Broken Moon Series Digital Box Set

by F. T. Lukens

  “I should let you rest,” Ren said, standing.

  Millicent blinked and visibly shook off whatever thoughts she had been tangled in. She looked at Ren, her eyes wide. “We’re rare, you know. I’m glad to know you exist.”

  This was probably the weirdest, yet nicest, thing anyone had said to Ren all day, but he understood.

  “I’m glad you exist too.” They didn’t hug or shake hands or touch at all. Millicent stayed on the couch, and Ren didn’t approach her. He didn’t know how their stars would react, and he didn’t want to find out right then. He gave her an awkward wave and walked to the door.

  “I hope to see you later, Ren.”

  “You will,” he said.

  Ren still wasn’t sleepy when he left her room and wandered out of the hotel. The drift was wide awake, despite the hour and the events of the past few days. Maybe it helped the populace gain a sense of normalcy to resume their regular activities as if nothing had happened. Ren envied them.

  He’d love some normal, especially if it meant he didn’t startle at every noise, or dread capture because someone knocked on his door.

  Near the entrance of the hotel was one of the big observation windows tucked into a rounded alcove. He sat on the bench and gazed out.

  Mesmerized by the intricate paths of the ships coming and going and the twinkle of the stars as their backdrop, Ren was amazed by the vast, unending blackness that stretched out before him, not only by the sheer enormity of it, but also by his place in it. His life was forever changed, drastically and dramatically, since he had run after Liam in the woods on Erden.

  He had yearned so fiercely to be among the stars only a few short months ago, but now they offered no warmth, no companionship. They were only stars, distant and cold. Even the powerful one buried within him was nothing like he’d imagined. Space was not his home. Mykonos was not his home.

  He wanted to go home.

  Yet, he didn’t know if he could. He didn’t know where to go from here.

  At least he had friends. He also had a power he could only barely control and didn’t understand most of the time. He had experienced much. He had lost more.

  He had gained Asher.

  Asher.

  “Ren?”

  Ren sucked in a quick breath and looked up, his fear easing when he saw who it was.

  “Ash.” As if summoned, Asher stood behind the bench, decked out in a crisp Phoenix Corps uniform. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

  “Actually, just getting in. I’ve been speaking with Mother and then with Corps higher-ups.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  Asher shrugged. “May I join you?”

  Ren scooted over on the bench and made room. He patted the space next to him, and Asher settled in.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Asher asked. He threaded his fingers and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “I know it sounds silly, but I think the bed was too soft. Not a problem I ever thought I would have.”

  Asher chuckled. “Drifter problems.”

  Smiling, Ren knocked into Asher’s side. “You would know.” Asher rolled his eyes. They lapsed into a companionable silence in which Ren eyed Asher. In the flashing lights of the drift, Asher was as beautiful as ever. Ren’s heart skipped a beat.

  “How were the meetings?” Ren asked.

  Asher tore his gaze from the window and looked at Ren. “Abiathar is on his way to the prison drift on the edge of Perilous Space. They released Millicent into Rowan’s care.”

  Ren’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? She’ll be relieved to hear that.”

  “I’m sure,” Asher said with a nod. “You’ve talked to her?”

  “She couldn’t sleep either. Not that I can blame her. She has a lot to work through.”

  “She does. Pen should be able to assist with that. She always knows the right thing to say, and if not, she’ll cook something.” Asher paused and pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Of course,” he started, sounding reluctant, “her release is with the caveat that you would also be on board to help her learn control and that you would both participate in mandatory Corps check-ins.”

  “What?” Ren said, surprise making his voice high-pitched. He stopped, took a calming breath and started again. “I mean, what?”

  “It was one of the conditions to keep you out of chains. I thought it was a fair compromise to keep you free,” Asher said, obviously annoyed. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

  Ren wilted. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes. Thank you,” he said. “For doing what you could.”

  Asher reached over and touched Ren’s hand, features softening. “There’s more, Ren.”

  Tensing, Ren gripped his knees. “More?”

  “When I enlisted at sixteen, I promised five years. I’ve given four. Granted, one year of that was in a cell, but they’re counting it.”

  “You have a year left,” Ren said slowly. He paused and tracked a merchant ship leaving orbit, the metal gleaming in the beacon lights of the drift. His thoughts were a blur. “So what Nadie said is true. You died in the ashes, rose out of them and you’ve returned to ashes. You’re back in the Corps.”

  “Yeah,” Asher said, looking down. He wrapped his fingers around Ren’s hand.

  Ren’s throat went tight. He stared at their joined hands. “What’s your assignment? Some far-off place, I guess.”

  “No, I’m not that lucky.” Asher shook his head.

  Ren crinkled his brow. “What could possibly be worse?”

  “You.”

  “What?”

  “They’ve assigned me as your handler.”

  “Cog!” Ren laughed. The weight that had settled on his chest lifted. He was suddenly lighter, as if he could float among the stars. “Are you serious?”

  “As a life support malfunction. I’m your handler. I’m part of the deal to keep you and Millicent out of a Corps facility. I’m your protector now.”

  “And you’re okay with it? You’re fine with following me around and making sure I don’t blow stuff up?”

  Asher smiled, wide and bright. “I figured I already had experience with the job. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Laughing, Ren flung himself toward Asher. He wrapped his arms around Asher’s shoulders, accidentally bumped his nose into Asher’s throat, and all but ended up sprawled in Asher’s lap, but it was the best hug. Asher clutched Ren close and chuckled right into Ren’s ear, making him shiver.

  “To be honest, I thought you might be a little annoyed. Glad to see I was wrong.”

  Ren pulled away slightly and, seeing the happiness on Asher’s face and knowing it was mirrored on his own, he took a chance. He kissed Asher on the mouth, fleetingly but joyously. Asher returned the kiss, smiling against Ren’s lips.

  “I’m happy,” Ren said, disengaging from their awkward sprawl. “I’m so happy I think I can handle being your assignment as long as we can still be whatever we are.”

  “Whatever we are? Is that some kind of duster term I’m not aware of?”

  Ren rolled his eyes. “Stars, you’re a cog.”

  “Yes,” Asher said with a serious nod then he broke into a shy grin. “But I’m your cog.”

  “So that’s what we’re calling it?”

  Asher shook his head, laughing softly. “Let’s not assign a label. We’ve enough of those, don’t you think?”

  Duster. Dreamer. Captive. Slave. Fugitive. Technopath. Liability. Star Host.

  Asher was right. Ren was tired of labels. He didn’t need another.

  “Okay,” Ren said, squeezing Asher’s hand. “I agree.”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” Ren echoed. “For the record, I’m still happy you’re not being shipped off to a remote location with bugs, radiation and non-recycled air.”

  “Me too
, because that sounds positively awful.”

  They laughed, and Ren was light-headed with joy or exhaustion. He couldn’t tell the difference, and he didn’t care to.

  Asher patted Ren’s knee with his free hand, and Ren’s star pulsed, shooting off a spark.

  “I’m happy, too,” Asher said, staring at their joined hands. He smirked. “You idiot duster.”

  “Arrogant drifter,” Ren replied.

  Asher laughed, loud and vibrant, head thrown back, eyes scrunched shut.

  Ren knew there were things he still had to face. He had to find his mother and stepfather and Liam. He would have to return to Erden. He needed to see what was left of his village. He needed to find out what had happened to Sorcha. He needed to learn how to control his star and ensure he wouldn’t succumb to the machines like his predecessors. He needed to talk further with Millicent about her own substantial power. “Need to” hung over him like a sword, but in this moment, Asher’s arms around him, his laugh ringing in Ren’s ears, Ren wouldn’t trade any of it.

  “Hey,” Ren said. “I’m glad I was thrown into the cell next to yours. It’s been enlightening.”

  “You bet your sweet star it has. When I met you, you were nothing but an ignorant duster, but now you have all the qualities of a drifter. Well, your condescension could use a little work. And you haven’t quite mastered the air of superiority you’ll need.”

  Ren groaned. “Oh my stars, is this what I’m going to be stuck with?”

  “Always,” Asher said with a nod. “You’re stuck with me. I promise.”

  “I know how you keep your promises. And I guess it’ll be okay. I need someone to be a bad influence in my life.”

  “It’s settled then,” Asher said, with a swat to Ren’s arm and a glint in his eye. “For my first act as your official bad influence, I’m taking you to a restaurant we must try. The word “fried” is actually in the name.”

  Ren laughed, and the weight of the unknown lifted from his shoulders. “Really? I’m in.”

  “Great, because Rowan turned up her nose and Penelope went faintly green.”

  Chuckling, they both stood, and Ren fell in step next to Asher, listening intently to how the rest of the crew had reacted to Asher’s proposal.

  Ren bumped Asher’s shoulder, and Asher retaliated by grabbing Ren’s hand and lacing their fingers. In the warmth of Asher’s friendship and affection, Ren’s star hummed, complacent, tucked away in his chest. And for the moment, he was carefree and happy amid the stars.

  Book Two: Ghosts & Ashes

  To the heroes of sci-fi—past, present, and future

  When your bow is broken and your last arrow spent, then shoot, shoot with your whole heart.

  —Zen saying

  1

  In all the days Ren spent dreaming about leaving his home planet and venturing to the stars, his imagination had never conjured a scenario like this.

  “What do you think?” Penelope asked, holding up two shirts. “The blue or the black?” Her fingers curled over the stiff collars, and the fabric wrinkled under her grip. Her lips pulling tight over her teeth, she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “The black,” Jakob said, from his position on Ren’s bunk. He lounged on his elbows with his booted feet dangling over the edge. “It’s subdued.”

  “But the blue matches Ren’s eyes,” Penelope said. Then she bit her lip, realizing her misstep. “Or… well… the black then.”

  Ren’s small room on the Star Stream was crowded with the three of them in there, but he couldn’t begrudge the company of his friends. They thought they were helping.

  Ren leaned against the wall, dressed in his sleep clothes with his dark hair hanging in his face. He was half-awake; his senses were fogged, and he was processing slower than usual. The rumble of the ship vibrated through the soles of his bare feet and settled in his middle, where it soothed the pinpricks of panic that were starting to well within him.

  He took the shirt Penelope handed him. “Thank you.”

  “Now, how about trousers?” She opened the small chest of drawers in Ren’s room and rooted about.

  Jakob yawned. “Weeds, Pen, I think Ren can dress himself.”

  “Yes,” she said. She pulled out a tan pair and shook them. “But we want to make sure he is at his best for this meeting.”

  Ren raised an eyebrow. “General VanMeerten isn’t going to care about my clothes.”

  “No,” Jakob agreed. “She’s going to be more interested in the circles under your eyes and that you’re awfully pale for a duster.”

  “We’ve been in space for months. Of course I’m pale.” Ren didn’t mention the nightmares, the anxiety attacks, or the call of the ship—all of which contributed to his appearance and his mental state.

  Jakob sat up and crossed his arms. “I know. Speaking of, are you going to ask today?”

  The shirt fluttered from Ren’s slack fingers. His mouth went dry. His pulse ticked up.

  “Tact, Jakob,” Penelope said, picking up the shirt and smoothing it. She folded it and placed it on Ren’s pillow, next to the trousers and a pair of socks.

  Ren licked his lips and focused his gaze on the floor. “I don’t know. I don’t think… It was hard enough to…” Ren trailed off.

  Frowning, Jakob nodded. “Right.” He took a breath. “Sorry,” he added, his tone softer.

  Ren lifted his head and managed to give Jakob a conciliatory half-smile.

  “I think we should leave Ren to getting dressed. Asher will be here soon, I’m sure.”

  Ren’s heart clenched; the smile dropped from his face.

  Jakob stood and stretched his hands over his head. He yawned again, acting as tired as Ren felt. “Sounds good to me. I need a nap.”

  Penelope rolled her eyes. “Come on then. See you later, Ren.”

  “Good luck, buddy,” Jakob said, clapping his hand hard on Ren’s shoulder. “Try to keep the power under wraps.”

  “Tact,” Penelope said again, as they left the room. She closed the door softly behind them.

  Ren took a few calming breaths before crossing the small space and fingering the fabric of the shirt. It slid through his fingers, slick and cool, and finer than anything Ren had ever owned before. His new clothes were gifts—thank-yous from Asher’s mother for bringing him home from the prison cell.

  Ren shook his head and squinched his eyes shut to banish the memories before they could interlace and overwhelm him.

  He padded to his connected bathroom and washed as fine tremors snaked up his body and into his hands. He dressed, sat on the edge of his bed, and tapped his foot against the deck plate. He stood again; his potential energy demanding to be kinetic.

  Ren paced. He stalked the length of his cell—no, his room—it was his room on the Star Stream. He had to remember that. He couldn’t become mired in memories, not now, not this time.

  He shook his head and pressed his palms against his ears to try to silence his swirling thoughts, but they mounted, escalating into a cacophony. Panic choked him, and his inhale sounded reedy. His body was a live wire, a string pulled taut. His muscles were tense, and he shook out his hands to release the excess energy.

  He hated these meetings. He hated waiting for these meetings.

  Standing in front of General VanMeerten, the senior Phoenix Corps member who decided his fate, was nerve wracking, even when Ren was well. But now that he wasn’t well, the daily meetings were worse—so much worse.

  He grabbed his brown hair, tugged on the long strands, and focused on the pain to drown out the fear. He needed to be grounded in his body, not tangled in the ship. He needed an anchor. He needed Asher, but….

  Ren pressed his fingers against his eyelids while visions and memories flashed through the black. He took another breath, shorter, gasping. Dread was a crushing weight on his chest.
Bile crawled up his throat. Terror twisted his insides. His breathing was too rapid; he was on the edge of hyperventilating. The scope of his vision darkened on its edges. His heart pounded.

  Ren’s legs gave out, and he fell heavily to the deck plate; his knees banged on the metal. He hunched, wheezing, feeling as if he was drowning on land. He pressed his sweaty hands to the floor, took comfort in the thrum of the ship, and allowed his senses to fuzz out.

  * * *

  The blaring of alarms wrenched Ren out of the panic attack. It was quickly followed by the sound of someone pounding at his door and calling his name. The voice was frantic, hoarse, and painfully familiar.

  Cheek pressed to the floor, heart beating hard in his ears, Ren came back to himself. Drenched in sweat, he panted as he rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. He took a moment to remember where he was; the fog of panic was thick in his head. In the glow of emergency lights and the red flash of claxons, he saw taped above him the stupid picture of a spaceship Jakob had drawn. The reminder jolted Ren to the present.

  He was on the Star Stream. He was safe. He was safe. Well, relatively so, if the alarms were any indication.

  Ren’s chest was tight and his throat was raw, as if he’d been screaming. Maybe he had been. His grasp of reality was tenuous recently. Taking stock, Ren noted the air was cold in his lungs and on his skin—it tasted stale. That wasn’t right.

  Oh, yes, the alarms. Something was wrong with the ship. He could fix it. Untangling his consciousness, Ren pulled his attention to the situation at hand.

  Damp shirt twisted around his body, he sat up and pressed his palm to the metal of the hull by the comm. He entered the systems and found the problem instinctively. Life support was failing, the air recyclers had stopped, oxygen levels were falling rapidly, and the temperature had dropped to freezing.

  Ren fixed the glitch and restored power to the systems that had been blocked. The high-pitched whine of the ship’s warning system was replaced by the rapid cadence of a fist striking the door.