“Of course, my boy. Obviously a system malfunction.” He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked worried.
“My last name is Hall,” Ana corrected.
The captain squinted at her.
Ana was beginning to worry too. They wouldn’t send her back to the surface, would they? Were the gunmen still waiting, or had they driven away?
The bodyless voice repeated, “Please confirm identity.”
The captain spoke. “Override.”
The doors slid open, and Ana followed Captain Fairweather and Holden into the room. It was small with a large curved glass window. It reminded her of being at the aquarium. Only this glass looked out at boring, brown dirt rather than exotic fish. Wherever they were, they were still underground. At the very top of the window, she could see the silhouette of the dark, dusty farm.
Aside from the window, the room was relatively spartan. There was a row of four captain’s chairs bolted to a metal floor panel. What were they doing here? Were they going to wait here for some sort of transport to an airport? What had her mom been mixed up in? What could she have possibly had to do with these military men? She considered asking, but she thought better of it. They were already skeptical about her. She didn’t want to push her luck by asking annoying questions. Down here was definitely better than up there… with the gunmen.
Holden sat down in the chair in the centermost of the room. He fastened the seat’s harness. To his left, Captain Fairweather followed suit. They gestured for Ana to do the same. She frowned but sat in the seat on Holden’s right side. She wrestled with the harness’s complicated straps for a moment before the captain finally muttered, “Through then over.” The harness clicked, and she felt the slack tighten.
A boot crunched across the top of the dirty glass. The captain and Holden exchanged a quick glance. Ana wondered if the glass was as strong as the metal hatch.
The captain returned his attention back to his young protégé. “Pilot, prepare for immediate takeoff.”
Immediate takeoff? Are they calling the plane?
Holographic numbers, dials, and systems overviews appeared in the air before Holden. He tapped, twisted, and maneuvered the images. Finally, he pulled up a mechanical drawing of a large aircraft—sleek and triangular. It was unlike anything Ana had ever seen before. Her heart skipped a beat. Where am I?
As Holden tapped various portions of the holographic aircraft, Ana could feel the environment around her changing. Energy surged under her feet, and she could feel the change in pressure. It was then that Ana knew for certain. She was already on an aircraft. She was in the cockpit, and they were preparing for takeoff.
A massive rumble of power shook Ana’s seat. The electric charge of the room had her hair standing on end.
With a gleam in his eye, Holden said, “Take off.”
The ship’s computer system began to count down.
“Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…”
With a tremendous surge of power, they lifted out of the dirt. Ana waited for the impact as they tore through the old barn, but instead, it merely flickered and reappeared. It was a hologram, she realized. It had never really been there at all. They hovered twenty feet off the ground. Ana could see several figures on the ground, piling back into their SUV.
“Five…four…”
Holden glanced over at her. “You’re gonna want to hold on,” he warned.
Ana gripped the armrests and waited.
“Three…two…one.”
Whatever Ana had been expecting, this was not it. The ship surged forward. She was sucked backward with force. Time stood still. Time stretched like taffy. Languished. Ana remained fixed to the back of her seat. The harness was unnecessary. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. She could barely breathe.
And then, everything loosened.
The farm was nowhere to be seen. Outside of the glass windows, now clear of dirt and obstruction, Ana saw only inky blackness and sharp twists of light. Stars. She struggled to identify them. She couldn’t.
Ana wasn’t just on an aircraft. She was on a spaceship. She was in space. She had planned to run away but never so far.
The captain unbuckled. “Well done, Rockwell!” he boomed, clapping the young pilot on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you escort”—he faltered for a moment—“Ms. Hall to her quarters.”
Ana unbuckled, and Holden led the way out of the cockpit and down a long metal hallway.
“Is your last name really Hall?” he asked.
Ana didn’t hear him. She felt her ears pop as the pressure dissipated. “That was…insane,” she managed. She could feel a chill settling in her bones. Her teeth were chattering.
“You okay?” he asked, eyeing her shaking hands.
“I’m not sure. I—” She started to sway on her feet.
Holden held out his hands to steady her. “Easy,” he said. “Sit down. You’re okay.”
She allowed herself to slide down the cool metal wall into a sitting position. She tried to blink away the orbs of light that were distorting her vision.
“Ana,” his voice called. “Ana, stay with me.”
Her eyes refocused on the beautiful hazel ones before her. Flecks of amber in a warm brown. The color of the earth. She felt a light weight on her shoulders as he draped his green jacket over her. He knelt before her in his white undershirt. “Listen, I don’t know how you got here or what happened to you, but on this ship, you’re safe. Captain Fairweather is a good man.” He said the words good man with weight.
Ana looked at his kind face, and she wanted to believe him. But all she saw was the view from the station wagon of her home burning. Glass blown out of the windows. The smell of acrid chemicals.
“My apartment burned down tonight.” The words felt strange on her tongue. She hadn’t quite accepted them yet, and she wasn’t sure why she was telling this stranger. “It’s gone. All gone. Everything I ever owned. I could have died.” Those words were the scariest. She could have died. Someone wanted her to die. “I couldn’t have stayed anyway.”
“Why not?” Holden asked. He seemed to be having a hard time following her words.
“It’s not important,” she mumbled, clutching the corners of the jacket.
Not important. It was the most important thing in the whole world. Her apartment, the diner, Frank, her brothers—every tiny slice of happiness she had carved out for herself. Good things were always taken. Like her mom.
Would she ever see her brothers again? What would they say when they learned she had gone? Ms. K would keep her promise, wouldn’t she? And what of poor Petrie?
Ana was too tired to talk anymore. All she wanted was to sleep—to try to forget this terrible day. “I wanna go to bed,” she mumbled, standing on shaky legs.
He offered a hand, which she ignored, pushing against the wall instead.
“Your room is just a few doors down.” They walked the distance in silence and stopped in front of one of many metal doors. Light washed over her, and the door slid open.
“Assigned quarters, Ana Hall.”
They lingered for a moment in the doorway.
“Do you want me to send someone by? From the infirmary?”
“No!” The sound was loud even to her own ears. She softened. “I mean, no. Thanks. I’m fine.”
“Okay. And hey, just so you know, a lot of people pass out on their first trip.”
“Thanks,” she said again. She stepped into her room, and the door closed behind her.
6
Spaceships & Coffee Cups
Ana could have slept forever if it hadn’t been for the incessant buzzing. She swatted sleepily at the annoyance. She wasn’t ready to wake up yet. She had been having the most spectacular dream.
There was a mad old woman with a tricked-out station wagon, a fiery explosion, and a spaceship piloted by a sixteen-year-old boy. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the rest of the details.
The buzzing persisted. She opened her eyes and was
greeted by gunmetal gray from every angle—on the walls, floor, and ceiling. It even surrounded the large hexagonal window. Outside, the sky was dark. Was it still night? Why were the stars in the wrong places? In fact, there were none she recognized at all.
And then she realized. The dream was real. She, Ana Hall, was in space. And by the looks of it, very far from home. Polaris, her dear North Star, was nowhere to be seen.
The buzzing stopped and was now replaced by pounding on the main door of her cabin.
“Just a minute,” she shouted, rising from the single bed. The crisp and efficient white linens were the only color in the room.
The pounding stopped.
She found a very small, very utilitarian bathroom to the side of the main door. Inside was a sink, a toilet, and a shower that pointed toward the toilet. All in gunmetal gray, of course. Were you supposed to sit on the toilet to shower? She’d heard of multitasking, but this seemed extreme.
Ana barely recognized herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner had begun to blend into the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her face was puffy, and the imprint of a pillow lined her pale cheek. Her large, fearful eyes looked like a doe caught in headlights.
She turned the faucet on and placed her hands under the steady stream of cool water. She splashed it onto her face, hoping to rinse off the expression along with the smeared eyeliner. The shock of the cold water felt good against her skin. She dried her hands on her jeans and ran her fingers through her short dark hair. She moved to open the door.
Ana stood in front of the large metal door and waited for it to open. Nothing happened. After a moment, she called out, “How do I open the door?” She heard a chuckle on the other side of the door.
“Just say open.”
“Open,” she said. The door obeyed, revealing a wild young man with long dark hair that curled at the ends. Here, face-to-face with her, was the homeless man from the bus stop, the one who had eaten pavement to save her. She almost hadn’t recognized him freshly shaven. He was surprisingly handsome. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, and his face held dark humor in the tilt of his lips.
“What are you doing here?” She was halfway across the galaxy, or maybe in another galaxy altogether, and yet, somehow, the hobo from down the street was at her door.
He ignored her question, his eyes darting up and down the corridor, scanning for threats. She stuck her head out the door and did the same. The corridor was empty. Not a crewman in sight. She wondered if he was crazy or if someone really might be following him, or worse—her.
“Do you mind if I come in?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t even told me your name.”
“It’s Samuel,” he said, offering her a quick handshake. “And you’re right to be cautious, but it isn’t wise to linger in hallways. How about some breakfast?”
Her stomach gave a betraying growl, and she nodded. How long had it been since she and Frank had split that basket of fries in the kitchen at the diner? Hours? Days? It was hard to keep track.
He swept a gallant arm out, indicating she should pass first. She felt a little silly walking past a genuflecting hobo in a ratty blazer and dirt-encrusted jeans, but she did it anyway.
He led them down several metal corridors before they arrived in a large glass-domed room. In the center, a single tree grew. Its branches and leaves reached up toward the stars themselves. Around the tree were white tables, chairs, and benches. The tree’s twisting leaves were mirrored in their shiny plastic. How could a tree grow in space with no sunlight?
And why were her feet still touching the aluminum flooring? Shouldn’t she be floating? Despite all her scrapes and bruises, there was a spring in her step. Could she be ever so slightly lighter? Maybe the Bumblebee had some sort of artificial gravity. She opened her mouth to ask Samuel but stopped short.
They had arrived in a self-serve cafeteria, brimming with the most amazing array of food. She recognized the curling, thick slices of bacon, lightly browned toast, and fluffy eggs, but next to them were things she had never seen before. Purple fruits that looked like miniature eggplants that jiggled when you touched them. Three-dimensional pastries covered in powdered sugar and drizzled with chocolate ganache. Parfaits of all colors that looked like they had been cryogenically frozen. When you dipped a spoon in, frost rose from the top like hazy smoke. She wondered if Ms. K kept these in her freezer along with her science experiments.
Samuel cleared his throat. “You’re holding up the line.”
Ana looked back. There was no one there but Samuel. “Huh?”
He bypassed her, and Ana realized he meant she was holding him up. “Sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing a plate and tray. She found the plate was far too small for all the things she wanted to put on it. By the time she was through the line, her plate was stacked two layers deep, and a few items had to sit on the plastic tray itself. She grinned sheepishly over at her companion, who had a few austere slices of toast.
They passed a nearby table with a few crewmen playing cards. Ana looked at them curiously, wondering if she would see the boy pilot again, but Samuel avoided their gaze and steered Ana toward an isolated table in the corner of the room. Ana sat down and tucked her legs underneath her. Samuel dropped his toast off and returned to the buffet.
With so many wonderful things on her plate, Ana still started with coffee. She slurped it and felt the cogs in her mind begin to turn. She gazed out the glass ceiling and into the inky blackness beyond, lost in her thoughts until the thump of a coffeepot startled her. Samuel had taken the entire pot. One of the card-playing crewmen shot daggers from across the cafeteria.
“I always wanted to see the world,” Ana said, staring out the dome. “I just didn’t think it would be from so far above.”
Samuel contemplated her for a moment. “We’re millions of miles away now.”
“Of course,” she breathed. “The stars are different here.”
They sat for a moment in companionable silence—something Ana had never done at her family’s breakfast table. There had always been shouted conversations, cereal boxes flying through the air, elbowing over chair space, and arguments over milk. It wasn’t until she moved into her apartment that she had first experienced true quiet. Even now, she could stand only a few minutes of it.
“Where are we?” she blurted.
“In a neighboring galaxy.”
“How? How can that be possible?”
“Simply put, there are gateways, portals, doors, whatever you wish to call them. If you know where they are and how to use them, space travel is much easier.”
“But that’s not possible.”
“On Earth.”
She paused for a moment. Was he implying what she thought he was implying?
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Are you really some homeless guy from the street, or was that a setup?”
He looked up from his cup of coffee, and dark humor lit his amber eyes. “Homeless, yes. From the street, no. I was a friend of your mother.”
She squinted at him. It was hard to guess with the dirt and beard, but his face looked young. He could be Hugh’s age. Maybe even Ryker’s. But not the eyes. They were older. There was pain there. A pain she often saw in her own.
“Where to begin?” he mumbled. “Introductions, I suppose. As I said, I am Samuel, and you are Anabella Halt, daughter of Bellaton. So strange to introduce someone to themselves,” he mused.
Ana interrupted, “My last name is Hall, not Halt.”
“Your last name is Halt. Your mother changed it when she went into hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“You’re getting ahead of the story. Of course, I never should have been the one to tell the story in the first place. That should have been your mother’s job, but she was stubborn to the very end. Believed it would never come to this.”
“How did you know my mother?”
“She was an extraordinary woman. Kind too. I’ve never met a kinder person.” He considered fo
r a moment. “Except perhaps your grandmother.”
Ana wasn’t listening anymore. Her mind was flooded with the memory of a familiar kitchen table, knobbly and in need of a replacement leg. She could almost smell the rubber cement.
* * *
The old oak table was covered with smiling faces. An old man tossed a baseball to his grandson. A young woman ran a rake across a small garden patch. A baby with a hospital band peered up at the world for the first time. All of them strangers. Ana frowned at them as she smeared glue onto the back of an old woman she had just found on the Internet. Her grandma for all intents and purposes.
This wasn’t the first family history project Ana had lied about, but it was the first one she hadn’t fought with her mom over. Probably because she was dead, and there was no one left to argue with. Every year, the same assignment. Every year, the same answer. “The past is in the past. Let’s let it stay that way, junebug,” her mother would respond, tousling Ana’s hair or laying a quick kiss on her temple.
Ana took a steadying breath and stared at the photo of the white-headed stranger. She wondered what her real grandma looked like. Did she have white hair like this woman? Or maybe blue-gray like women with dark hair often had? Or perhaps she was the sort of woman who dyed her hair? She supposed she would never know.
Her brother Ryker walked into the kitchen and looked over at the messy table and the scowl on Ana’s face. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she grunted, slapping “Grandma” onto the family tree.
Ryker peered over to see what she was working on. “Oh,” he said with a grimace, “family history project, huh? I always hated doing those. You know Fletcher just took the zero one year.”
With that, Ana stood up, folded the poster board in half, and shoved it in the trash can. It made a satisfying crushing sound. Grandma, rubber cement not yet dried, peeled off the board and fell into a pile of sticky soda cans.
* * *
Thump, thump, thump. The sound of Samuel’s drumming on the table brought Ana back to the present.
Anger flushed her cheeks, and she crossed her arms over her chest. How could he know her grandmother? She had never even seen a photo of the woman. “Why should I believe you?” she snapped. “You turn up out of nowhere and say you knew my mom. Where were you when she died? Where were you at the funeral?” Her voice cracked a little on the last words, and she was mad at herself for it.
Seven Crowns (Bellaton Book 1) Page 4