Did they cross the universe just to die?
It helps to imagine Defoe instead. The conqueror coming down to a world that will be his long enough to see it go up in flames. Pops would tell me to never wish the worst on someone. I feel like maybe he’d make an exception for a man who masterminded a failed genocide.
Eventually we reach the end of the buried ocean-floor tunnel.
It dumps us out into a wider, emptier darkness. The boats detach and start their ascents. The front ship marks our destination on the radar, and we all watch the progress, the frightening inevitability of light. I’m trying to imagine us crossing the rest of the ocean, landing on another foreign shore, heading for the launch station.
How many Imago will make it? What happens if we succeed?
I haven’t forgotten that both sides gambled on us. The Imago put on an act for years to bring us here and lure Babel in. We’re supposed to be their emissaries in a new world. I think of the show Speaker and Thesis acted out for us. It was convincing. It was supposed to be.
Babel’s guilty of the same. Like magicians, they were always brilliant at drawing our eyes to the bright ribbon in their left hand as they fumbled through our pockets with their right.
I’m starting to realize that our training was plan B. The nyxian mining, the Rabbit Room, all of it. Babel needed us on planet. They needed us to reach Sevenset. They trained us to be survivors and then used those final duels to push us toward the Imago. It was one more reason to distrust them, and it guaranteed we would move where they wanted us on the game board.
“First boat preparing to surface,” Parvin says. “Radar looks empty.”
“How long until we breach?” Morning asks.
“Five hundred meters.”
“Let’s get the nyxian link orbiting,” she says. “Just like we did on the river.”
The entire crew sits up straighter. Jacquelyn gives us an appraising look as the familiar nyxian rhythm establishes itself, rotating and circling. Myan and Speaker described it as the substance returning to its natural state. The power builds as we rise to the surface. I grip the arms of my chair and feel my stomach doing backflips. My eyes are pinned to Parvin’s radar. We all watch the first beacon ping as it breaches. Then it vanishes.
“First ship surfaced,” Parvin says. “And their signature’s gone.”
“It happens sometimes,” Jacquelyn says. “If they’re converting from deep-sea mode to open sailing, the signature changes.”
Morning doesn’t buy it. “Fist stations get your shields up. Omar, triple the power.”
A deep hum shakes and rattles the ship. I hold on tighter as Holly forms a nyxian shield against the already-thick walls of our submarine covering. Longwei sits on the other side of Omar, waiting to add his strength if necessary.
“One hundred meters,” Parvin announces. “Four ships up and out.”
I catch a glimpse of the dots starting to spread. One edges to the west.
There’s a burst of white light against the porthole windows, then a loud plunk, and Morning retracts the walls. Air rushes in through the overhead and the sky plunges like a bright knife. We blink, and blink, and take in the scene.
To the west, one of the Remnant ships bleeds into the horizon. I spy a smaller ship trailing behind it and realize it’s not one of ours. An unwelcome guest.
There’s a breath of a second as we take in the strange debris floating all around us. The details start to solidify. Imago bodies. Snapped boards. Enemy ships.
A Babel ambush.
It’s all chaos.
A circle of Babel boats converges around us, but the Imago military vessels are already moving through their formations, causing trouble. On the distant shore, we see a flash of bright blue light curling to life.
“Cut left!” Morning shouts. “Let’s get outside their formation. All power to engines and shields. Right flank, get ’em up!”
Katsu and Alex jerk the ship that way, but too sharply. Our speed cuts, and Omar struggles to get us back into a higher gear. The waiting Babel ships respond better than we do. Pulse cannons flash to life aboard the middle one. We watch the bolts cross the distance. Some miss overhead, but a few deflect off Jacquelyn’s summoned shield.
The nyxia shivers and cracks, barely holding.
An Imago ship engages the first one to blast us, but we have other concerns. There’s a vessel running diagonally to our left. It’s arching out, reading our movements. The angle they’re taking sets up a flawless intercept. I whip my head back as more of our boats surface from below. Two military vessels will follow, and the Daughters will surface last.
The world lurches with blinding light.
Our entire right side gets lit up. Jacquelyn’s shield suffers the blow before going up in smoke, but Noor’s not nearly as strong as she is. Her shield shatters, and fire lashes over that side of the ship. Instinct kicks in. I lunge forward as the tongues of flame spread, a manipulation thundering out from my fingertips and into the nyxia. A thought, a breath: smother. I catch Noor, wrapping her inside the nyxian blanket. Smoke gushes out as we roll to the ground.
“What the hell was that?” Morning shouts.
Longwei’s at my side. I leave Noor with him and barely get my hands on her station as a new round of volleys comes flying from a flanking ship. The Babel vessel nearest to shore has engaged with Imago reinforcements. Another is still moving to outflank us. The air brightens as a third particle blast scorches out. I get my shield up just as it makes contact.
Our ship almost capsizes, but Morning’s commands keep us floating, moving.
“They’re in position,” she announces. “We have to get outside the circle they’re forming. Full power to shields on the front and right. Omar, we’ll take it into a dive and go beneath them.”
A glance shows the massive tower on the shore reloading, gathering and harnessing energy for a fourth blast. Thankfully, one of the Imago boats has veered away from the action and toward the glowing tower. The ship enclosing our group from behind gives chase as the others fire, closing more cautiously. Each second tightens the noose around our necks. Our boat leaps forward as Morning adds her strength to Omar’s.
We hurtle through the water, course set for the nearest ship.
“Let’s dive beneath them,” Morning commands. “You know what to do, Parvin.”
The Babel captain tries to adjust as we keep our nose aimed at the side of their ship, looking like we’re ready to T-bone them. One hundred meters away we can make out the faces on board. Babel marines man every station. In between the nyxian consoles, a handful of soldiers raise their weapons and take aim. Morning calls it out and our shields barely survive the first thundering spray of bullets. We’re fifty meters away, knifing right at them.
Anger pulses through me at the sight of the Babel insignia. I reach back and pull Noor to her defensive station. “I need you to take over for a second.”
She nods as I stumble forward. The rocking of the boat threatens to send me into the railing, but I steady myself and keep moving. I take a deep breath and focus. I have to get the manipulation right. The nyxia shivers with movement. I heft up one of Jazzy’s long poles, the same ones we used in the Rabbit Room. It feels good, like an old friend.
“Hold!” Morning shouts. “Hold!”
On shore, the laser tower misses the approaching Imago boat. We might be outnumbered, but the tide is clearly turning, the Imago clearly outmaneuvering Babel. We need the tide to turn faster, though, if we want to survive. Another round of bullets lights us up, and cracks form in our frontal shield. Bullets swipe over heads and shoulders; a few tag the front of the ship.
Morning’s about to submarine us beneath the Babel ship when I start running. The ship nose-dives, but not before I plant my pole just left of Parvin’s front station. A scream echoes behind me as the shaft flexes and I l
aunch myself over our front shields and into the air.
I descend on Babel like a demigod, cloaked in fury. Adrenaline shields me from the impact of the landing. I manipulate the nyxia as I roll, coming up on one knee and casting it out in a protective sphere. Every gun on board turns and fires.
A thought adjusts the manipulation just before the flash and bang. Bullets fracture the air, lodge in the black shield I’ve summoned. I flinch as they come, but the nyxia works flawlessly.
Dozens of bullets hover around me, silver-tipped, floating in the air. There’s a pulse as the shield threatens to give way, but I shove a second burst of power into it and somehow everything holds. The crew stares with wide eyes. All of them scramble to reload.
But it’s too late for that.
I drop one knee and shove the shield out with as much force as I can give it. Bullets hiss back through the air, hammer-struck. I watch shards of wood snap as they hit. Blood spatters. One of the soldiers throws up his own nyxian shield, but the rest of the crew slumps or falls. Screams split the silence and I rise.
Over the nearest railing, a massive splash shows the Genesis ship breaching the surface about fifty kilometers away. Morning’s face is the first one I see as their nyxian walls retract. Her eyes go wide when she sees I’m the only one still standing.
But the soldiers aren’t dead. I hear groans. The marine with the best instincts is still crouched behind his shield. Some of the bullets didn’t strike home. Others didn’t have the velocity to do more than ding or skim or concuss. I scramble over stretching legs and past reaching hands. The captain slumps in his chair, blood spilling out of a gut shot.
His eyes go wide as I reach him. I ignore his weak, struggling hands and unclip the grenade on his utility belt. “For Kaya,” I whisper. “For Bilal and Loche and Brett.”
The pin springs, the grenade thuds onto the deck, and I dive over the railing.
I count eight strokes before fire rips into the air. Wooden shards come slashing overhead. Morning’s crew swings past, and I wave my arms to get their attention. Jacquelyn keeps her station in its shield form, but manipulates a second piece of nyxia into netting. As soon as I grab hold of it, she starts reeling me in. I scramble on board, soaked to the bone, feeling like an angel of death. There’s no time to process what I just did. No time to count the bodies.
We veer right of their smoking carcass of a ship as a new fight forms on the other side. A distant explosion follows mine. On shore, the tower ignites.
Our crew throws out a cheer as the structure leans left, then collapses into the waiting flames. The Imago soldiers scramble around the base of the tower but are cut off from their ship now. My eyes dart left. The other Imago are boarding one of the Babel ships as their own boat goes up in flames. I realize we’re winning. Babel’s losing.
“Morning!” Longwei’s voice thunders through the comm. “Omar’s hurt!”
All eyes whip back. He’s slumping in his seat, still shoving whatever energy he has left into the ship’s engines. But there are three rips in his suit, and red gushes from each of them.
Parvin screams. Morning lunges out of her seat too.
“Emmett,” she snaps. “Captain’s seat.”
I watch both of them hurdle past, sliding to their knees to catch Omar as he falls. Without them, the entire boat starts to power down. Instinct kicks in again.
“Jazzy on the eyes!” I shout. “Longwei full power.”
Jazzy takes a single breath—always so composed—and steps into action. I take my position in the captain’s seat, trying to draw from her calm. Longwei has the engines rolling in seconds. Jazzy reports back, like we’re tackling another task on the Waterway.
I can still hear Omar gasping for air. Morning and Parvin are pleading with him. Don’t die. Please don’t die. I force my mind back to the water, to the fight still unfolding all around us.
“Can we help these final ships?” I ask. “Let’s convert front stations to pulse cannons.”
But before the command fully registers, Jazzy is shouting.
“Returning from the west! Two ships.”
“Us or Babel?” I ask.
Our eyes scan the distance. Jacquelyn’s the first to sight it.
“Babel,” she says. “Emmett, we need to leave. It’s our job to get to the rendezvous point. Babel’s going to keep coming. Our other ships know their directives. Time to go.”
I squint into the distance. We have a minute at the most. Another glance shows that the Imago military boats aren’t leaving. They’re circling, snapping at the heels of enemy ships. On shore, the stranded Imago have started launching their own attacks at a fleeing Babel vessel. I want to stay and fight and carry our weight.
“Emmett!” Jacquelyn shouts. “Our plan is to get into space. Get moving.”
I nod to myself, to the others. “Convert everything to engines. Jazzy, ping the rendezvous point. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
All the strength passing through the nyxian links gets thrown back to Longwei. Together we have the boat thundering through the smoke and chaos, forging a path north. The Imago on shore throw salutes and start making their own way through the forest, moving to their assigned checkpoints on foot.
We leave the noise and death behind. Babel’s incoming boats split. One pursues us, but Jacquelyn was right. We’re way faster than they are. A head start has us leaving them behind.
“Jacquelyn,” I ask through the link. “Once we land on shore, how far do we have to go?”
“There’s a converted repository seven kilometers north,” she replies. “We have to get there and seal the door behind us. Underground tunnels link it with a cove to the west. From there, we’ll have transports waiting to take us upriver. Then to the launch station.”
It’s quiet as our boat skips over the water. We’re moving far faster than we ever did in the Waterway. I can hear shuffling behind me. “Omar?” I ask quietly.
“Didn’t make it,” Longwei whispers back.
I bow my head and close my eyes. I’m back in that bright room, watching Kaya’s oxygen run out. I’m standing in front of Roathy as he rages against my air lock. How much more do we have to lose for all of this to finally come to an end?
We keep picking up speed. The engines roar louder and louder, but I can still hear the sound of Parvin and Morning crying: Morning for her brother-in-arms, Parvin for the man who finally found the courage to say how he felt. No one says anything; no one can.
Babel’s death count keeps growing.
Our ship knifes through the endless blue.
“How far back are Babel’s boats, Jazzy?”
“They’ll land in five minutes,” she says. “We have to keep moving.”
Everyone unloads. Sloshing through knee-deep water and onto a pebble-laced shore. Forest hovers, dark and strangling. Behind us, a single white streak makes a line for our location. Babel is coming. Longwei helps Morning carry Omar to shore. We set him down and get our bearings.
I’m wondering how we’re possibly going to carry him seven kilometers when Jacquelyn offers to help. “I’ll make a carrier for him.”
She manipulates her nyxia into a black sphere. It’s the same kind we’ve seen the Imago use whenever they’ve traveled overland. I stand at Morning’s side as she and Longwei lift Omar into the unfolding sphere. Once his body is safely inside, the black petals fold back together like a wilting flower. Parvin’s still crying as the darkness closes around him.
Noor puts an arm around her and starts walking her away. Jacquelyn directs the carrier overland as Morning snaps back into motion. I can see her shoving the grief as far down as possible. I can see it threatening to rise up and choke her.
“I’m back on command,” she says. “Let’s move.”
The group follows her through the forest. Jazzy’s voice echoes through our ran
ks.
“That group was five minutes behind,” she says. “We need to jog.”
Jacquelyn agrees. “I’d like to get into the tunnel before they sight us. It’d be nice to slip through a few doors and leave them wondering which way we ended up going.”
There aren’t really trails through these forests, but Morning guides us down the paths of least resistance. She jogs at the front, pushing us to move faster. Jacquelyn keeps our pace, mentally guiding Omar’s coffin as she runs. Forest sounds rush in from all sides.
“Keep an eye out,” Jacquelyn warns. “This isn’t Grimgarden. There are some dangerous animals that call this place home.”
We catch a few glimpses to go with the strange noises. A dark spread of wings. Broad shoulders slouching into a creek. Morning tightens our formation and asks for an update.
“Four more kilometers,” Jazzy answers.
It’s a blessing when the forest breaks. Fields wind their way to an empty valley. Jacquelyn has us veer left, taking the easiest slopes down. At the far end of the plain, a huge cement structure is wedged into the hillside.
“That’s the repository,” Jacquelyn says, breathing heavily.
“Let’s keep going,” Morning pushes.
We cross the fields together. There’s no sunlight overhead, just a gathering of thick clouds, pressed together to keep anything golden out of the world. Wind has the field of knee-high grass swaying darkly, and we’re halfway across it when Morning signals for a stop.
Everyone goes down to one knee. In the distant gray, our eyes trace little shifts of movement. We all watch and wait as figures cross the scene. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but they must be a Babel crew. They don’t move or look like the Imago.
“Is that the crew that was chasing us?” Morning hisses through the comm.
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