Supernova

by Kass Morgan

  She’d never seen Zafir in civilian clothes, his bathing suit notwithstanding, but he looked no less impressive in a white shirt and gray trousers than he did in his uniform. He moved with purpose but seemed unhurried, and unlike the others, he didn’t stare at Orelia with either curiosity or aggression. In fact, he didn’t glance her way at all. As he took the last remaining seat, he appeared as relaxed and professional as always save for the hint of dark stubble on his cheeks. Yet rather than making him look tired or unkempt, it merely emphasized his sharp cheekbones and dark, nearly black eyes.

  The others were looking at her expectantly, but when Orelia opened her mouth to speak, no words came out—a surprising setback for a secret agent who’d been trained in subterfuge. She wished she could see what was going on in Zafir’s head, whether he’d ever see her as anything more than a fragile ally, a tool.

  “Perhaps we should start out by asking you a few questions,” Captain Avar suggested, almost kindly. “Who will we be meeting with when we arrive? What does Specter, excuse me, Sylvan leadership look like?”

  Somehow, Orelia managed to provide an informative answer without stammering.

  She spoke about the extreme seasons on Sylvan—a winter equivalent to an ice age, and a summer during which the oceans swelled to cover most of the land—and explained how for centuries, the people of each region did their best to survive on their own, often suffering significant casualties. She gave a brief overview of modern Sylvan history and discussed how ten years ago, they joined together to create an international governing council and a joint military force that still held power today. “General Greet, the head of the military alliance, is in charge of planetary defense. She’s the one who’ll either approve or reject the cease-fire, and decide whether to participate in the peace summit.”

  “Is she also the one who approved the attack that killed that girl? Or the bombing that killed fifty thousand people on Chetire?” Colonel Beaune asked gruffly.

  Zafir shot him a sharp look. “I believe you were briefed on our newest intelligence regarding who actually started the war, weren’t you, Colonel?”

  “Intelligence?” he repeated with a bitter laugh. “Yes, I heard what this girl told you, but until I see actual evidence, you’ll forgive me for not begging for the Specters’ forgiveness with tears in my eyes.” Orelia wished she could ask why, exactly, he’d been chosen for such a delicate, diplomatic mission when, as if reading her mind, he said, “But if Stepney’s against this fool’s errand, then I’m happy to count myself among the fools.”

  “We don’t know that he’s against it,” Captain Avar said quickly. “I believe Admiral Haze was on her way to brief him when we left. There just wasn’t time to wait for his official approval.”

  Zafir cleared his throat. “That’s Admiral Haze’s business. Our job is to do whatever is necessary to arrange the cease-fire and peace summit.”

  At that moment, two attendants glided in with trays containing their refreshments—predinner drinks and a few snacks, a time-wasting, expensive custom, especially on a battlecraft. The disruption was enough to bring the conversation to a halt. When she’d first arrived at the Academy, Orelia had been struck by how people of different ages interacted with the attendants. The instructors and staff members generally stopped talking mid-conversation whenever an attendant passed, whereas the cadets carried on talking, unbothered. When Orelia had asked Arran about this, he’d explained how, until somewhat recently, a party with authoritarian tendencies had controlled the Quatra Federation. During the darkest periods, the government secretly collected data from attendants to monitor “unpatriotic” behavior across the solar system. It didn’t happen anymore, but people who remembered the old days were still hesitant to speak in front of the machines.

  “So, Orelia,” Zafir said, turning to her. “What else do we need to know about the Sylvans?”

  Orelia continued with a basic overview of Sylvan history and culture, stressing the Sylvans’ emphasis on directness, honesty, and practicality. Yet while Zafir and Captain Avar hung on her every word, Colonel Beaune’s skepticism seemed to grow until he broke in during one of her pauses. “We discussed the logistics but not our most pressing security threat.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” Zafir asked.

  Colonel Beaune jerked his head in Orelia’s direction. “Her.”

  Captain Avar looked startled, but Orelia maintained her composure as she said, “What threat do I pose? With the pilot and the crew, you outnumber me eight to one.”

  “For about twelve more hours,” Colonel Beaune said gruffly. “Then you’re going to outnumber us by four billion.”

  “That’s the population of the Quatra System. The population of Sylvan is only six hundred million.” Orelia paused and affected a thoughtful expression. “Though I suppose there’s no way for you to know that, given the shocking dearth of intelligence you’ve managed to gather over the past fifteen years.”

  “You think this is all a joke, don’t you?” Beaune turned to lock eyes with Zafir. “This girl could be leading us into a trap. There’s probably a fleet of Specters waiting for us. They’ll extract her and kill the rest of us. Or, knowing the Specters, they’ll probably blow up our ship with her inside. They don’t seem like the types to mind a little extra bloodshed, do they?”

  “Orelia is on our side,” Zafir said, an edge creeping into his voice. “She agreed to help us negotiate for peace. Having her with us lends credibility and increases the likelihood that the Sylvans allow us to speak instead of blowing up our ship on sight.”

  “Interesting,” Beaune said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You seem very quick to defend the traitor’s honor. Going soft, are you, Prateek?”

  “I’m trying to defend the solar system, Colonel. And right now, listening to Orelia is the key to our survival. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

  Despite his sharp tone, his words made Orelia’s heart flutter like the wings of a thawing frostfly coming back to life after its long hibernation. She knew it was unlikely that Zafir would ever trust her enough to care for her again, but perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely foolish to hope.

  By the time the meeting ended, Orelia’s head was swimming. She would’ve given anything for a breath of fresh air—it’d been months since she’d inhaled anything but endlessly refiltered oxygen or felt sunlight on her skin. She was too antsy to stay in her room, so she headed to the viewing deck at the front of the ship. Yet as she approached, she saw that the bench was already occupied. She froze and was about to turn around when the figure stood abruptly.

  “Did you want to sit? Go ahead. I was just leaving.” Zafir spoke with such polite detachment that it made her heart cramp. “Thank you for the briefing. It was incredibly helpful,” he said pleasantly, as if she were a colleague he was passing in the corridor.

  “It was nice of you to defend me back there. Though Colonel Beaune has a right to be suspicious. I am a spy.”

  “Maybe. But he doesn’t have a right to speak to you like that.”

  Orelia recalled what she’d learned about Quatran martial law. “I think, technically, he does, actually.”

  “Not while I’m around.” Zafir looked her in the eyes for the first time since they’d started their journey and, for a brief moment, Orelia caught a glimpse of the boy she’d kissed that night in the ocean simulator. But then he vanished as quickly as he’d appeared, dissolving within the professional reserve of Lieutenant Prateek the counterintelligence officer. “Please excuse me. I have some messages I need to send.”

  “Wait a second. Will you talk to me, please?”

  “I believe we’re talking now.”

  “About something other than the mission, I mean.”

  “I think ending the war and saving millions of lives deserves our full attention, don’t you?”

  She winced and lowered herself onto the bench he’d just vacated.

  He stared at her with what she could tell was fei
gned confusion, but then he sighed, and the pain he must’ve been holding back began to show in his weary face. “You lied to me,” he said quietly.

  “I didn’t have a choice. I was sent on a mission to protect my planet. Of all people, you should understand what that means.”

  “It’s one thing to carry out a mission. It’s quite another to play with someone’s feelings for sport. You didn’t need any information from me. There was no reason for you to trick me into caring for you.”

  Even saturated with sadness, the words still produced a flutter in Orelia’s stomach. He had cared for her. “I didn’t trick you,” she said softly. “That was real.”

  “Orelia, come on,” he said, forcing a smile. “We’re on the same side now. I appreciate your commitment, but it’s time to stop the charade. I know getting… close to me was part of your assignment.”

  “It wasn’t!” she insisted. “Zafir, I swear.”

  “You expect me to believe that you, a spy sent to infiltrate the Quatra Fleet Academy, just happened to befriend the highest-ranking counterintelligence officer at the base?”

  “You think befriending you was part of my plan? It was the riskiest thing I could’ve done. The moment I met you, I realized that my survival depended on staying as far away from you as possible.”

  “You didn’t do a particularly good job with that part.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling at the memories. “And soon I realized that I didn’t want to. Here I was, alone on the other side of the galaxy, surrounded by people who’d wish me dead if they knew who I really was, and yet when I was with you, none of that seemed to matter. It was impossible to think of you as the most dangerous person at the Academy when you were the only person who understood me.”

  “How well could I have understood you if I didn’t realize you were a Specter?” he asked, shaking his head with embarrassment and bitter amusement.

  “You were looking for someone—something—totally alien. Not an awkward girl who didn’t know what to do with herself at parties.”

  “I can’t believe you sat there during all my ridiculous lectures, listening to me drone on and on about things I apparently knew nothing about.”

  “You didn’t get everything wrong. I was pretty impressed with some of your inferences, considering how little data you had.”

  “And yet, all along, I had the most valuable data source in the solar system right there in front of me,” he said with the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Data source?” she repeated, trying to ignore the sting. “Is that how you would’ve thought of me if you’d known the truth?”

  “No, of course not.” He took a deep breath, then lowered himself back onto the bench next to her. “Though valuable, certainly.”

  “In what way?”

  “For reminding me what it was like to care that deeply about another person. That’s… that’s why I felt so betrayed. When I realized you were a… Sylvan, I assumed that you’d gotten close to me in order to extract information. It confirmed all my worst fears.”

  “Do you still feel that way?” she asked softly.

  He turned to meet her eyes. “I’m not sure. I’m still figuring it out. Is that enough for now?”

  The guilt that’d been crystallizing in her stomach finally broke apart. “I think so. As long as you promise to let me help you figure it out.”

  He smiled. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 11

  ARRAN

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Rees asked, raising an eyebrow as the metal panel in their test pod began to melt and twist in on itself. Today was the second meeting of the new technology task force, and Captain Mott had split them up into teams to try to re-create the event that had damaged the patrol ship. Rees had originally been assigned to work with a Tridian, but after he’d gotten into a heated argument over an equation that’d yielded different results for each of them, Captain Mott had reshuffled the groups so that Arran and Rees were working together.

  They were experimenting with different types of electromagnetic pulses in an attempt to figure out what the Specters had used to fry the oxygen converter and close the hydrogen vents.

  “Do I know what I’m doing? Not really,” Arran said cheerfully, as flames began to creep along the edge of the twisted metal. “Fire’s not exactly a concern on Chetire. Nothing to burn.”

  Rees merely looked at Arran with mild amusement, his lips twitching into a not-quite smile Arran was just beginning to recognize. They’d had fun at dinner the other night—at least, Arran had had fun. But Rees was tricky to read, and it’d been hard to tell whether he’d actually enjoyed Arran’s company or merely tolerated it.

  “Do you want me to take over?” Rees asked. They’d divided the tasks so that Arran was in charge of directing the pulse, while Rees monitored the effect on the simplified oxygen converter and dummy hydrogen vents.

  “It’s fine. Everything’s under control. How are the readings looking?”

  “They’re going haywire.” Rees paused thoughtfully. “But didn’t you say that the ship’s readings were normal before the explosion?”

  “Sula didn’t report anything, and it’d be very unlike her not to notice.” It was the first time he’d managed to say her name aloud in a normal tone of voice.

  “That’s strange,” Rees said. He wrinkled his nose in a way that seemed at odds with his cool, detached demeanor, reminding Arran of a little kid. “What’s that smell? Is that something burning?”

  “Yeah, it’s the insulation in the vent,” Arran said with a nod, then hesitated. “You know what’s strange? I don’t remember smelling this on the ship. Whatever caused the hydrogen vents to close and cause that buildup, I don’t think it was an external pulse.”

  “You mean you think it was an internal malfunction?”

  “Maybe… but there was no warning or alarm before the explosion. And I’ve never heard of the monitory system and the backup system failing at the same time, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Rees said in a voice Arran couldn’t quite read.

  “Everything okay over here?” Captain Mott asked as she passed by their workstation and peered over to look at the melting vent.

  Rees and Arran locked eyes for a moment, and Rees nodded slightly. “Everything’s fine,” Arran said. “I just realized, though, that I didn’t smell burning insulation when I went to manually open the vents. And I wonder… does that mean something else caused them to close? Something other than an electromagnetic pulse?” Despite the effort he made to keep his voice from sounding accusatory, he still braced for a look of annoyance to flash across Captain Mott’s normally cheery, youthful face. Even his nicest teachers on Chetire would chastise Arran for “asking disrespectful questions,” i.e., those that questioned their knowledge and authority.

  But to his relief, Captain Mott nodded seriously. “Something like what?” she asked, curious, without any hint of a challenge in her voice.

  “I don’t know… maybe it was an internal malfunction.”

  She pressed her lips together. “All the evidence points to an attack with a concentrated pulse directed at the oxygen converter and the hydrogen vents.”

  “But then I would’ve smelled the burning insulation, right?”

  “The fire in the weapons bay was pretty large, wasn’t it? Couldn’t the smoke have obscured the smell?”

  “This smell?” Rees said, wrinkling his nose for effect.

  “Listen,” she said with a sigh. “If you’re not convinced, you two can go down to the launchport and examine the damaged ship. There’ll be burnt circuitry all along the hydrogen vents. Hold on, I’ll update your security clearances.” She fiddled with her link for a moment, then looked up at them. “Okay, you’re all set.”

  “Thank you,” Arran said. “We’ll be quick.”

  Mott glanced down at her link again. “Take your time. Our session is nearly over anyway. Go examine the ship and then rep
ort back to me tomorrow.”

  Arran saluted, while Rees raised his arm in a close-enough approximation of a salute, and they headed toward the door. On his way out, Rees locked eyes with his former Tridian partner, and while Arran couldn’t see the expression on Rees’s face, from the look on the Tridian’s, he could only assume that Rees’s glare was fearsome to behold.

  “Sorry for making you run errands with me,” Arran said as they turned into the corridor.

  Rees made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Yeah, because I was clearly having so much fun in the lab. If I’d known that this ‘prestigious opportunity’ would involve teaching remedial math to the winner of the nepotism award, I would’ve told them to shove the opportunity up their asses.”

  Arran furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “I’m not sure how that would work, given that there’s only one opportunity and multiple asses.” Rees raised an eyebrow and surveyed Arran with amusement but said nothing. “Maybe you’re the one who needs remedial math,” Arran continued.

  This time, the noise Rees made was much closer to a laugh, and Arran felt a thrill of pride. “What do you mean by nepotism award?” Arran asked.

  “That dipshit Tridian cadet, Marcel. His mother is the president of the Orion Corporation, that massive fyron distributor.”

  “So what? You think she paid his way into the Academy?” Arran asked skeptically. Even before they began admitting Settler cadets, the acceptance rate had been incredibly low. It would’ve been difficult for an unqualified candidate to make it, regardless of his family’s wealth.

  “She wouldn’t have had to. Do you have any idea how much money Stepney gets for being on the Orion advisory council? There’s no way he’d let the Academy reject Marcel.”

  “There’s no way Stepney could be on the Orion advisory council. That would be a massive conflict of interest.”