by Erin Bowman
The Radicals were ready. Their weapon, the plan of attack, all of it, would unfold in time. They were just waiting for the right moment, an opportunity on the horizon.
Thea saw no way of stopping it. Worse, she saw outcomes where things got away from Burke, where he lost control. The Radicals were children playing with fire. They were a heartbeat from setting the galaxy ablaze.
She continued to listen, folding away every detail Dr. Farraday shared with her.
She continued her workouts, growing stronger by the day.
And in the dead of the night, when the quiet became too much and loneliness clawed at her heart, she continued to reach out to Coen. He was gone, the connection severed. She’d finally accepted it, but she would never stop talking to him.
The programmer immediately hated Bev.
There were parts of the tidally-locked planet that were surely pleasant, but in the terminator, where Sol’s corporate buddies had set up their drilling operation, things were depressing. Sol had told her what to expect during the short flight over, but nothing could prepare a person for this type of dankness, the chill you couldn’t shake.
At least the underground facilities spared visitors from the worst of the elements. Now inside, she followed a worker through the halls. Sol had stood too near her on the ship, whispered too often in her ear. He was easily slipping into the role he played thirteen years earlier, and she was grateful when he disappeared to pay Dax and left her to pick up the fuel from Dax’s brother, Devon.
The worker led her to the infirmary, where Devon was getting a daily dose of meds. Tall and slight, he sat shirtless on an operating table as a medic checked his vitals. Streaks of bright red covered his chest, arms, and neck, mapping his veins with precision. Sol had warned Naree of his blood poisoning, explaining that Devon had suffered a bad fall while harvesting AltCor several weeks earlier and exposure to the cold had done a number on him. Even still, it was hard to not stare.
“You must be Naree,” Devon said, smiling when he saw her in the doorway. “I was hoping to meet you in the warehouse, but I’m tethered to this place lately.” He raised an arm, showing off the IV. “Your package is there, by the regen bed. Should be enough for a few tests.” He nodded to a dolly stacked with three bright yellow carrying cases. Each was plastered in radiation labels. “It’ll do the trick, I promise.”
Naree met his eyes. “You don’t even know what we need it for.”
“I know you need power, and this stuff . . . It’s alive, I swear. It knows.”
“Knows what?”
“When it’s being depleted. It senses it. Reproduces somehow.”
“So it’s limitless?”
“Of course not. But Bev . . .” He paused and didn’t continue until the medic was out of earshot. “Bev tells me it will work. That this stuff can do whatever you need it to do.”
“Bev is a planet. It can’t talk.”
“It talks to me.”
Maybe it was the gleam in his eyes, or the way his lips quirked into a smile as he said it, or how Devon’s blood poisoning appeared to grow darker when she blinked, his veins taking on a tinge of inky black. Naree believed him. Bev had told Devon something.
Hair stood on the back of her neck. She had the distinct urge to leave the package where it sat and return to ship empty-handed. But she gripped the dolly by the handle, nodded her thanks to Devon, and rolled the AltCor to Sol’s ship.
VI
The Detainment
Halo
Interstellar Airspace
/
Inansi Desert
Casey, Fringe-2 System
THE MOMENT AMBER FARRADAY WOKE from stasis, she knew it was in her. She’d come to before Nova and Coen, and she could hear their hearts pumping languidly in their cryo chambers. The units’ slowing fans hummed in her ears. Her entire being felt electrified, hyperaware.
She stepped from the pod, the floor cool underfoot. The ship seemed alive, suddenly. She could make out the thrum of the reactors in the engine room, a steady proximity alert beeping from the bridge.
The pulses behind her quickened, and she knew Nova and Coen were waking. Exhales. Heartbeats. The rustle of their clothes.
“Well?” Nova touched Amber’s shoulder, and Amber shrugged away. The pilot couldn’t touch her. What if she spread it? What if whatever was now coursing through her veins could also be transmitted in the air?
Impossible.
Thea and Coen would have infected all of Burke’s crew long before the Paramount had even reached Kanna7 if this were the case, and Coen had explained exactly how the bacteria spread, but still Amber couldn’t help but worry.
“I’ll meet you on the bridge, then,” Nova said, and left quickly.
Without even a glance at Coen, Amber hurried after the pilot. Nova’s gait was even, her posture sure. Any soreness she’d been dealing with after escaping Kanna7 had faded during cryo, and she now walked as she had during their last PT session: slowly, but with confidence.
“I’m worried about spreading it,” Amber admitted.
“That’s not how it works,” Nova said, not bothering to turn around.
“I know. But it’s strange and terrifying and—did you know I can hear the reactor right now? Yeah, I can hear it humming all the way back in engineering. Also, Coen just slammed his cryo pod shut. I can hear that, too.”
If Nova was impressed, she didn’t show it. The pilot kept walking, no change to her pace.
Everything seemed brighter: Halo’s lighting and the decals on doorways and even the dull metal of the halls. When they stepped onto the bridge, Amber’s senses were overloaded. First by the lights on the dash and the brilliance of the stars. Then by two different pulses that battled for her attention. Nova’s was fast and impatient as she slid into the pilot’s chair. The second, behind Amber, was steady. Almost lazy.
She turned to see Coen standing in the entrance of the bridge. His face was pale, his shoulders slouched in defeat. Suddenly she knew why he’d slammed the door to his cryo pod. “Thea?”
He shook his head. “We’re fifty-five light-years apart now. I was crazy to think I’d still be able to reach her.”
“No. Not crazy at all. Just hopeful.”
His forehead wrinkled as he frowned. Without the hot cap, his jaw was stronger than she remembered, and he stood taller without the collar, too. Amber could see the strength in his shoulders, the roped muscles along his arms, and yet she imagined that if she reached out and nudged him with a forefinger, he’d blow over like a dead sapling.
Coen swallowed, throat bobbing, and looked away.
“I’m so sorry, Coen.”
He shook his head more adamantly this time.
We’ll get her back, Amber thought. Coen’s gaze snapped up. She hadn’t been trying to test her abilities, nor was she consciously attempting to speak telepathically with him. It was just an honest internal thought.
Can you hear me? she asked, though she wasn’t sure why she was asking. It was obvious he’d heard.
Yeah. I can hear you. There was a hint of frustration to his tone. He’d rather be hearing Thea. Of course I would, he added.
Amber froze. “Are we bonded? Like you two were?”
“No. I’d know everything you want if that happened. I’d feel it. You’d feel my wants, too. You’re just being sloppy. If you want your thoughts to be truly private, you have to guard them.”
“How? Can you teach me?”
He threw the answer to her mentally. He’d already done this once, with Thea. It was too painful to do it again with anyone else, especially her. He turned and strode from the bridge without a backward glance.
“Whatever you guys say in the future, say it out loud,” Nova grumbled. “I’m not gonna be in the dark all the time.”
“What’s there to say?” Amber said. “Thea’s gone. I’m a host. And Coen’s pissed about all of it. Happy?”
She listened to Coen’s retreating boots. Nova flipped a switch on the dash wi
th unnecessary force.
Somehow, Amber had managed to say the wrong thing to both of them.
Coen made his way briskly to the engine room, Amber’s frenzied thoughts fading before they could bring him to tears. It was like Thea all over again, how her thoughts had been chaotic at first, projected into his mind. Of course he couldn’t hear her anymore. Of course the fifty-five light-years between them were too much. And still he’d hoped. He’d spent those weeks in cryo imagining that he might wake to hear her voice.
He burst into engineering and sat beside the reactor. His back warmed from the heat of it. The noise reverberated in his ears.
He closed his eyes and reached out—desperate, heartbroken. Thea was there, and yet she wasn’t. There was no response, no connection, but he could picture her lying on her cot. It was like watching a dream. He was there, too, in his own cell. He reached out and put a hand to the glass that divided them, but she couldn’t see him. There was fog between them, static in their ears, an invisible disruption to the bond.
It’s called too much distance, his brain told him.
But he sat there against the reactor and kept trying. He tried and tried, and he’d never felt more alone.
Casey was the second rock from Fringe-2’s sun, and as they closed in on it, Nova was overwhelmed by its beauty. It was smaller than the planets that made up the Trios, but from this distance, it was comfortingly familiar. Blue oceans. Green and brown land. White poles.
She gripped the yoke, confirming the coordinates on the dash before aligning for entry. Amber was buckled in behind her. Nova had made an announcement over the intercoms, telling Coen to come strap in for landing, but he’d yet to appear. It was his superhuman body to take risks with, she figured.
Still, Nova’s hands trembled slightly during the approach. She’d landed many ships. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. Maybe because the last time she landed on a planet she’d never been to before, half her crew had wound up dead. But this was Casey, not Achlys. It was colonized, developed—modern even, in certain cities. Not that they’d be landing in one of those. Due to the sheer size of the barren land, the Inansi Desert was a popular destination for folks without proper IDs, and Casey prided itself on being separate from the UPC. It practically welcomed anyone looking to escape the Union.
Nova stayed focused and soon they were entering Casey’s atmosphere, Halo vibrating forcefully.
“This is the Global Security Agency repeating your final warning,” a voice said over the radio. “You have entered private airspace without proper credentials. Announce your intentions or we will be forced to fire.”
“What?!” Amber yelled from her seat. “That’s the first warning we’ve heard.”
“’Cause I cut all the other lines,” Nova said. “They were probably trying to hail us on the near planet comms. This is coming through on local channels.”
“Well, tell them not to shoot!”
“Hello?” Nova transmitted. “This is Halo, requesting permission to land in the Inansi Desert.”
“Halo, we can see your ship’s credentials. The Union military has no business on Casey. GSA rejects your landing request.”
Of course. If she were flying a private ship, no one would have blinked twice as she approached. But to a planet that wanted nothing to do with the Union—to people who had already fought a war to maintain their independence—a ship associated with the Trios military had set off a million bells. She should have anticipated it.
“We are private citizens and this is a matter of life or death,” Nova said back. “Permission to land at Inansi Desert?”
“Permission denied. Exit our airspace immediately.”
“What the hell is going on?” Coen called. Nova risked a glance over her shoulder. He’d appeared in the doorway of the bridge, probably drawn to the commotion thanks to his freakishly good hearing.
“Nova?” Amber said. The desperation was thick in her voice.
“Permission to land at Inansi Desert?” Nova tried a final time. “You can board us immediately and confirm we’re all private Trios citizens. There are no military personnel on this ship.”
Silence.
“Hello?” Nova tried again.
An alert flashed on the dash, beeping loudly. “Shit,” said Nova.
“What?” Amber’s eyes were wide.
Coen said, “Nova, what the hell is happening?”
She read the alert again, not quite believing it. Enemy missiles locked on. Nova checked the navigational charts, their altitude. There’d be no time to get out of range.
“Nova, what the hell is happening?!”
The map updated. Radar had picked up the incoming weapons. They’d be to Halo in less than four minutes.
Nova had no delusions about what would happen. She put the ship on autopilot and turned away from the dash. The others were staring at her, brows pinched and eyes wide.
“We have to get to the escape pod,” she announced. “The GSA fired and the missiles are locked on. This ship won’t survive.”
Coen led the way. The ship supported two escape pods, but they’d already released one back on Kanna7 to ditch the station’s guards. Its two-seat, two-person capacity hadn’t worried him when he’d crammed all four Radicals inside, but now . . .
He pulled up, letting Amber and Nova claim the pod’s two seats. Both faced a small vidscreen and a dash with limited controls.
“You’ll be okay standing?” Nova asked.
“Don’t have much of an option, do I?” Positioned behind the two seats, Coen stretched his arms out. He could palm each side of the pod—just barely. Hopefully it would be enough to brace himself during the drop.
“Ready?” Amber called.
“All set!”
She hit the eject button, and the pod detached with a hiss, then immediately began to rattle. Coen’s arms burned as he held himself in place. There was a murderous sound above them—“That’s Halo taking damage,” Nova yelled over the din—and the pod rocked violently.
Coen’s arm slipped and he was thrown upward, his back hitting the top of the pod with such force he was propelled back down to the floor. Pain shot through his spine. He threw his hands out, managing to steady himself as the turbulence mellowed.
The computer announced something about speed and altitude. About impact.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Parachutes deployed,” Amber said, reading from the small vidscreen.
“We evacuated too low,” Nova said. “Chutes won’t slow us enough in time for landing.” She pointed to two sets of numbers flashing on the screen. One was shrinking faster than the other. Altitude, Coen realized. The reading for their speed seemed dangerously high.
“What does that mean?” Coen said again.
“Brace for impact,” the computer announced.
As Coen steadied his grip, the fog in his mind lifted and the connection came roaring back. Thea was suddenly everywhere, surrounding him, her voice echoing in his head. Coen, Coen, are you there? Please say you can hear me.
His arms went slack with surprise. The pod hit earth.
Pain exploded through Coen’s body as the world went white.
Nova coughed violently, fanning smoke from her eyes. Her forehead hurt. She wondered if she’d struck it against the computer. Everything was slightly off-kilter and the armrest of her seat was digging into her side. They’d landed at a severe angle, she realized, the pod door now almost overhead. When she tried to stand, Nova’s boot slipped in something slick. Blood.
Amber’s leg was bleeding, or rather, it had been. The metal edging that surrounded the computer had buckled in the crash and sliced into the medic’s calf. Besides a tear in Amber’s pant leg, there was no sign of an injury, her body having healed quickly.
Amber gave Nova a quick nod, as if to say, “I’m fine,” but Nova couldn’t stop staring at the blood on the floor. There was so much of it, and chances were Nova had a gash on her own forehead if the pain thro
bbing above her right brow told her anything. She had flashbacks from Achlys—the surveillance footage that showed Jon Li infecting himself, passing the bacteria to an open wound on his head; Toby’s leg injury and the way he’d passed that blood to her cousin Sullivan.
Nova clenched her eyes shut, envisioning the breathing animation Amber had showed her.
“Coen?” Amber called, fanning smoke from her eyes.
Nova turned around in her chair. Something sparked overhead and she swore as heat lanced her shoulders.
“The pod’s still closed,” Amber said. “He has to be inside, but he’s not responding. Not even when I call out mentally.”
“Hang on. Let me try to vent some of this smoke.”
Nova stood shakily on her chair and threw the door switch. It creaked open. The smoke slowly dissipated. And there he was, on the floor of the pod, one leg jutted out at an angle so awkward it could only be broken. There was a gash on the side of Coen’s brow. Blood marked his temple and neck, but there wasn’t much behind his head.
Amber squeezed between the two seats and prodded Coen with her boot. “Coen?” He didn’t move. “I can hear his pulse,” she told Nova. “He probably just got knocked out.”
“I thought you guys were supposed to have superhuman strength.”
“Sure,” Amber agreed, “but he got thrown around like a pinball when we crashed. It’s not like he’s wearing an exo-suit or anything.” She crouched beside him and grabbed his leg, realigning it with a quick movement. Nova heard something crack and wondered if his body had already been healing, if Amber had needed to break the bones again just to reset them.
“You stay with him,” Nova said. “I’m gonna see if I can figure out where we are.” She grabbed the edges of the open doorway and lifted herself up. It wasn’t graceful, and it took a fair amount of grunting, kicking, and cursing, but soon she was standing atop the pod, squinting in the brilliant light.