, exactly three seconds later, pivot in another direction.”
“Which direction?” Harriet asks.
“Whichever seems safest.” The position is irrelevant, as long as his friends are safe. “Three seconds precisely. Understood?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“On my mark—now.”
The Persephone speeds toward the white bulk of the Damocles at incredible speed. Abel counts the nanoseconds. At three seconds, he releases the mag boots—and soars through space with that same velocity, alone. With no air resistance, Abel could keep this momentum for a nearly infinite amount of time.
But he keeps going only until he picks up Noemi’s signal.
Immediately, Abel fires the propulsion pack in the opposite direction to slow himself down, then angles it to take him closer to Noemi. She’s visible to the naked eye by this time—drifting from the Damocles in her exosuit.
Powerless. In no direction.
&
nbsp; Fear grips Abel for the 0.82 seconds before he sees Noemi’s arms move. She’s alive.
It feels as though hope alone is powering him through space. As the battle flashes and sparks all around him, Abel angles himself for intercept and moderates his speed.
They collide, body against body, two exosuited figures tumbling through space. He’d slowed down enough to make sure they wouldn’t injure each other, but as soon as he’s gripping Noemi tightly in one arm, he accelerates again. Together they fly away from the Damocles as fast as the propulsion pack will take them.
Noemi seems frantic, but then her eyes light up and she brings her helmet to touch his. Abel thinks this is a gesture of affection until she shouts, “A Queen came after me in the ship—took out my propulsion pack, my comms—”
The muffled sound comes to him through the vibration of her helmet against his. Her ingenuity makes Abel smile. “You’re all right?”
“Just banged up. Still, I’m almost positive I got the self-destruct going, so we have to get the hell out of here, right now—”
Abel glances back at the Damocles ship. Can they make it out of range? He can’t be sure.
The Damocles explodes. Shards fly out in every direction—pale metal and stark beams, all of it at supersonic speeds. If even one piece of shrapnel gets through their force fields and rips the exosuits, they’re dead.
Abel hugs Noemi tightly, trying to shield her body with his own. She struggles against him, trying to do the same thing.…
But the dust and debris of the explosion simply shimmer past them, a glittery tide in the emptiness of space.
“Look!” Noemi points as another Damocles ship blows up. Another. And another. Her theory about the interconnectedness of the ships was correct. Abel watches the Damocles explode, one after the other, drawing a large circle around the battle.
Instantly the other Earth forces pull back. Genesis begins a retreat. The fire slows, then stops.
Noemi closes her eyes. Abel knows she’s saying a prayer of thanksgiving.
Genesis can no longer destroy Earth. Earth can no longer dominate any of the colony worlds.
