I didn’t dare ask for directions; I couldn’t risk someone noticing the color of my pin and asking why a cadet was in here. I poked through the musty, too-quiet room until I found a wall of small metal cases with dates and battle names on the spines. They were perhaps four centimeters square, and I watched as a pilot took one from the wall and plugged it into a viewing machine. She leaned forward, settling her eyes into the headset to watch.
This was what I wanted, though these cases only went back five years. Around the corner, I found a second room. The door was closed, but the windows along the sides showed it had more cases inside. I tried Cobb’s code on the door.
It opened, and I slipped inside, heart thumping. Nobody else was in here, and the short rack of metal cases counted backward all the way to…to the one. The Battle of Alta. There were a few before it, but this one seemed to glow on the shelf, beckoning me.
There weren’t any missing spots in this row. These didn’t get moved often. There also wasn’t a viewing device in here. So…did I just grab it and go?
Bold. Defiant. Even if lately you don’t feel like you’re either one.
I palmed the case and ducked out of the room. No alarms sounded. Not quite believing it, I stepped out of the building, my prize in hand.
The secret. Right here, in my fingers. I owed Cobb an enormous debt—not just for today, but for everything. For making space for me in his classroom, when no one else would give me a chance. For suffering me all these weeks, for not punching me square in the face when I’d called him a coward.
I’d make it up to him. Somehow. I tucked the data square into my pocket and strode toward the training building. I could probably plug this in to my mockpit, though could I even use that while on medical leave?
I was so single-minded in my attention that I didn’t notice the people I was passing until one called out to me. “Wait. Spin?”
I froze, then turned. It was FM, wearing a skirt. Like, a real skirt and blouse, her short blonde hair done with silver barrettes.
“Stars, where have you been?” she said, grabbing me by the arm. “In your cave?”
“Where else would I be?”
“You have leave,” she said. “The domineering authoritaria has relaxed its viselike grip on us. We can go off base.”
“I go off base every night.”
“This is different,” she said, pulling me by my arm. “Come on. You’re lucky Quirk sent me to fetch something for her.”
“Kimmalyn?” I said. “You’ve seen her since she left?”
“Of course I have. It’s not like she moved to another planet or something. Come on.”
I wasn’t likely to change FM’s mind when she was in one of her crusading moods…so I let her tow me after her. Out past the gates of the base. Along the rows of buildings, into one I’d never paid much attention to before.
Which held a completely new world.
The restaurant wasn’t much, really. A jumble of tables full of younger pilots and cadets. Dim lighting. A man playing hand drums in the corner for some music.
FM pulled me to a table where Arturo sat with his arm around a girl I didn’t recognize—short hair, brown skin. Kimmalyn sat primly at the table with a very large, very purple drink in front of her. Next to her was Nedd.
Nedd. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Ever since that night on the launchpad! He had on trousers and a button-up shirt, and a jacket was draped across the back of the chair. It was strange to see him in street clothes. Especially next to Arturo, who had on his cadet’s jumpsuit.
I could hear Nedd’s easygoing voice over the hum of other chatter in the room. “I never said I was that kind of stupid. I’m the other kind of stupid. You know, likable stupid.”
Arturo rolled his eyes, but the girl next to him leaned forward. “Nedd,” she said, “stupid is stupid.”
“No it’s not. You’re talking to an expert. I—”
“Guys,” FM interrupted, presenting me with hands raised to the side, “look who I found slinking around the base. She was moping about how she can’t shoot anything for a few days.”
Nedd thumbed toward FM. “See, she’s the other kind of stupid.”
FM smacked him on the back of the head, and he grinned. Then he stood and grabbed me in a suffocating bear hug. “Good to see you, Spin. Order something to eat. Arturo’s paying.”
“I am?”
“You’re rich.”
“So are you.”
“I’m the other kind of rich. The poor kind.”
“Oh, for the Saint’s sake,” Arturo said.
“Don’t use the Saint’s name in vain,” Kimmalyn said.
“You do all the time!”
“I’m religious. You’re not. So it’s okay for me.”
Nedd grinned, using his foot to hook a chair from the next table over, then pulling it to us. He waved for me to sit down.
I did so, hesitant. I was still distracted by the recording in my jumpsuit pocket. At the same time, seeing Nedd and Kimmalyn made me feel warm. This was something I needed.
So I tried to forget about the recording for now.
“Spin, this is Bryn,” Arturo said, pointing to the girl sitting close—very close—to him. “A friend from before flight school.”
“I honestly don’t know how you all suffer him,” she said. “He pretended to know everything before he became a pilot. He must be impossible now.”
He mock-punched her lightly on the shoulder, smiling. Yes, it was clear that this was an established relationship. How had I never known that Arturo was attached?
I would know, I thought, if I ever got to spend any time outside of class with the rest of them…
A few seconds later, FM set something purple and bubbling in front of me, along with a basket of fried algae strips. She settled into her own seat and tossed a pouch to Kimmalyn. “Found your necklace,” she said. “Under your bed.”
“Thank you, dear,” Kimmalyn said, opening it and checking inside. “I did pitch something of a fit when I left, didn’t I?”
“Are you guys coming back to the DDF?” I asked. “Are we going to talk to Cobb? They need pilots. Maybe we could get them to take you back.”
Nedd and Kimmalyn shared a look, then Nedd took a long drink. “No,” he said. “Cobb said most of the class would wash out. So they’re expecting this, right? They’re not going to take us. And I’m not sure I could do that to my mother, after…”
Silence. Conversation at the table died.
“I might not be coming back, but at least I made cadet,” Kimmalyn said, perking up. “My parents are proud, and the gunners in Bountiful are full of chatter about me.”
“But…I mean…flying…,” I said, although I knew I should leave well enough alone.
“We aren’t like you, Spin,” Nedd said. “Flying was great. I’d go back up in a heartbeat, but something about the DDF…the culture, the throwing cadets into battle, the desperation…”
FM gave him two thumbs up. Kimmalyn just looked down at her lap. She was probably thinking what I was. The DDF had a reason to be desperate. When cadets flew, it wasn’t only for practice—or even because the DDF was callous with lives. It was because we needed more pilots in the air, however inexperienced.
Growing up in Igneous, I’d known that the fight against the Krell was a valiant, dangerous endeavor. But before coming to Alta, I’d never realized quite how close to the edge we were.
I kept my mouth shut though, because I didn’t want to depress everyone. The conversation turned to some big game yesterday—Hurl’s old team had won. Nedd raised his glass, and the others did as well, so I joined in. I took a sip of my purple drink and almost spat it out. It was so sweet.
I covered it up by trying one of the fries. My mouth exploded with flavor, and I froze, eyes wide. I practically melted into a puddle
. I’d had fried algae before, but it had been nowhere near as good as this. What were those spices?
“Spin?” Arturo asked. “You look like someone just stepped on your toe.”
I held up a fry, fingers trembling. “So. GOOD.”
“She’s been living on rats for the last few months,” FM pointed out. “Her taste buds are undergoing serious atrophy.”
“You have such a unique way with words, FM,” Kimmalyn noted. “Not like anything I’ve heard!”
“How many of these can I have?” I asked.
“I got the whole basket for you,” FM said. “Arturo is paying, after all.”
I started stuffing them into my mouth—comically, by intention. But honestly, I wanted to get as much down as I could before I woke up, or someone kicked me out of here, or something exploded.
Bryn laughed. “She’s aggressive.”
“You have no idea,” Arturo said, smiling as she played with a curl of his hair.
Scud. It was criminal, how little I knew about my flightmates.
“Where’s Jorgen?” I said, talking around bites of food.
“He wouldn’t want to come,” Nedd said. “Too important for us.”
“You didn’t even invite him?” I asked.
“Nah,” Arturo said.
“But isn’t he your friend?”
“That’s how we know he wouldn’t come,” Nedd said. “Say, how’s old Cobb getting by? Has he said any interesting curses lately?”
“Spin gave him a bit of a black eye, last they spoke,” Kimmalyn noted.
I swallowed my mouthful of fries. “I was wrong to say what I did.”
“If you don’t say what you’re thinking,” Kimmalyn said solemnly, “then it will stay in your head.”
“You deconstructed him,” FM said, raising a finger. “He was relying on the very thing he was denying!”
I looked down at my basket, which was somehow already empty. FM swept it away and walked off to the counter, probably to get me another. I could hear the fryer, and the pungent, crisp scent in the room made my mouth water for more. This wasn’t too expensive, was it? Did I care right now?
I tried the drink again—still too sweet. FM set another basket of fries in front of me, fortunately, and I attacked them. The spices were just so good. Flavor that made my mouth wake up, as if from a long slumber.
The others continued to reminisce about Hurl—their voices tinged with the same pain I felt. They got it. They understood. I wasn’t alone, not here.
I found myself explaining what Jorgen and I had done. They listened solemnly to the details.
“I should have gone with you,” Arturo said. “You think Cobb would let me hold her pin for a moment, if I asked? Before he gives it back to the family?”
Bryn rubbed his arm as he looked down at the table.
“Remember that time,” Nedd said, “that she bet she could eat more algae patties than me at dinner?”
“She ended up on the floor,” FM said, wistful. “On the floor, just lying there, groaning. Complained about it all night, claiming the patties were fighting in her stomach.”
The others laughed, but Arturo stared at his cup. He seemed…hollow. He’d almost died in that battle. Hopefully the ground crew would have his ship running again by the time our leave was done.
That, of course, made me think of the work Rig was doing on M-Bot. And the fact that I owed him. A lot.
“FM,” I said. “What do you think of smart guys?”
“I’m already taken,” Arturo said with a smile.
FM rolled her eyes. “Depends. How handsome are we talking?”
“Handsome, in a reserved way.”
“Guys, I’m already taken,” Arturo said again.
“FM would only want to romance someone low-class,” Nedd said, “to defy the powers that be. A kind of star-crossed, impossible love is the only love FM would accept.”
“My entire life isn’t dominated by being a rebel, Nedd,” she said.
“Yeah?” Nedd said. “What kind of drink did you get?”
I noticed, for the first time, that her drink was orange while everyone else was having purple.
She rolled her eyes again. “You are stupid.”
“The right kind?”
“The annoying kind.”
“I’ll take it.”
Their banter continued, and I sat back, enjoying my fries until Bryn got up to use the restroom. With her gone it was just our flight, and I found myself itching to say something to them, now that we were away from the DDF headquarters, where I always felt like someone was watching.
“Can we talk about something?” I finally said, interrupting a story Nedd was telling. “I keep thinking about the questions Arturo brought up in class that one time. Isn’t it weird that we can fight an enemy for eighty years, and have only a vague idea what they look like?”
Kimmalyn nodded. “How convenient is it that the Krell never commit more than a maximum of a hundred fighters to an individual assault? The defense platforms up in the debris field explain a lot of why we’re still alive down here, but this question bothers me. Couldn’t the Krell send twice as many and overwhelm us?”
“It’s suspicious,” FM said. “Very.”
“You’d say that no matter what,” Nedd said.
“And in this case, do you disagree?” FM asked.
He didn’t reply.
“We can’t be the only ones who’ve asked these questions, right?” I said. “So…does the DDF really not know the answers? Or are they hiding them?”
Like they were hiding the truth about my father.
“Okay, to play devil’s advocate,” Arturo said, “perhaps they just don’t share that sort of intel with cadets and noncombatants. I know you don’t like the admiral, Spin—with good reason—but her record is excellent, and she has some very good advisors.”
“And yet we’re losing,” I said, pulling my seat closer to the table, trying to speak quietly. “You all know we are. The Krell are going to eventually get us.”
The others fell silent, and Arturo glanced around, checking to see if any other occupied tables were close enough to hear us.
“They don’t want us asking these questions,” Kimmalyn said. “Remember that time at dinner, when Arturo was talking? How the passing officer told him to shut up? Everyone but Cobb shuts down any conversation about the hard questions.”
“They need meatheads,” FM added. “Pilots who blindly do what they’re told and never express an ounce of originality, compassion, or soul.”
Arturo’s girlfriend reappeared, winding her way back to our table. I leaned in closer. “Just…think about it,” I said quietly. “Because I am.” I felt at my pocket, and the data chip tucked inside.
The conversation turned to lighter topics, but FM looked at me and smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. As if she was proud of my questions. She seemed to think I’d always been some brainwashed Defiant zombie, but she didn’t know me. Didn’t know how I’d lived most of my life outside their society, wandering the tunnels and scavenging.
If anything, I would want Defiants to be more brave, more heroic—more like in Gran-Gran’s stories. But I supposed that she and I could agree on one thing in this area: the current leadership of the DDF left something to be desired.
I let FM—well, Arturo—buy me a third basket of fries. Then I eventually excused myself. I had enjoyed the meal with them, but there was something else I needed to do.
It was time to find some answers.
Rig was gone by the time I got back to my cavern, though he appeared to have made some good progress on the booster. Doomslug was sitting on a rock near the wing, and I scratched her head as I walked to the cockpit, then climbed in.
I felt a strange sense of…inevitability. I carried long-kept secrets in
my pocket. The answers, at long last, to what had happened with my father. Why was I suddenly so reluctant?
I closed the cockpit. “M-Bot, do you know how to get the hologram out of something like this?” I held up the metal case, showing the connectors on the bottom.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s a standard format. See the series of ports underneath the panel marked ‘A-118’? You want the port that reads ‘SSXB.’ ”
I followed the instructions, hesitating only briefly before plugging in the case.
M-Bot hummed to himself. “Ah. Curious. Curious.”
“What?”
“I’m drawing out the suspense so you enjoy the surprise.”
“Please don’t.”
“Humans prefer—”
“Just tell me.”
“Fine, complainer. This includes a great deal of data. A three-D holomap, but also the original ship transponder data, radio signals of the battle, and even some camera footage from inside bunkers. This would be very hard to fake.”
Fake. I hadn’t considered that, but now I found myself anxious. “Are you sure?”
“I’d spot any edits. Would you like to watch it?”
“Yes.”
No.
“Then climb out.”
“Climb out?”
“My holoprojector can emit a small version of the battle for you to watch.”
I heaved myself out of the cockpit, scratching Doomslug on the head—she’d moved to the nose of the ship—and dropped with a thump to the rocky floor.
A battle appeared in front of me. When Cobb watched us fly, everything was painted with bold colors—bright red and blue ships. M-Bot instead projected the ships in exacting miniature. They flew in waves before me, so real that I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out and touching them—which broke them into granular particles of something that wasn’t quite light.
The Krell appeared next, looking even more unfinished than they did now. Less regular. Wires hanging out at odd angles, wings that had rips in them, patchwork creations of metal. My little cavern became a battlefield.
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