I swallow the knot in my throat and look down at Franco. “Well, at the very least, you’ll be my date tonight, right, Frankie?”
“Replacing me already, are you?” asks a velvety voice above the din of the crowd.
I glance up.
Darien, standing a few feet away, puts his hands in his pockets. His suit cuts him at all the right angles, sharp and acute. He’s not quite as bulky as last summer, his hair is a little longer for the new season of Seaside. He raises a single dark eyebrow. It’s infuriating how well he does that.
A blush burns the tips of my ears. “I mean, he is a better actor than some people.”
“Ouch.”
“And he matches me perfectly,” I add, fanning out my dress with my free hand. I told Sage to sew me a dress the exact color of Darien’s Carmindor jacket. Brass buttons line my corset, glitter sweeping up the bottom hem as though I ran through a puddle of gold. Franco has a matching blue vest that almost doesn’t fit around his belly.
The edges of Darien’s lips quirk up. “It’s the wrong color blue, you know.”
I glance up into his eyes. “I dunno, I hear the Carmindor in this new film wears it right enough.”
He smiles. It’s wide, unabashed, no secrets tucked into the edges. “You look beautiful.”
I return his smile. Why am I so nervous talking to him here? Like I’m balancing on a tightrope, afraid I’ll fall. “You look—you know how you look. I don’t have to inflate your bratty ego. You look terrible. That’s how you look. Like you didn’t go to sleep until 2 a.m.”
“Actually four-thirty, and you know your nose twitches when you lie, right?” He touches his own nose, approaching me slowly.
I scrunch my nose and look away. “It was around four-thirty for me too.”
His shoulders sag a little. “I’m sorry I texted so late last night.”
“It’s fine! Seriously. I know you were off saving the galaxy—” I wave my hand toward Jessica. Getting my drift, he gives me a level look. “I know things are going to get crazy for you for a while—”
“Exactly,” he interrupts, “which is why I wanted to ask you…”
A reporter calls his name. “Who’s that girl?” the reporter asks.
“Are you two a couple?”
“Where’s she from, Darien?”
“Is she the girl from last summer?”
Another chimes in, then another—or maybe it’s a paparazzo, they all look alike now. Even blogs are considered newspapers here. Everything is. Tweets and instas and tumbls and snapchats being fired off faster than warp speed. The sooner we axe whatever rumor is brewing, the better.
“We’re just fr—” I say when Darien steps closer, taking his hands out of his pockets. He reaches for my free hand and laces his fingers through mine. My words catch in my throat.
He turns his face down toward mine, pressing his lips against my ear. “Quick, when the Nox invaded District Eleven in episode thirty-four, what did Carmindor and Princess Amara do?”
My eyebrows furrow. “They…joined forces?”
He nods gravely. “Elle, would you join forces with me? Together we can defeat the Nox.”
I stare at him wordlessly. Cameras continue to flash. Franco woofs, his tail spinning like a windmill.
“Elle?”
Do I want to? Do I really want to? I try to imagine the opposite—a universe without Darien. A universe without his goodnight texts, and teasing words, and those secret smiles he reserves only for me—the ones that are crooked and caring—and suddenly I realize that I don’t like that universe at all. It wouldn’t be nearly as impossible.
And what good is this universe if it isn’t impossible?
“But what about—what about your promo stuff?” I grapple for words. “And marketing? And making alliances and playing the field and—”
He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses it. “I want you, ah’blena. I want to try this thing with you, whatever this is. I want you to be my copilot. And I want to ask you before the movie, in case you really hate it.”
Of course he would be afraid of that. Of course he’d be that big of a doofus. I press my forehead to his, the paparazzi snapping so many photos they blind me like stars. “If you screw up Carmindor,” I say between my smile, so it looks like we’re whispering sweet nothings instead of throwing shade, “then I will personally make your life a living hell on my blog.”
Beneath us, Franco sticks out his tongue, looking from me to Darien expectantly.
“Do you really mean that, ah’blena?”
“I promise-swear, ah’blen.”
He bends close, despite the crowds, despite the cameras, despite Franco’s nose-diving into his suit pocket where he’s probably keeping a snack, and kisses me. Around us, the flashes flare like the thrusters of the good ship Prospero, sending my heart rocketing into the farthest reaches of this impossible universe.
STARFIELD IGNITES THE STARS
By Danielle Wittimer
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ON REBELGUNNER.COM
WITH A LEGACY A BRIGHT AS Starfield’s, expectations are high. Decades have passed since the series first aired, but Starfield still stands on its own beside such behemoths as Star Trek and Star Wars, and fist-bumps with Firefly and Battlestar Galactica. Though the fandom was small, it was passionate. We Stargunners believed that we would follow Carmindor anywhere—even into the Black Nebula.
And going into this film, I thought that was where it was leading us—into the unknown. Nostalgia can’t compete with newfangled lens flares and artistically shaky camera angles. I hardened my heart for disappointment, I lowered my expectations, I gave in to the knowledge that my Carmindor would never be on the screen. And although I was not wrong, I was surprised.
The film opens with an attack on the Federation ship Prospero by unknown enemy forces. And anyone who has seen the TV series will know what happens next. You will gird your loins and you will cross your heart—and the Black Nebula will open, and you will be sucked in with it.
For viewers, and especially for fans, it’s a moment of considerable trepidation; the fate of the universe literally hangs in the balance. And then he steps onto the bridge: Federation Prince Carmindor, black boots shined and polished, the insignia of the Federation impressed into the leather, clad in a blue a little bluer than his original uniform. But beyond outward appearances, Darien Freeman plays Carmindor a little differently. A little more unsure, a little more self-doubting when it comes to his own judgment. It’s the one thing I miss from his character in the original, that utter confidence in everything he was.
But Darien Freeman brings a depth to our Federation Prince that David Singh left untapped: a flawed and deeply human side of a character we all know and love. Freeman’s Carmindor is younger, brasher, and less heroically self-assured, but he’s still Carmindor, always thinking, always striving to be better than the person he was moments before. Maybe there’s room to grow, but that’s how I fell in love with this character in the original, because of his idealism, his belief that you could be bigger than your bones. And with Jessica Stone’s self-possessed, sharp-tongued Princess Amara and Calvin Rolfe’s wisecracking Eucinedes beside him at the helm, this captain is driving a considerably entertaining ship.
Not everything in the movie is perfect. The catch-up expository dialogue can get wooden (especially for already-informed Stargunners), and the cliffhanger ending may leave some viewers unsatisfied. But even with its shortcomings, the reboot manages to capture the heart of the TV series everyone fell in love with: that if you believe in yourself and have a few good friends, then you can do anything. You can be anything. So, as the saying goes:
Look to the stars. Aim. Ignite.
Starfield opens nationwide this weekend. The sequel is slated for next summer.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS BOOK WAS A STRANGE GIFT to me, and this fangirl has a bajillion people to thank—especially my agent, who brought this gift to my inbox, and my editor, who told me to run w
ild.
But most of all?
This story would never be possible without fandom. And I would never have picked up a pen if not for fanfics. That was my community, where I grew up—in the midst of flaming reviews and shipping wars and OTPs and AU!fics and headcanons and songfics and half-baked homages to My Immortal. In high school, when I was sad or felt helpless, the comments and reviewers and friends I met in fandom helped me realize that I wasn’t ever as alone as I thought.
And yeah, there might not be real magic in this world, but there is the power of fandom—the power of passionate people who, when working together, can birth movies out of canceled one-season sci-fi shows, resurrect fictional towns like Stars Hollow, and create endearing fan-musicals that will last far longer than its Muggle counterpart—and that kind of magic will never disappear.
So I want to thank you. You, the reader. You, who cosplays and writes fanfiction and draws fanart and runs a forum and collects Funko-Pops and must have hardcovers for all of your favorite book series and frames for your autographed posters. You, who boldly goes.
Never give up on your dreams, and never let anyone tell you that what you love is inconsequential or useless or a waste of time. Because if you love it? If that OTP or children’s card game or abridged series or YA book or animated series makes you happy?
That is never a waste of time. Because in the end we’re all just a bunch of weirdos standing in front of other weirdos, asking for their username.
So, as Carmindor always says: Look to the stars. Aim. Ignite.
ASHLEY POSTON is a part-time author and full-time fangirl. She was born and raised in rural South Carolina, where you can see the stars impossibly well…
Fangirls unite! It’s never been a better time to be a geek girl, and we’ve got something for everyone. Women who con, craft, cosplay, save the day, and change the world. Quirk Books is the ultimate destination for ladies living the nerdy life.
The Fangirl’s Guide to the Galaxy
Wonder Women
The Spectacular Sisterhood of Superwomen
Crafting with Feminism
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