Zenith Dream
Page 1
PRAISE FOR
THE BROKEN MOON SERIES
F.T. LUKENS
“Lukens writes a satisfying balance of action and romance in a science fiction setting that will feel familiar to fans of the genre… Add this title to young adult sci-fi collections, and expect readers to eagerly anticipate the next book in the series.”
—School Library Journal on The Star Host
“The Star Host by F.T. Lukens hooked me from the blurb. It still hasn’t let me go, and I finished reading it hours ago. I want more… like right, the heck now. I need more Asher and Ren in my life. You need more Asher and Ren in your lives.”
—Prism Book Alliance on The Star Host
“The short version is that this book is amazing, and I am hard-pressed to be more coherent than ASKLJFDAH and OMGFLAIL.”
—D.E Atwood, author of If We Shadows on The Star Host
“Fans of queer sci-fi adventure, this is the series for you. Start at The Star Host and plow right on through Ghosts & Ashes in one go. Told in Lukens’ no-nonsense prose, this story will draw you in and not let go.”
—Teen Vogue on Ghosts & Ashes
“This is a rollicking adventure that blends elements from westerns, sci-fi, YA, and romance into a cohesive page-flipping thrill ride.”
—Foreword Reviews on Ghosts & Ashes
Copyright © 2018 F.T. Lukens
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 13: 978-1-945053-76-4 (trade)
ISBN 13: 978-1-945053-77-1 (ebook)
Published by Duet, an imprint of Interlude Press
http://duetbooks.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All trademarks and registered trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
Book design and Cover illustrations by CB Messer
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Interlude Press, New York
“The history of liberty is a history of resistance.”
—Woodrow Wilson
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Some readers may find some of the scenes in this book difficult to read. We have compiled a list of content warnings, which you can access at www.interludepress.com/content-warnings
1
Wake up!
Ren snapped his eyes open and gasped. His back arched, and his body pulled taut, suspended in air by his shoulders and heels, before he flopped back to a hard surface. He gulped in oxygen. Wheezing, his lungs ached. His body shivered from the influx of adrenaline and from the frigid air; goosebumps bloomed over his skin. He weakly raised his head.
He was alone. The ship was dark, lit only by emergency lights. Ren pushed to a sitting position with trembling arms; his muscles were feeble. His chest heaved, his breath puffed out in clouds in front of his face, and the blanket that covered him fell and pooled into his lap. Bent forward, Ren grasped the bed railing next to him, and the cold metal burned against his palm.
Was this real? Or was it another dream with sense memories so stark they fooled him? Was he awake this time? Was he in the ship?
The bed beneath him was hard and unforgiving; a thin mattress was all that separated him from a flat slab of metal. He smelled of antiseptic and sweat. A thin tube, currently attached to nothing, stung in the crook of his arm. He rubbed his chest; the scratchy fabric of medical scrubs pulled across his stomach, caught on something, and tugged uncomfortably on his skin. Possibly not a dream—too many sensations.
Brow furrowed, Ren lifted the hem of his shirt. White tape and gauze crisscrossed a spot far left of his navel and above his hip. Tentatively, he pulled at the bandages to reveal a dark, bloody, and scabbed wound: a jagged circle of flesh, not quite healed, but not angry and new. Starbursts of yellow and green and brown spread outward from it and bled up his torso in a sickly, painful bruise.
Ren slammed his eyes shut and sat awash in memories that scrubbed him raw, caused bile to crawl up into his throat, and sent his heart pounding. Pain and smoke and rubble. Falling, the Corps, and Asher amid the chaos. Crei and Millicent and Vos and Asher trying to save him. Prophecies and blood and dreams of Liam and Asher leaving. He pushed his hand against the gunshot wound, smoothing the tape with unsteady fingers.
Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it.
Hunched over, he reached out with his star, and the familiar signature of the ship welcomed him, calmed him, and staved off the impending panic. He didn’t recognize this bed or this blanket or the room he was in, but he was on the Star Stream. He was safe on the ship, in the ship, but for now he resisted the urge to flee into the circuits.
He was awake: a state of being he hadn’t thought he would achieve again.
He’d watched, of course. He’d been detached from it all, within the confines of circuits and switches and vid screens. He’d heard the messages on the comms, the disagreements about what to do, the times Rowan cried in her room, and when Ollie stalked the cargo bay. He’d seen Pen brush his dark hair from his forehead and Lucas pilot with bloodshot eyes. At other times, everything was black and muted, as if he was at the bottom of the lake and all his sensation was filtered through the water: sound and touch distorted by pressure and movement, sight blurred by currents and shadows. Still other times, he’d dreamed nightmares and visions so real he’d thought for certain he was awake, only to be plunged back into the depths of his body or sent scurrying for safety into the signals that sparked between relays.
Ren opened his eyes. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and shook his head, trying to ease the fog in his brain. Everything was vague and strange. He had spent an indeterminate amount of time transferring between the ship and his comatose body, and his ability to perceive and process wasn’t quite aligned.
“Hello?” his voice cracked in his throat. “Anyone there?” The words were clumsy in his mouth, and the raspy sound petered out into a breathy whisper.
Where was everyone? How long had he been asleep?
The Star Stream was powered down; reserve lights gave a gentle glow, and the core systems hummed softly, lazily, as they drew power, not from the engines, but from a power source beyond the shiny bulkhead. They were docked on a drift, but not one Ren recognized. The unfamiliar tech buzzed hazily in the back of his head. The noise was not nearly as loud as Mykonos or Delphi, indicating the drift was smaller.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Ren gingerly stepped down and hissed as the pad of his foot touched the cold deck. Keeping his grip on the bedrails, he slid farther, pressed more weight against his feet. His atrophied legs clenched, and he hobbled like the newborn lambs on Erden. After a few tense moments, he steadied enough to fully straighten.
Ren grabbed the blanket and draped it over his shoulders. Unsure but determined, he lurched from the bed to the wall, stumbled, and clung to the doorframe. His body shook as he moved through the opening and found himself in the hallway through the crew quarters. Taking stock, Ren realized he’d been in Ollie’s room, while his own was farther down the hall. But where was Ollie? Where was Rowan? Or Lucas? Or Penelo
pe?
Stars, he was addled. Splaying his hand against the wall, he entered the ship and swept along the vid screens and the comm system. No one was onboard, not even Lucas who tended to stay with the ship. He scanned the ship’s messages, and the last received was to Rowan, which stated a date and a time and a location. A coordinated exchange—Rowan was still doing business?
Ren flinched at the date. Six weeks had passed since Crei. He’d been asleep for six weeks. Asher had been gone for that whole time. Where was he? Why hadn’t Rowan found him?
He disengaged from the ship and slid to the floor; the wound in his side twinged, reminding him of the reason he’d been asleep for so long. He gauged the small progress he’d made down the hall and sighed. Settling back into his body would be difficult, especially if being corporeal meant being trapped in flesh that didn’t want to obey him and moved slowly. Already he was exhausted, and hunger gnawed his stomach. He touched the tube in his arm, and wondered if that was how Penelope had kept him alive.
Wrapping up in the blanket, Ren sent a blast of heat to his location, enough to warm the air and to stop the shivers that traveled up his body. Content to rest until his friends returned, he let his eyelids droop.
Would they be surprised to see him? Would they be happy that he was finally awake? Would they turn him away once he was stronger?
No. They wouldn’t, and doubting them was an insult to the loyalty and kindness they’d shown him. He banished the thoughts, recognizing them for the poison they were. If only he’d recognized Asher’s devotion when he’d had the chance.
Asher.
Ren’s heart seized. He’d screwed up. He’d pushed Asher away and now he was gone. He could only wonder what he was doing now. Was he being punished for being AWOL? Was he being lauded for killing the star host who had attacked them on Erden? Did he think of Ren at all? Fondly? Indifferently? Ren swallowed around the lump in his throat. His only choice was to make it right. To fix it. And he would. If it cost him his last breath, he’d talk with Asher one more time and do what he could to make everything right between them. Whatever it took, he’d do it, because he needed Asher, because his feelings for Asher were deep and affectionate and like nothing he held for anyone else.
With that decided, Ren drifted, on the edge of sleep, cozy and gradually warmer wrapped in a blanket on the deck plate. He dreamed about an orange sun and a sandy shore and a clear blue lake. He dreamed about splashing in the froth and the green canopy of trees and a breeze that ruffled his hair.
As he slipped deeper into his doze, a disturbance shook him awake. He startled, eyes sliding open. Someone approached the ship from the drift, and their presence bristled over Ren’s skin; his power alerted him to whoever was crossing the barrier he’d unconsciously created around the ship.
Ren merged with the Star Stream. Spying them from the security cameras, his hope that it was Rowan or one of the others fizzled when he saw the pair of youths huddled close to the bay door. Hats pulled low and dark scarfs over their features, they attempted to bypass the lock, inserting a chip and a code. Amused, Ren mustered a smile and blocked their inelegant attempt to open the door. They cursed when their override didn’t work.
“Cogs! I thought you said the universal key would let us in,” one hissed.
The other shrugged. “It does on most ships. Just not on this one.”
“That confirms the theory then.”
“How does that confirm the theory? It just means they have stronger locks than the other fools docked around here.”
“They have stronger locks because they have something they want to hide.”
Interest piqued, Ren focused in on the speaker—a girl with hair as black as his home’s night sky save for streaks of nebula purple that peeked from beneath her cap and with dark eyes that darted between the door and her companion.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
She pulled down her scarf to reveal olive skin and a mouth she pressed into a thin, annoyed line. “It’s my job to know. Okay? Trust me.” She flashed an impish smile.
Her companion shook his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, Darby, we live on the outermost drift in the cluster. Your information could be years old.”
“Don’t doubt me. I told you, there is something on this ship that the Phoenix Corps wants badly enough to chase it planet-side.”
Ren physically recoiled, and pain flared up his torso. He snapped into his body; the back of his head smacked into the bulkhead. The Corps. Anxiety coursed through him, and he scrambled to his feet. He stumbled down the hallway, unsure where he was going, knowing only that he needed to move, escape. Breathing hard, he ducked into the common area, tumbled past the dining table, and fell to the deck in front of the worn couch.
Forehead pressed to the cool deck floor, Ren choked on fear. His breath went reedy and thin. He exhaled in choppy pants, and in his panic, his world narrowed to the thick dread pushing through his veins, and the sweat beading along the back of his neck, and the syrupy consistency of the air. The ship called to him, and he wanted to go to the systems, be embraced by wires and electricity, but he’d done that before and lost six weeks of his life.
He fought for breath and struggled against the impulse to give in to the warmth of his power. He couldn’t run from his problems. And no one was around but him. No one was here to save him or protect the ship and that fact alone was his fault. He pressed his hands flat against the floor and counted in his head. He used the familiar rhythms of the ship to time his breathing and mindfully eased the tightness of each muscle until he relaxed, boneless, against the floor.
Once his body had calmed, he catalogued the facts he knew. The Phoenix Corps thought him to be dead. They’d seen him fall. Ren had watched Rowan report that they couldn’t save them. This girl, Darby, had information, but it might be limited and old. And if they were after him, they wouldn’t send a pair of thieves.
Clearheaded, Ren sat up and draped his body across the front of the couch. He found it funny how surviving didn’t erase the scars of the past and how panic made it difficult to be rational. Not so funny was how, in his panic, he lost his attention on the door and he didn’t block the override.
The sound of the bay door opening on creaky hinges echoed through the ship. Weeds! Ren crawled to the comm in the common room and flicked it on with a thought.
“Third time’s the charm,” Darby said, her voice crackling over the open line.
“Shh, you don’t know if anyone is here.”
“Oh yeah, I do. Crew manifest says four hands and all four of them are on the drift. The captain and her muscle are coordinating a merchant exchange and the medic and pilot were in the marketplace picking up supplies. And I know Rowan Morgan—she doesn’t trust anyone enough to leave them on ship without trusting them enough to be on the list.”
Ren frowned. He eased into the ship and into the monitoring systems and the security cameras. The intruders were already in the cargo bay, wandering around the large open area, inspecting the few boxes. She kicked a crate and muttered junk under her breath. It was the box Ollie had given him, full of broken tech, a way for Ren to channel his energy.
Irritated, Ren crackled in the comms.
“Did you hear that?” her partner asked. “I think someone is here.”
“No one is here, okay! I scoped it out. The ship is empty. I promise.”
“Not quite,” Ren said. “And don’t kick my things.” His voice rang out, its rasp echoing down the corridors and into the empty spaces. He sounded like a ghost, like the specter of a dying ship.
Darby startled, and her companion turned and ran. He jumped through the open bay door and disappeared. Before she could run, Ren sped through the systems and engaged the airlock. It slammed shut just as Darby skidded to a stop in front of it. She grasped the handle, but it wouldn’t turn, and she pounded her fist on the keypad, to no avail.
“How do you know about the Phoenix Corps following this ship?”
Darby pushed away from the airlock and narrowed her eyes. “Let me go, and I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t bargain with thieves.”
She spun around, eyes narrowed, hair falling in her face. “It’s not fair that you can see me, and I can’t see you. Come on out. Let’s talk.” She scowled. Hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched. “Besides, I haven’t stolen anything.”
“Yet,” Ren said, noting how the side of Darby’s mouth tilted up at the addendum. He swallowed, his throat dry, and leaned heavily against the wall. “You’re trespassing.”
“And you sound horrible. Are you sick? Quarantined? Is that why you’re not on the drift with the others?” She tapped her temple. “Ah, that would explain why you’re not on the manifest. Don’t want to alert drift authority to a potential duster contagion. Confined to the ship, but that also means you’re probably confined on the ship as well.” She hopped up a step onto the stairs that led to the interior of the Star Stream. “You wouldn’t be able to stop me, would you?” She skipped up a few more, daring, teasing.
Ren frowned. A drop of sweat rolled down his spine. “Tell me what you know about the Corps and this ship, and I’ll open the door. I won’t tell the captain that you were ever here.”
Darby spun on her heel and jumped down to the bay floor. “She doesn’t scare me.”
“Then you don’t know her. And I’m fine with keeping you here until she returns.”
Paling slightly in the dim light of the cargo bay, Darby held up her hands. Her fingernails sparkled with purple polish. “Fine. What was the question?”
“What do you know about the Phoenix Corps and the captain?”
“It’s true, isn’t it? Morgan has something valuable to them. So valuable they followed the crew planet-side twice. Rumors say it’s a weapon. That they destroyed it and took one of your crew.”