Defy the Worlds

by Claudia Gray

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Amy Vincent

  Cover art copyright © 2018 by Sammy Yuen. Cover design by Marcie Lawrence. Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

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  First Edition: April 2018

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  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Gray, Claudia, author.

  Title: Defy the worlds / Claudia Gray.

  Description: First edition. | New York ; Boston : Little, Brown and Company, 2018. | Series: Defy the stars ; 2 | Summary: “Sophisticated robot Abel must save teenaged soldier Noemi from capture on a hidden planet, while outwitting armies of deranged service robots and securing medical aid for a plague on Noemi’s home world”— Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017034001| ISBN 9780316394109 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316394086 (ebook library edition)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Soldiers—Fiction. | Robots—Fiction. | Plague—Fiction. |

  Immortality—Fiction. | Interstellar travel—Fiction. | Orphans—Fiction. | Science fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.G77625 Dej 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017034001

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-39410-9 (hardcover), 978-0-316-39409-3 (ebook)

  E3-20180222-JV-PC

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  NOEMI VIDAL WALKS THROUGH THE TWO LONG LINES OF starfighters in the hangar, helmet under one arm, head held high. She doesn’t wave to her friends like she always used to—until six months ago.

  Now no one would wave back.

  Chin up, shoulders straight, she tells herself, taking what comfort she can in the familiar smells of grease and ozone, the hiss of repair torches, and the thump of boots on tarmac. If you want them to see you as a fellow soldier again, you act like one. You don’t back down from mech fire, so you won’t back down from this.

  But Earth’s warrior mechs only aim at the body. Noemi has shields for that. The point between her and her fellow squadron members aims at the heart, for which no protection has ever been invented.

  “Vidal!” That’s Captain Baz, striding across the hangar with a dataread in her hand. She’s wearing her uniform, a dark-patterned head scarf, and the first smile Noemi’s seen all day. “We’re putting you on close-range patrol today.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Captain, if I could—”

  Baz stops and comes nearer. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “I wanted to ask—” Noemi takes a deep breath. “You haven’t put me on Gate patrol in months. I’d really like to take on a shift sometime soon.”

  “Gate patrol’s the most dangerous gig there is.” Baz says it matter-of-factly as she scans through her dataread. Everyone on Genesis knows that the Gate ties them to Earth and the other colony worlds on the Loop, holding one point of a wormhole in place and making instantaneous cross-galactic travel possible. It also makes possible the war that’s devastating their world. “Most pilots would be glad to stick a little closer to home.”

  “I’m willing to share the danger.” More than willing—by now, Noemi’s very nearly desperate. Protecting Genesis is what gives her life meaning. She hasn’t been allowed to truly defend her world for months, not since her return.

  It takes Baz a few long seconds to answer. “Listen. That day’s going to come, okay? We just have to give it time.”

  The captain is on Noemi’s side, which helps a little. That doesn’t mean Captain Baz has it right. In a lower voice, Noemi says, “They won’t trust me again until I’m pulling a full load.”

  Baz weighs that. “Maybe so.” After another second’s contemplation, she nods. “We’ll try it.” Her voice rises to a shout. “Ganaraj, O’Farrell, Vidal’s with you today! Let’s get up there, people—gamma shift’s ready to come home.”

  The other two pilots stare at her from across the room. Noemi simply heads straight for her starfighter.

  She’s going to earn their acceptance the only way she can: one flight at a time.

  Wait and see, she tells herself. Soon they’ll like you just as much as they did before.

  She figures it shouldn’t be hard. They never liked her that much to begin with.

  Ten percent of the time, Gate patrols are the worst, most frightening duty assignment of all. At irregular, unguessable intervals, Earth sends Damocles ships full of warrior mechs—Queen and Charlie models, designed only to kill. They’ve more than decimated Genesis’s antiquated defense fleet in the past five years; every battle they win brings them closer to the day warrior mechs will land on the surface of Genesis, unleash a ground war, and begin reclaiming Noemi’s planet for Earth’s use. Every battle alarm has to be sounded as soon as possible. The starfighters on patrol are expected to engage Damocles ships immediately, without waiting for backup. Most don’t survive.

  However, the other 90 percent of the time, Gate patrols are boring as hell.

  In the pilot’s seat of her starfighter, Noemi circles the Gate at the outer perimeter; Arun Ganaraj and Deirdre O’Farrell stick closer. She’s still close enough to watch the monstrous thing in the sky, a massive silver ring illuminated along its various panels so that it shines in the darkness of space. It’s orbited by various bits of debris from the war, from metal shards no bigger than splinters to chunks larger than her starfighter.

  An entire ship remained hidden in that debris for thirty years, until Noemi discovered it, and inside she found—

  “You seeing that?” Ganaraj’s voice comes over the speaker just as her screen brings up the Gate in greater detail. The faint
shimmer in the middle of the ring has taken on a familiar, ominous look—a cloudiness like a pond about to frost over.

  “Yeah, I see it,” Noemi says.

  “It might be nothing.” Ganaraj sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “Doesn’t always mean something’s about to come through.”

  “Usually doesn’t,” Noemi agrees as she zooms in tighter on the image and sets her weapons to ready. Segments of old wreckage and shrapnel from past battles often create the illusion of incoming traffic. Even a faint hint of intrusion is danger enough to set her on edge.

  “Or it could be a bunch of mechs coming through to dice us all.” O’Farrell makes herself sound happy about it, so happy the sarcasm is unmistakable. “But you’ll just want to give them milk and cookies and send them home again, won’t you, Vidal?”

  “Pack it, O’Farrell,” Noemi snaps back.

  “Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? You love mechs sooooo much that you’d rather leave Genesis exposed to war and death than destroy a freakin’ hunk of metal—”

  Ganaraj cuts in. “Could we pay attention to the Gate, everybody?”

  “Never stopped,” Noemi says. But her cheeks feel like they’re burning, and her pulse throbs angrily in her temples. She can handle it when they pick on her, but not when they turn on Abel.

  When she found that ship six months ago, she also found the mech inside it: Mansfield Cybernetics Model 1A, the pet project of the one and only Burton Mansfield, and the single most advanced mech ever created.

  Model 1A prefers to be known as Abel.

  At first, Noemi saw him the same way everyone else on Genesis does: a machine fashioned in the shape of a human but with no soul inside. An enemy, one she could use before destroying. He was the tool that could blow up the Genesis Gate—sealing Genesis safely away from Earth forever, winning the war in one split-second blast.

  However, blowing up the Gate would’ve meant blowing up Abel with it, and by the end of their journey through the colony worlds of the Loop, Noemi knew that Abel was far more than a machine. She could no more have killed him to destroy the Gate than she could’ve sacrificed a child on an altar.

  God asked for that once, whisper her old catechism lessons. She’s getting better at ignoring those. Maybe too much better—

  Red lights flash on her starfighter console. Noemi’s hands tighten on the controls as she spots the signal. “We’ve got something coming through.”

  By now, though, their sensors are telling them the same thing. “Confirmed,” says Ganaraj, fear threading through his voice. “But it’s not a Damocles.”

  “A scout ship,” O’Farrell suggests. “Getting advance intel before the Queens and Charlies come through.”

  “Since when do mechs use scout ships?” Noemi zooms in tighter on the intruding ship.

  No. Not a ship. Something else.

  The metal object is shaped into meter-long delicate points that extend in every direction from the small spherical center. To herself she whispers, “It’s like a star”—the way she pictured them as a child, pretty and shining, not monstrous and powerful. The prettiness makes it more ominous.

  “Is it a bomb?” Ganaraj asks.

  Noemi knows it’s not. She can’t say why she knows it, but she does. Call it intuition.

  O’Farrell provides more concrete confirmation: “Scans negative for explosives.”

  The Gate shimmers once more, and another star bursts through. Then another. As Noemi stares, the stars keep multiplying until her sensors give her a final count of a hundred and twenty. They rush through space, a constellation as brilliant as it is terrifying, streaking toward Genesis.

  “Inform command, and let’s stay on them,” Ganaraj orders. He’s been a lieutenant nine weeks longer than Noemi has. “The second we get clearance, we’re blasting these things to oblivion.”

  Noemi would blast them now and trust that clearance would follow later. There’s less than no chance that Captain Baz and the other higher-ups are going to allow anything from Earth to get close to home—explosives or not. But Ganaraj is in charge, and Noemi’s on thin ice, so she grits her teeth and flies tight on the stars as long as she can—

  —which isn’t that long, because they’re spreading out, widening the distances between them. When the stars first emerged from the Gate, Noemi’s three-fighter patrol could have destroyed them in a quick spray of blaster fire. Every second that elapses makes targeting more difficult and time-consuming. The stars zip through the solar system, miniature mag engines making them glow bright in the darkness, traveling fast enough to reach Genesis within fifteen minutes. Noemi scans the “stars” nonstop and knows the others are doing the same. The results on her screen reveal nothing about what these things are or what they could mean.

  Maybe they’re peace offerings, she thinks. It’s a private joke. There’s no way Earth would make an offer, not now. The situation in the larger galaxy has grown more dire than ever. Earth won’t be habitable much longer, and the other colony of the worlds can only house so many more millions of people; that leaves billions who need a place to live, billions who would destroy her world the same way they destroyed their own. The Liberty War began thirty years ago because her people realized they had a moral, religious duty to protect their planet.

  Despite their lower technological reserves, they held out for decades, even enjoying a period of relative quiet. But in the past few years, Earth has resumed the fight with a vengeance. Genesis is the only prize worth claiming—anywhere, for anyone.

  “Ganaraj,” she says. “They’re getting too far apart.”

  “Regulations state—” Ganaraj breaks off. “We have clearance. Take these things down.”

  Four and a half minutes. It took four and a half minutes for that decision to be made. But that’s Genesis’s leadership for you, all the way from the top of the Elder Council to midlevel military command—always cautious, always hesitant, always waiting to be acted upon instead of taking the initiative to act—

  She catches herself. All her life, she had revered the Council, trusted in their judgment, and followed their guidance even when that meant volunteering for the suicidal Masada Run. Then came her journey through the Loop of colony planets and Earth itself, a trip that opened her eyes to other perspectives on the Liberty War… and made her acutely aware of the Council’s fatalism. Even after her report made it clear that Earth had new vulnerabilities due to the changing political situation throughout the worlds, the Council hadn’t canceled the Masada Run. Only “postponed” it until some unknown future date. And all these months later, the Elders have yet to take one concrete action to capitalize on the intel Noemi has given them.

  At least she can take action now. Noemi targets the first star and tightens her fingers on the triggers. It dies in a cloud of bluish dust and a brief flash of light quickly snuffed by the cold of space—as satisfying to her as any explosion could ever be.

  If only she could blow them up faster! They’re casting a wide net now, clearly preparing to encircle Genesis itself, which wells larger through her cockpit window, its green-and-blue surface placid beneath this strange assault. The stars have individual targets, she realizes, and those targets are all over her world. Her hair prickles as it stands on end. “Ganaraj, we need backup ASAP.”

  Another star flares bright with energy as her blaster hits it, then disintegrates—that one was hit by O’Farrell, who yells, “We can take these things out on our own!”

  Noemi shakes her head, as though O’Farrell could see her. “Maybe, but we can’t take that chance.”

  “I’ve asked ground to weigh in,” Ganaraj says. “Hang on!”

  Hang on? These stars are about to enter atmosphere and he still wants to get approval? Noemi bites back her frustration and resumes firing, targeting every star she can scan.

  But she can’t scan them all any longer. Their three ships fly farther apart as each tries to take out the stars aimed at the three major continents of Genesis. One after a
nother, Noemi blows them to bits—but they’re too spaced out. Too far. In the same moment that she destroys her twentieth star, she sees one glow bright with the heat of atmospheric entry. Then another glows as it enters the far horizon. And another, and another—

  Don’t focus on what you can’t do, she reminds herself. Focus on what you can.

  In the end, according to scans, forty-seven stars make impact with the surface of Genesis. Every single star hits a populated landmass, most of them in or near major cities and transit hubs; not one lands in the ocean, despite her planet being 60 percent covered with water. This suggests targeting. Yet the stars don’t explode on impact, or smash into government buildings, or do anything else obviously destructive. One of them lands on a monorail track, damaging it slightly, and another gouges out a thick gash in a public park. But that’s as serious as the property damage gets, and the reported injuries are not life-threatening—small cuts from debris, a minor transit accident when a driver was so startled he failed to watch signals, and one person who fainted in fear and bruised her head in the fall.

  No one is seriously hurt—only Noemi’s reputation is.

  “Ganaraj reports that you repeatedly argued against getting approvals from command,” says Captain Baz as she sits in her office. Noemi stands in front of her desk at attention. “In other words, you wanted him to ignore standard protocols.”

  “Captain, we’re allowed to use discretion on our patrols. Shooting down projectiles sent from the Earth system is well within that discretion.”

  “Arguably.” Baz’s voice is dry. “Almost certainly, in fact. But not explicitly. The problem isn’t that you wanted to shoot them down, Vidal. It’s that you advocated against your commanding officer contacting his commanding officer, which can sound an awful lot like urging him to rogue action.”

  “Rogue action?” Noemi manages to hang on to her temper, but it’s close. “Forgive me, Captain—I meant to say, shooting down those stars hardly constitutes ‘rogue action.’”

  Baz nods tiredly. “Those are Ganaraj’s words, not mine. And if you feel that’s an unfair interpretation of your actions, I agree.” She leans back in her desk chair, loosing her head scarf like she sometimes does when it’s only women around. “You’ve had to deal with that a lot the past few months. The others are hard on you. It’s tough, and you’re holding up despite the pressure. That takes guts. Don’t think I don’t notice.”