Supernova

by Kass Morgan

  The door slid open, startling Orelia enough that she leapt to the side. Without time to steel herself, it was impossible not to look frightened as Zafir entered the cell, and she thought she saw a flash of pain on his face as he took in her appearance. Or perhaps she’d only imagined it, for by the time he said, “Let’s go,” his detached expression had returned.

  “Where?” she asked, her voice thick and scratchy as if she’d just woken up, although Orelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually slept.

  “Stop asking questions and come with me.” She followed him out of the tiny cell into the corridor, where Zafir nodded at the guards flanking the door. He didn’t even bother restraining her; they both knew there was nowhere for her to run. She was on a military base in an asteroid belt light years from home. There would be no escape, no way to avoid her fate. She’d known when she accepted this mission that it would likely end this way, but while her training gave her the strength and courage to hold her head high as she walked alongside Zafir, it wasn’t enough to keep the terror from flooding her veins. This was it. At some point soon, either a Quatra Fleet bullet would shatter her skull, or a Taser would stop her heart.

  After what felt like an eternity, Orelia broke the silence. “If you’re going to torture me for more information, I suppose this wing of the Academy is as good as any.”

  “I thought I told you to stop talking.”

  Orelia could barely conceal her surprise when she realized they were heading toward Admiral Haze’s office. Surely they wouldn’t interrogate her in the Academy’s administration wing in between the bursar’s suite and the uniform storage room. Unless Haze’s office opened up into a secret, soundproof space for torturing spies? From what Orelia knew about the admiral, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  Without a word to Orelia, Zafir brought his link up to the sensor next to the door and it slid open. Before Orelia had time to orient herself and take in her surroundings, Haze rose from her desk and strode toward her.

  “A patrol ship was attacked a few days ago,” she said without preamble, “and the president of the Quatra Federation declared a state of emergency, which means that the rules concerning the treatment of accused criminals have been suspended.”

  No. The word echoed through Orelia as an ominous shiver crawled down her spine. She looked at Zafir, desperately searching his face for a sign of sympathy, some indication that he’d do his best to protect her. Yet his expression remained as inscrutable as ever.

  “Vesper, Arran, and Sula were on board the patrol ship,” Haze continued, her voice taking on an even sharper edge. Another wave of dread surged through Orelia’s chest as she tried to brace herself for perhaps the worst news of her life—that her treachery had led to the death of her friends and squadron mates. “It was attacked by an electromagnetic pulse that created an explosion. Arran sustained a serious injury and Sula was killed.”

  Sula was killed. Orelia’s heart cramped as she thought about the no-nonsense Chetrian girl with the serious ambition and kind smile. The girl who’d always moved over to make room for Orelia on the common-room couch, who took care to never make anyone feel excluded or unwelcome. Sula was dead and it was all Orelia’s fault.

  “Needless to say, the death of a cadet isn’t something we take lightly,” Haze said. “But Sula is just one of thousands whose deaths might’ve been prevented if we’d done things differently. This war has come at far too high a cost, and it’s time to think about ways to stop the bloodshed. We want you to help negotiate a truce.”

  Orelia stared at Haze blankly, convinced she’d misheard. Perhaps the time she’d spent in quadruple gravity had damaged her eardrums. “I’m sorry… what?”

  “We’d like to send an envoy to Sylvan to propose a cease-fire,” Admiral Haze continued. “With the aim of holding a peace summit and negotiating the end of the war. Do you think you’ll be able to convince your leadership to consider the proposal?”

  “I… I can try,” Orelia said, her head spinning.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Haze said with a nod. “Because your life depends on it. If the Specters—or Sylvans, as you claim you call yourself—refuse to attend the peace summit, refuse the cease-fire, then you’ll be brought back to the Quatra System and tried for your crimes.”

  “You think the Sylvan army will let you extradite me from my own planet?”

  Admiral Haze raised one eyebrow and surveyed Orelia for a moment before responding. “Once they discover that you were the one responsible for blowing up that ship, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

  The words were no crueler than those Orelia had hurled at herself—traitor, liar, murderer—but there was something about hearing them aloud that made her stomach twist with a painful mix of guilt and shame. “Why bother sending me all the way to Sylvan, then? I have a device that allows me to communicate with my commanding officer. I could explain about the cease-fire that way.”

  “The crew’s already been assembled, and you’ll be accompanied by a small team overseen by Lieutenant Prateek.”

  Her heart lurched as she turned to look at him, too startled to determine whether her pulse had sped up with fear, excitement, or a strange combination of both. A few days ago, the prospect of taking a transgalactic journey with Zafir would’ve made every cell in her body fizz with giddy joy. Yet as she met his eyes, there was no sign of the tenderness that, after many long, lonely weeks, had finally made the Academy feel like home. That boy had disappeared, been swallowed up by the stone-faced counterintelligence officer staring back at her now.

  “I’ve sent an attendant to gather your things from your room. We’re leaving tonight. You’ll go straight from here to the launchport.”

  “Tonight,” Orelia repeated, trying to wrap her head around the fact that she was moments away from leaving the Academy forever. If she successfully convinced the Sylvans to attend the peace summit, then she’d be freed and would remain on her own planet. If she failed, she’d be brought back for trial on Tri, the judicial capital of the Quatra System. Either way, she’d never see her squadron mates again. “Please, can I just have a few minutes? I need to say goodbye.”

  “To whom?” Admiral Haze said coldly. “The people you’re thinking of are currently attending a memorial for Sula. I don’t think you’ll be missed.”

  She’s right, Orelia thought grimly as a trio of guards escorted her to the launchport. It was ridiculous to think that her friends would want to see her, that they’d even consider themselves her friends after what she’d done. But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without a chance to explain, to try to make them understand how much she cared about them.

  By the time they reached the launchport, her heart was pounding so quickly it was becoming hard to breathe. Orelia had to do something before she left, before she was out of range forever.

  Zafir was standing next to their transport ship, watching a line of attendants load supplies into the hull. Next to him were two officers she didn’t recognize, a young brown-skinned woman in a colonel’s uniform and an older, stocky gray-haired man in civilian clothes. The remaining members of the peace envoy, Orelia presumed.

  “Time to go,” Zafir said when he saw her. “You can head inside.”

  “Can I just check to make sure they packed everything? I’ll be quick.”

  At first, it looked like he was going to refuse, but then he disappeared inside the hull and returned a few moments later with her bag. “Be quick,” he said, handing it to her.

  She nodded, then placed it on the ground and pretended to riffle through its contents as she fiddled with her link. “Record new message,” she whispered to her monitor. “It’s me, Orelia…”

  CHAPTER 6

  ARRAN

  Orelia’s a Specter. The words had been playing in a loop in Arran’s head since he, Vesper, and Rex had left Admiral Haze’s office before the doomed patrol shift. And while there were times when the words had grown quieter—like during the attack itself, and whe
n he thought about Sula—they’d never truly disappeared.

  He’d been discharged from the medical center a few hours earlier and had been preparing to return to class when he’d received a message summoning him back to Haze’s office. He hoped it was to give them additional information about Orelia, but when he arrived at the admiral’s office door, breathing heavily from the exertion of walking for the first time in days, he found that he’d been summoned alone.

  Arran hesitated, unsure how to announce his presence. But before he could raise his link to the scanner, the door slid open. “Arran,” Admiral Haze said warmly—warmly for her, at least—as she rose from her desk and strode across the room to shake his hand. “It’s wonderful to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine, Admiral,” he said, resisting the urge to pat the electronic bandage on his thigh, under which his skin was still being knit back together. It didn’t hurt, but there was a strange tugging sensation that kept him from fully forgetting about his injury. Though none of that compared to the pain in his chest—the constant dull ache that’d been present ever since his breakup with Dash, and the flashes of searing heat that shot through him whenever he thought about Sula.

  “I’m very glad to hear it,” Haze said in the tone of someone unused to—or perhaps uninterested in—making pleasant small talk. She motioned for Arran to take a seat and then settled back into her own chair on the other side of her massive desk. “I shouldn’t be telling you this quite yet, as the paperwork hasn’t gone through, but I’m happy to let you know that you’ve been awarded the Medallion of Valor. It’ll be presented to you at a ceremony on Tri at some point, though I’m afraid all nonessential scheduling has been put on hold while we deal with the Specter crisis. Still, it’s something to look forward to. We’ll cover transportation costs for your family, if you’d like them to attend.”

  For a fleeting moment, Arran’s heart swelled as he imagined the ceremony, him standing in his dress uniform in front of a distinguished crowd. His mother beaming in the front row, sitting next to a handsome young officer whose face was also aglow with pride. Then the pain returned, pulling him back to reality. Of course Dash wouldn’t be at his Medallion of Valor ceremony.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Arran said. He hoped the warmth in his cheeks didn’t mean he was blushing. “It’s an honor.”

  “The honor is ours, cadet. If it wasn’t for your bravery and quick thinking, we would’ve lost that ship and everyone on it.” They both fell silent for a moment, each of them picturing the body that’d been carried off the battlecraft. How had Sula’s parents been notified? Her home sector on Chetire was slightly less remote than Arran’s, but he doubted her parents had a link at home. Had the Academy deputized a local official to visit them and break the terrible news in person? Or had Haze sent a message that Sula’s parents wouldn’t read until their next visit to the public link in town? The idea that they might not know their daughter was dead was somehow both a source of comfort and heart-wrenching sorrow.

  “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Haze said, clearly relieved to have an appropriate reason to break the silence. “We recently created a new division—an experimental program devoted to analyzing Specter technology. It’s all very preliminary at the moment, but given the urgency of the situation, we want to get started as soon as possible. After the recent attack, we have to accept the disturbing possibility that the Specters may have found a way to damage our ships from a great distance. That means we have a short amount of time to upgrade our systems before it’s too late.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” Arran said hesitantly, unsure what this had to do with him.

  “We could really use someone like you on the team.”

  “Like me?” Arran said before he could stop himself; he knew this was exactly the wrong tack to take with someone like Admiral Haze.

  “Yes, exactly like you,” she said with unusual patience. Apparently, earning the Medallion of Valor afforded you a certain amount of goodwill. “You’ve demonstrated considerable talent in this field, so I hope we can count on you. It’ll mean a great deal of extra work, on top of your academic responsibilities,” she said with a hint of a challenge.

  “It would be a privilege,” Arran said quickly.

  “Excellent.” Haze rose to her feet. “Best of luck, cadet.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.” Arran performed a crisp salute and spun around as quickly as his injured leg would allow, lest Haze see the un-soldierlike smile on his face.

  By the time Arran arrived in the dining hall for dinner, however, his pride over the unexpected honor had given way to exhaustion as his overtaxed brain struggled to process the events of the past few days: his breakup with Dash, the truth about Orelia, and the Specter attack on his patrol ship. It felt like he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without seeing Sula in his head, the frozen look of surprise that’d been on her face when he’d found her in the control room. Was it just the shock of the explosion? Or had she seen something strange before she… He winced, unable to complete the grim thought.

  He wasn’t hungry—and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to socialize—but years of food insecurity had taught him never to skip a free meal.

  It was normally impossible to sit on your own at dinner. There were just enough seats for the two hundred and forty cadets, so if you didn’t sit with your own friends, you ended up at a table surrounded by people who might awkwardly try to include you in their conversation or, more likely, ignore you and carry on talking as if you weren’t there. But tonight, enough of the cadets were off on patrol duty that the dining room was only half-full, giving him the rare luxury of his own table.

  Arran looked around the elegant room: the chandeliers that glinted in the starlight, the portraits glowering from the walls, the delicate glassware sparkling on the tables. His first week at the Academy, he’d been overwhelmed by the grandeur, convinced that he’d never feel like he belonged. But then he started to find his place, befriending his squadron mates and, to his rapturous delight, catching the eye of the adorable Tridian he’d met on the shuttle from Chetire. The dining hall began to symbolize the glittering future that had opened up for Arran when he’d been accepted to the Academy—a future unlike anything he’d ever dared imagine.

  Yet now, the portraits and the antique wooden tables seemed like remnants of a shattered dream. The Specters had sent a massive fleet to destroy the Quatra System, and even if Arran survived the next few weeks, a future without Dash, Orelia, and Sula seemed like a bleak one.

  As Arran picked listlessly at his appetizer—some tiny neon-pink fish imported from Loos—he replayed every interaction with Orelia he could remember. But the more he thought about it, the more it made his head spin. He wished he could talk about it with someone, but the only person Arran could imagine discussing it with was Dash.

  Arran winced as a new wave of pain threatened to tear his heart into even smaller pieces. He’d never again watch Dash’s eyes fill with sympathy and understanding as he gently encouraged Arran to share the feelings he’d hidden away for years. He’d never feel Dash’s warm breath on his skin as he whispered, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Is this seat taken?” a familiar joking voice said, sending Arran’s heart plummeting toward his stomach. His head jerked up to see Dash addressing a table full of Tridians, including Dash’s friends Frey and Brill. Heat rose to Arran’s cheeks and he immediately regretted sitting alone. He was looking around the dining hall, wondering whether it was too late to join a group of Chetrians on the other side of the room, when he realized that Dash had turned around and was looking at Arran with a strange expression. The distant, polite smile that Dash had taken to plastering on his face when he saw Arran slipped away and was replaced by a wistful look tinged with something else.

  A moment later, Dash turned from the table and began to make his way toward Arran, whose chest tightened until it started to feel too sma
ll to contain his rapidly beating heart. “How are you doing?” Dash asked as he came to an awkward stop next to Arran’s chair.

  “Why does it suddenly matter to you?” Arran tried not to care that he sounded like an asshole. It was unfair and unkind for Dash to suddenly feign interest in his feelings after how he’d treated him.

  Dash winced. “I never stopped caring about you. I just didn’t have a choice.”

  “So what are you doing, Dash? I’m not trying to be difficult. I just want to understand why you’re making this harder than it has to be.”

  “I thought we could be friends,” Dash said in a small, tentative voice that sent a jolt of pain through Arran’s rib cage.

  “And that would be okay with your father?”

  Dash shrugged wearily. “Sure. Yes. I don’t care. He can’t control who I sit with at dinner. I know it sounds ridiculous, but can we at least try to be friends?”

  The word no tore through him. Arran couldn’t have pleasant, meaningless chats with the boy he loved, who had once been the person he felt closest to in the galaxy. If Dash was too much of a coward to stand up to his father, if he didn’t care enough about Arran to fight for him, then it was time to move on. Arran had enough to worry about without adding a self-centered, spoiled Tridian to the list.

  Before Arran could respond, his link buzzed with a new message—likely from Vesper, who’d been checking in every few hours to see how he was feeling. But when he looked down, his breath caught in his chest, and he stood up so quickly that he knocked his chair over.

  “Sorry, I have to go,” Arran said as he fumbled to straighten the chair. Dash had also reached for it, and their hands accidentally brushed. “Sorry,” he said again, blushing as he turned away.