Morning looks around our group before looking back at Jacquelyn.
“Babel has no idea what’s coming.”
* * *
—
The Imago lead us out of the garden, away from a paradise we never knew. We walk for hours, and I feel bound to this place, chained and six feet deep already. I’m an angel without wings. I’m a demon without fire. It’s such a horrible feeling that I mistake it for emptiness.
But as we make camp for the night, I know I’m not empty. Morning curls up beside me. I hold her close enough that I can hear her heartbeat. It’s a rhythm that I want to listen to forever. It says we are still alive, still here. But as night comes, I can feel a darker rhythm beating in my own chest. It’s a song I thought I’d buried a long time ago, beneath prettier chords.
We’ve lost too much. We’ve been pushed too far.
The darker song stretches and grows and fills the gaping holes in my chest. It is broken bones and black eyes, dropped bombs and endless lies. A lifetime of injustices burn their way to an inferno. Anger rises from it all like smoke. There’s only one truth left in my world:
Babel will burn.
I’m marched, hands tied, to the command center of the Tower Space Station.
Out the bone-thick windows, stars. Count them, Father always commanded. His favorite drinking game. He liked seeing how the constellations changed after a drink, or five.
But I have more important things to count, Father. Better games to play too. A pair of guards flank me, my unsuspecting captors. As they switched shifts, one of them saw me slipping inside a maintenance closet. The ghost haunting their halls manifested in plain sight. It was their chance to play the hero. It still took them five minutes to crack the door open and bravely toss a stun grenade inside. Spineless, but effective.
This is the classic movie scene. The captive led before the king. I learned all this long ago. The kind of men who wear imaginary crowns always enjoy a stage. My capture will be made into a spectacle. Requin will make the conversation into a show. Erone and I are counting on it. Getting captured was just the first part of the plan. As we walk, I do my best to shake off the effects of the smoke. I’d like to be sharp, remember my lines, when the time comes to face him.
I play Morning’s games to wake myself up. Case the rooms. Weigh the situation. Measure the odds. I’m flanked by two guards. The one at my left shoulder walks with a gentle limp. Something in his right knee, some issue nyxian surgery couldn’t fix. The guard on my right is probably the oldest person on the ship. He looks healthy enough, but I can hear the gaps in his labored breathing. These are a far cry from the physical elites Babel usually boasts.
And the halls, they echo. The little antibodies usually running through the winding, technological stomach are mostly gone. They’re left vulnerable. A week ago, I’d never have dared these halls. Too much foot traffic. Random checkpoints and roaming guards.
Where are they now?
Vandemeer was right. Something big was in motion. It’s already happened.
My elder captor swipes open a doorway. Beneath the automated hiss, I hear a faint echo. The guards don’t notice it because they’re not listening for it. The sound is ethereal, like the groan of an automated ghost. It’s the second step in Erone’s plan.
I swallow a smile as we move through the ringed defenses that guard the central command deck. We pass only three workers. All mechanics. We also pass two bays of escape pods, both emptied. Finally we reach the seventh and final door. The elder guard punches a button and announces our arrival. Both men straighten shoulders, trying to stand tall.
This is their moment of glory.
The doors open. The command room is a series of sleek, circling desks. Holographic readouts color the air, and headsets glow like rave lights. It takes me two seconds to pick out Melissa Aguilar in the crowd. She’s off to my right. Our informant aboard Genesis 12. She’s buried in the light of her screen. She doesn’t notice my entrance.
Unintelligible murmurs fill the air with data. Requin broods over it all, and I steal a glimpse of him before he sees it’s me. The weight of an imaginary crown has bent and grayed him. Something rotten in the state of Denmark. I smirk.
Seeing me, the wear vanishes. He lets out a laugh.
“Anton? It was you all this time? Good God, how did you even get up here?”
The random activity ceases. Every eye turns to watch the king’s play.
I know all my lines. “A cargo shipment.”
Requin laughs again. “Morning’s idea?”
“She’s the brain and I’m the body.”
“And in a fitting poetic end, the body has failed the mind. Your reign of terror is over.” Requin stands, gesturing to the nearest techie. At his command, our sprawling view of space is replaced by video footage. “You’re just in time for an update on our progress in Eden.”
We get a bird’s-eye view of shattered cities. The ocean has swallowed fallen buildings. Boats move through the wreckage, manned by Babel marines. Requin signals again, and we see another ring, another atrocity. Requin turns back to me, no longer smiling.
“We’ve won,” he says. “The war is over.”
War. We’ve brought our taste for destruction across the galaxy. I eye the wreckage, thinking about how familiar it all looks. I’ve seen buildings like these before, billions of kilometers away. I’m thankful when Requin turns off the screens. Images of a destroyed Sevenset could ruin our plans. If Erone sees them…
“They call it Magnia.”
Requin shrugs. “What they call it doesn’t matter anymore.”
I survey the damage again. “Morning? The Genesis teams?”
Alex? Is Alex alive? Please let him be alive.
Requin says, “Alive for now.”
“Send us home.”
I feel guilty trying to make it work this way. It’s a selfish route, one that ignores the Imago. “Send us back to Earth, and I’ll let you live, Requin.”
“You will let me live?” He laughs. “It’s over. We’re waiting for the count, but I’d guess there will be ten thousand Adamites left. Their armies will be scattered and broken. You and your friends will remain here, as was agreed upon.”
“We never agreed to that.”
“It’s in the contracts,” Requin answers. “Tricky clauses, but it’s all in there. You signed them, remember? You’ve agreed to stay here for the long haul.”
“That’s a lie,” I say, nodding at the nearest techie. “And he’s going to die for it. It was just going to be you, but now he dies too. Every time you lie, I pick another one.”
The techie looks shocked, but Requin only laughs. “Enough with the games, Anton.”
“I’ll give you one more chance. Arrange my flight home, or die.”
Requin shakes his head. “No, Anton. I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”
“Two chances. I gave you two chances. Now I’ll extend the opportunity to your friends here. Anyone who wants to live, give up your weapons right now. Set them on the floor and you’ll be spared. Fight back, and you will die. I’m telling you this up front so you know the rules.”
The blow lands hard and sends me to a knee. I don’t have to look up to know it was the guard with the limp. He steps back into position, and Requin sighs theatrically.
“Must you always make things difficult, Anton?”
“I found him,” I say, lifting myself up. “Down in the belly of the ship.”
The words scrape the humor away. Requin stares at me, eyes narrowed. I have him now.
“His plan was to kill everyone,” I say, laughing. “Which is fair. I’d want the same thing if I were him. How long did you torture him? A year? Longer? He’s very angry, Requin.”
“Seal the command bay,” Requin thunders. “Seal the bay!”
“Sir,
some of our units are still patrolling—”
“I said seal it!”
I ignore the scrambling techies, knowing they’re far too late to make a difference. I keep my eyes locked on Requin as I speak. “Not to worry, Requin, cooler heads prevailed. He agreed not to kill everyone. It’s only sensible. We need the astronauts, the mechanics. Well, not all of them. Some of them. So they’ll be spared. But you, Requin? He really hates you.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Requin hisses at me. “Guards, to the doors.”
My captors leave my side, retreating. There are three entrances, spread at perfect intervals around the circular exterior. Guards wait at each, weapons drawn. All roads lead to Requin. The thought makes me smile. A techie pipes in. “The bay is sealed, sir.”
Requin nods, but I can see the fear coiling around him, choking the air he’s breathing.
“Cage is locked,” I say, clapping tied hands. “I hope the monster’s not already inside.”
“You think this is a game,” Requin snaps. “You’re a fool, Anton. Erone is not a sword for hire. He will not do what you ask, take his reward, and return to Eden. He’s a natural disaster, a reckoning. You can’t control him. This will not work out the way you think it will.”
I smile, even though he’s speaking my fears out loud for me. Erone has acted reasonably so far, but there have been times when that side of him vanishes. The bondage and torture have reduced him to animal instincts. We moved through the dark no-gravity chambers for nearly a week. Plotting and planning. His moods swung from curious to obsessive to deadly.
I know he’s dangerous, but right now I need dangerous.
“He’s an inventor,” I say loudly. “But you knew that when you took him, didn’t you? He was working with your niece, Jacquelyn. I didn’t get to meet her, but you should have heard Erone singing her praises. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he has a little crush on her. They worked together. Taking nyxia and inventing new technologies, new defenses. He’s brilliant.
“So naturally, when I showed him my copy of the ship’s blueprints, he had a few ideas. Really good ideas. We noticed the layer of checkpoints and access doors around this room. He pointed out some of the circuitry, said this room was the command center. He thought you’d be here. So, we just had to figure out…how do we get in there? How do we get past all those checkpoints?”
The silence fills with gasping doors. All three entrances open on their own. A few of the techies scramble at their desks, but they’re helpless. The doors are nyxian. The walls are nyxian. They’re in Erone’s kingdom now. They always have been. The second they let me inside, this was already over.
The guards tense, waiting for one of the gaping holes to fill with movement, with some threat. Nothing comes, and I smile. Erone’s sense of drama is right up there with Requin’s.
“And then it was obvious,” I say into the quiet. “We just have your people bring us through the checkpoints. Your clever guards finally caught me. They brought me waltzing through your defense system, which gave Erone the access he needed. And, well, you see where this is going, don’t you?”
There’s a snaking whisper. My eyes leave Requin long enough to see a black substance ghosting through the air. It settles in the space between each set of guards like a floating, shimmering mirror.
The guards turn toward each other, and their eyes widen in fear. I’m not sure what they see reflected, but all of them lift their weapons immediately and fire. Six guards drop. I stare in shock at the pooling blood, the wounds, unsure how Erone forced their hands.
The entire room flinches in terror. A shiver runs down my spine.
“Look what you’ve done,” Requin mutters, backing away.
Erone walks through the nearest entrance with savage grace. His great two-handed sword swings with the rhythm of each pounding step. His eyes are for Requin alone.
I step aside. Erone walks past me.
He doesn’t give a speech. He doesn’t play with his food or boast his revenge like a character in the movies. He shoves Requin to his knees and plunges the sword through his back.
Blood bursts out with the sword tip, dribbles up his throat, runs from the corners of his lips. I watch him die and remind myself that kings aren’t innocent in war. When you put on the crown and order troops to kill, you invite the judgment of an enemy’s sword.
Erone breaks from his reveling long enough to cut my bindings. He returns my knives. I shake my arms loose before considering the silent techies in the room. My eyes swing directly to Aguilar. “Do me a favor and shut down outgoing communications. Wouldn’t want any of your brilliant colleagues panicking and setting off the alarms.”
Aguilar grins up at me. “They’ve been shut down for two minutes now.”
“Always a few steps ahead.”
The nearest techies stare at her like a traitor, but she’s always been one of ours. Aboard Genesis 12 she started slipping Morning information just a few weeks into the voyage. She saw what Babel was doing. She saw what they were planning for us and decided to do whatever she could to keep it from happening. That was always the risk when Requin decided to play God. Push too hard and the lowly will push back.
“How many marines left on the ship?” I ask.
Aguilar glances back at her screen, runs through a few interfaces, and looks back up.
“Nineteen.”
“Great. Connect me with the ship’s communication system.”
Erone has taken a seat in his would-be throne. His bloodied blade lies across his lap, and Requin’s body is crumpled at his feet. I wait for his confirmation, a sign that I can take command of this part of the plan. I know what he can do now; I don’t want to overstep my boundaries. Taking Requin and the ship was the easy part. Reining the storm back in will be much, much harder. Erone gestures idly, as if the details bore him.
Nodding, I turn back to Aguilar. She hooks me up to a glowing headset, switches the outputs, and gives me a thumbs-up.
“Tower Space Station, this is Anton Stepanov of Genesis 12. I am joined by an Adamite named Erone. We have taken control of the ship. Requin is dead, along with every guard who had the misfortune of being posted in the command center today. You have thirty minutes to turn in your weapons before we resort to using some of the ship’s built-in defense mechanisms. Hide somewhere and you might be safe, or you might be in the part of the ship we choose to jettison. Your safety is up to you. I would prefer no more blood be shed. But test his patience, and Erone will show you just how much he’d prefer if the blooding continued. All surrendering parties should gather in the third protective ring outside the command center. Enter the second ring prematurely and you’ll see what kind of fun toys we’ve left there for you.”
I release the output button, and the faint sound of beeping echoes louder.
I nod to Aguilar. “What is that god-awful noise?”
“Incoming message, sir.”
Some of her colleagues flinch at the use of the word sir. I note which ones before turning back to her. “A message from who?”
“Babel’s fourth ship: Genesis 14. They want permission to dock.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A planet-sized thank-you to the team at Crown BFYR. The past few months have given me opportunities to meet many of you and spend time with you. I’ve seen how hard you work and how easy you try to make the lives of your authors. These books couldn’t take off without all the tireless energy you pour into the process. Thank you.
To Emily Easton for challenging me to be a better writer and pushing this story to its best possible version. To Samantha Gentry for being a correspondence goddess. And special thanks to Josh Redlich for his ability to snap his fingers and make anything happen. Someone should probably look into Josh’s illegal use of magic? I’d also like to thank my agent, Kristin Nelson, and the entire team at Nelson Literary
Agency, for their continual support in this and so much else.
I’d like to thank the brilliant authors who’ve taken time to read my work: Marie Lu, Nic Stone, Fonda Lee, V. E. Schwab, Jason Hough, Jay Kristoff, Jay Coles, Vic James, and Tomi Adeyemi. I’d like to thank Pierce Brown for allowing Nyxia to grace his kitchen table. May all my books make it there one day.
I will always be indebted to my wife, Katie. While I was writing this book, she was literally making a human being. So we were both working on sequels, and—spoiler alert—I’m proud of this book, but I greatly prefer the one she and I wrote together. Which reminds me: Henry. Eat your vegetables, buddy. That’s an order.
I would not have completed this draft without the help of longtime critiquing partner Keith Dupuis. While I tore through early edits, yours was the calmest voice in my head. I also want to thank Neil F. Comins, author of What If the Earth Had Two Moons? Thank you for taking the time to answer all my questions, and with such enthusiasm.
Finally, I wrote this one for my momma. There’s no one who has put more time into making me a decent human being. I do not have to look far to find your love threaded through my life. If I know anything of forgiveness, grace, compassion, and presence, I learned it at your elbow. Thank you for loving us toward our dreams.
Final shout-out to Luna for being a good dog.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SCOTT REINTGEN is the author of the Nyxia Triad. He has spent his career as a teacher of English and creative writing in diverse urban communities in North Carolina. The hardest lesson he learned in the classroom was that inspiration isn’t equally accessible for everyone. So he set out to write a novel for the front-row sleepers and back-row dreamers in his classes. He hopes that his former students see themselves, vibrant and on the page, in characters like Emmett. You can follow him on Facebook, on Instagram, and on Twitter at @Scott_Thought.
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