by Joe Vasicek
“Hello?” said Lars, speaking into a microphone. “‘Chelle? Nash? Are you there? Do you copy?”
Only static answered him. Through the window, the city lights sprang up across the darkened planet like lines on a grid.
“‘Chelle? Nash? Do you copy? Answer me!”
A bright pink flare outside sent the static up a few notches, making Jalil jump. Mark quickly looked up, his old eyes full of concern and anxiety.
“What was that?” asked Jalil.
“Nuclear warheads,” said Mark. “The battle—we’re headed right into it.”
Battle? Jalil thought to himself. I can’t see anything.
As if in answer, several ships sped over them on a diagonal orbit. They moved too fast for Jalil to see them clearly, but he could tell that they were much, much larger than the Bridgette. Tracer rounds from their cannons streaked across the blackness of space, thin yellow lines that converged to form an eerie, slow-growing mesh overhead before curling back toward the planet’s surface.
“The blasts are interfering with our signal,” said Mark. “We can’t—”
“—ars? Lars, is that you?”
Michelle’s voice was barely audible over the roar of the static, but it was unmistakably her.
“‘Chelle? Yes! Yes, it’s me—listen, we’re coming around your position on a low orbit, bearing—”
“—eaking up, I ca—”
The static flared again as bright white light filled the bridge. Jalil hurriedly covered his eyes as flashbacks from his childhood came rushing back to him: the blaring of alarms, the sound of screaming and feet pounding the floor, the awful rushing noise as his mother sent him down the chute—
“‘Chelle? ‘Chelle!”
“It’s no use,” yelled Mark. “We’re in the middle of the battle—switch off the comm dish before it fries!”
Silent explosions flared all around them, some distant, some disturbingly close. The lights on the bridge dimmed and flickered, while the roar of the static was so loud that Jalil could barely think.
Lars shut it off and turned to face them. “At least they know we’re here,” he said. “If they’re already in the air, we still have a chance.”
“But they don’t have our trajectory,” said Mark. “Without the data, they could be hundreds of kilometers off course.”
“That’s just the risk we’ll have to take.”
Jalil cowered in his chair, his whole body shaking as he broke out in a cold sweat. The battle, the explosions—he’d seen this terrible scene before. This was how his parents had died—how he had nearly died. How they might die right now—
Pull yourself out of it! he told himself. With some effort, he took a deep breath and recomposed himself.
“We’ll be coming around in ten minutes,” said Lars. “We should have line of sight by then. If ‘Chelle and Nash are wise, they’ll stay in the upper atmosphere until we connect. It will make it easier for them to change their course.”
“Assuming they’re flying roughly parallel to us,” said Mark. “Even then, it’s a shot in the dark. To match our speed and position, and do it before—”
“They’ll do it,” said Lars. “I know they will.”
Seconds turned to minutes, and the explosions slowly diminished behind them. The time passed in a tense, almost apocalyptic silence. Jalil didn’t know what was happening, but he could feel the danger like the threat of a coming sandstorm.
Slowly, an arc of reddish orange light ringed the arc of the planet. In less than a minute, the brilliant orb of the sun rose above the horizon, tinting the window glass until nothing else was visible. It traced a line up to the ceiling, passing overhead as the window cleared. The reddish-orange circle turned into a rapidly expanding crescent of blue and green as they passed from night into day.
“Nearing line of sight,” said Lars. “Acquiring signal…”
Instead of static, a low beeping noise sounded from Lars’s computer. Several previously blank monitors switched on.
“Got it!”
“Hello? Hello?” came Michelle’s voice, loud and clear.
“‘Chelle!” said Lars. “Are you in the air?”
“We are. What’s going on? The last we heard—”
“There’s no time—we’re transmitting our orbital data right now. Can you get to us?”
Silence. Jalil glanced over at Mark, who was frowning and checking a monitor on the side of his station.
“I think so,” said Michelle.
“We’ve got to move,” said Mark. “Hameji warships are jumping into our sector.”
For a few moments, no one said anything. Jalil glanced back and forth, trying to read the situation.
“We’ll have to shut down,” said Lars. “Make us look like a derelict. No transmissions, no orbital corrections—nothing.”
“But how are we going to make the rendezvous?” asked Michelle. The fear in her voice was evident, even through the static.
“Sight,” said Lars. “And really, really good calculations.”
“But—”
“He’s right,” said Mark, forestalling any further discussion. “Lars, power down everything but the jump drive.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. With luck, they’ll think we’re just a chunk of space debris from the battle.”
Lars nodded grimly and began hitting a series of buttons on his panel. The computers switched off, followed by the ventilators and lights. Jalil felt his stomach flip and realized that the gravity was off as well.
“Everything’s off,” said Lars. “All computers except piloting are on standby mode. All controls are manual.”
Jalil looked out the window at the deceptively peaceful planet below. Angelic white clouds drifted over vast swaths of green land, the small black domes interspersed naturally among the various landforms. If it weren’t for the events of the last twenty minutes, he would have guessed that everything was normal.
As the world passed peacefully beneath them, Jalil became aware of the all encompassing silence on board the ship. Even in the empty desert, there had always been the whistling of the wind or the quiet shifting of the sand. With all of the ship’s systems shut down, he felt as if they were locked in a tomb, about to fall to their deaths and burn up in the atmosphere.
In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, he prayed. Please, Lord, have mercy on us.
The nerve-wracking seconds ticked away, gradually turning into minutes. Jalil kept his eyes on the horizon, watching out the viewport as if his life depended on it. Far in the distance, he occasionally saw small flashes—little blips of light. Those, he knew by now, were Hameji starships jumping into orbit. Any second, one could arrive at their position—and then what? Jalil didn’t know, but he knew it would be bad, very bad.
As they watched, an enormous ship jumped into position off to port. It was shaped like a long red tube—or perhaps a giant cannon—with three massive engines clustered around the stern. With its nose pointed straight down, the ship looked as if it were about to dive into the planet.
“What is that?” Lars asked, speaking to no one in particular as they drifted past. “Is it—oh no. Stars, no!”
“What?” asked Jalil. He leaned forward to get a better look.
As he watched, the ship’s engines flared, and it began to accelerate towards the cloudy skies below. Before it could fall through the atmosphere, however, something pushed it back—hard. A spinning piece of gray space rock shot out of the end like a slow-moving bullet, heading straight for the planet. In a matter of seconds, the rock became a fiery comet and slammed into the surface. The soundless collision sent a shock wave rippling through the atmosphere, followed by an enormous plume of black and gray. Cracks of fire spread out like living tendrils across the surface, but were soon obscured by a fast growing wall of ash and debris.
“What’s going on?” asked Jalil.
Lars coughed and collapsed on the floor, clutching his stomach. Mark got u
p from his seat and knelt down beside his son.
“The—the Hameji—just like Tajjur—”
“What’s going on?” Jalil asked again. A growing sense of nausea clawed at him.
“Those are mass accelerators,” Mark said, his face grim. “The Hameji use them to slag the worlds they conquer. Before the end of the day, everyone on that planet—”
“Will be dead,” Lars moaned. He rose to his feet and leaned heavily on his father, coughing.
“Dead?” said Jalil, chills running down his back. “You mean, the whole planet—”
“Will be smashed into oblivion.”
“Hang in there,” said his father. “Easy does it, easy does it. ‘Chelle and Nash made it out in time. We can do this, son—hang in there!”
“I’ll be fine,” said Lars. “Just… just give me a second.”
Jalil stared at the monstrous Hameji ship as they slowly orbited by. As he watched, it lurched and fired again, sending another rock hurtling to the surface. The plume of gray-black debris from the impact mingled with that of the first, tapering into a teardrop shape as it hit the upper atmosphere.
This is sickening, Jalil thought to himself. What kind of monsters would murder an entire world?
A few moments later, he saw something just beneath the horizon. A slight glimmer, like a fragment of metal glistening in the sunlight. It was a spaceship, climbing up from the lower reaches of the atmosphere.
“There’s something down there,” he said. “It looks like a shuttle.”
“What?” said Mark. “Where?”
“There,” said Jalil, pointing.
Mark and Lars both peered forward to get a better look. It took them a second, but when they saw it, they both let out a cheer.
“Yes!” said Lars. “I knew that they could do it!”
“Pull up the shortwave,” said Mark, hurrying to his seat. Soon, the bridge was filled with static.
“‘Chelle? Nash? Is that you?”
“It’s us,” came Michelle’s voice over the crackle of the radio. “Let’s dock and get the hell out of here.”
At that moment, Jalil noticed a brief flash off to their starboard side. It was a ship jumping in, but much closer than any of the others. As he squinted to get a better look, something glimmered in the sunlight—
His stomach instantly fell out from under him. “The Hameji,” he said. “I think they’re here.”
“What?” cried Lars. “Not now; they can’t be—”
“Power up all systems and strap yourselves in,” said Mark.
For a moment, Lars looked as if he would say something, but instead he turned to his control board and began hitting buttons. The screens and instruments instantly came to life, while the lights blinked on and the gravity slowly returned.
“Give me a direct angle on Bridgette One,” said Mark. “Collision course.”
“Collision? But—”
“The jump drive creates a field that extends for one meter from anything touching the ship. If we time our impact right, we can jump out with ‘Chelle and Nash before the Hameji get to us.”
Lars bit his lip and turned to his computer. A moment later, the view out the window spun, and a muffled roar came from the back of the ship. Jalil gripped the bottom of his seat with both hands and hung on for dear life.
“Did you hear that, ‘Chelle?” Mark spoke into the shortwave. “We’re coming in to make physical contact. Try to match our velocity as close as you can so we don’t just smash into you.”
“Copy, Dad,” said Michelle. “It’s just—oh shit, they’re launching fighter drones!”
“Hang in there, ‘Chelle. Lars, how are we looking?”
“Fifteen hundred meters and closing fast. At this rate, collision in… twenty-three seconds.”
As if in answer, the lights turned red and an alarm began to blare. Jalil reached up to cover his ears, grabbing his chair again as a jolt threw him against his seat restraints.
“Get ready to activate the jump drives manually,” said Mark. “Ready?”
Lars flipped open a compartment and put his index finger on a switch inside. “Ready,” he said.
Jalil closed his eyes and tried to ignore the blaring alarms. He was sweating again, as the flashbacks returned in full force. His father, shouting orders as the crew dashed everywhere. His mother, grabbing him in the midst of the chaos and slipping the pendant around his neck. The scream of the wind as the air was sucked out into space, the darkness of the chute, falling, falling—
He reached for the pendant with his sweaty hands and fingered it through his shirt. Lord of Earth, he prayed silently. Please, save us.
“Ten seconds,” said Lars. “They’re accelerating—matching velocity. Hang on!”
An explosion rocked the ship, reverberating through the walls. The taste of vomit filled Jalil’s mouth, and he suppressed the urge to scream. In a few moments, the awful sucking noise would come, but this time, his mother wouldn’t be here to save him.
“Hold!” shouted Mark.
Something on the bridge shorted, giving off the acrid smell of an electrical fire. Jalil glanced over and saw smoke rising from one of the panels.
“Four seconds,” said Lars. “Come on, ‘Chelle, easy does it, easy—”
Out the forward window, the shuttle came careening towards them. The ship lurched backward, throwing Jalil against his seat restraints.
“NOW!”
As he opened his mouth to scream, the floor dropped out from beneath him. His voice became muted, as if he were screaming into a pillow. He became acutely aware of the pounding of his heart, the pulse of his blood as it raced through his arteries, the adrenaline giving it an extra push. Time slowed, and everything became incredibly bright—so bright that he closed his eyes and covered them with his hands.
And then they were through.
Jalil opened his eyes and stared out the window. The planet was gone, replaced by a glowing starfield. No more flashes—no more explosions. His muscles turned to water and he sank into his seat, while beside him Mark and Lars began to cheer.
“We did it! We did it!”
“Are you all right, ‘Chelle? Do you copy?”
“I copy,” came Michelle’s voice, noticeably shaken even over the crackle of the static. “We’re alive.”
“Haha! We did it!”
“Praise Allah,” said Jalil, unstrapping himself and rising unsteadily to his feet. “Praise Allah.” In spite of his weak stomach, he managed a smile.
“How bad does the damage look out there, ‘Chelle?” Lars asked.
“Pretty bad,” she answered. “But not more than we can handle. Stars of Earth, I can’t believe we made it.”
“Bring the shuttle into the bay,” said Mark. “We’ll take a look at her there.” Without another word, he collapsed exhausted into his chair.
Praise Allah, Jalil thought to himself. They were alive—they’d made it. But the initial exhilaration quickly wore off, leaving a horrible emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Images of the debris plumes spreading across the beautiful blue-green planetscape flashed across his mind. Yes, they had made it—but behind them, an entire world had died.
Chapter 17
“So,” Amina asked, “when are you going to give Ibrahim your answer?”
Mira sighed as she picked another cucumber from the hydroponic trough and dropped it into the basket at her hip. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face, and she reached up to wipe it away. The warm humidity of the greenhouse tent tortured her only slightly less than her younger sister. Even though Amina hated tending to the crops, she’d somehow been there waiting for Mira to come inside.
“Well?”
“I don’t know,” said Mira, pulling off another cucumber and dropping it into her basket.
Amina gave her a sly grin. “Still playing hard to get, are you?”
Mira stopped and looked up at her. “Are you here to work or to gossip?”
“A little of both. I don�
��t need my mouth to pick vegetables.”
“Apparently you don’t need your hands, either.” Mira glanced meaningfully at her sister’s empty basket.
Amina shrugged. “What can I say? You work so hard that there’s hardly anything left to do. Besides, how much time does it take to pick two rows of cucumbers?”
“With you helping me, it might take all day.”
Amina threw back her head and laughed. “I like the attitude,” she said, nudging Mira with her elbow. “It’s like you’re finally learning how to speak up for yourself.”
Mira ignored her and returned to her work, pulling out a particularly large cucumber and tossing it forcibly into her basket.
“Anyway, I’ve got to go. Be back in a few.”
Without any further explanation, Amina half-walked, half-ran to the door. Mira was about to ask where she was going, but before she could get the words out, Amina was gone.
That’s strange, Mira thought to herself. With her sister gone, she turned her full attention to the work in front of her. The cucumber patch wasn’t very large, but after she was finished there she still had the beans and nuts to pick, which were a lot more time consuming. Better to get the easy work out of the way, so at least she could feel she was making progress.
On the other side of the greenhouse tent, a small patch of strawberries was just starting to ripen. The tinge of red caught Mira’s eye, and a lump rose in her throat as she realized that they were probably meant for her. To have come along so far, they had to have been planted soon after she had left—soon after her mother had told her to come back with Jalil by any means necessary. In other words, the strawberries were a lie. But was that any different than with Mira’s other sisters? No, Mira realized bitterly, it wasn’t.
Behind her, the tent door zipped open. Must be Amina, she thought to herself. Hastily wiping her eyes, she turned to face her sister.
“Here,” she said, “why don’t you take this basket out to the kitchen? It’s practically fu—”
Mira froze, and an electric chill shot down her spine. It wasn’t Amina who had entered the tent—it was Ibrahim.
