“How can this be happening?” Crayton asks.
We shoot past the fleet; by some luck our course sent us through a hole in their formation. And then we’re jetting into the blackness of space. Despite the ship’s primitive nature, I have to admit it’s fast. At least on takeoff.
And just like that—in the course of a few minutes—we’ve made it. We’ve left Lorien behind.
I tap on the radar screens, trying to make sure no one’s following us, but I don’t see anything. Once I figure out how to set the artificial gravity and autopilot, I finally allow myself to breathe. Clayton bounces the baby in his arms and whispers shaky reassurances to her, but his eyes are wide and watery.
“By the Elders . . . ,” Zophie mutters. She leans forward in her seat, staring out into space. “Where’s the other ship? Can you find it?”
It takes a little while to navigate the controls, but eventually I figure out how to expand the radar’s search.
“I’m getting a Loric signature from a ship that appears to have stopped some distance from the planet,” I say. “But it’s a weak signal. We’re so far away from it already.”
“Turn back.” She starts to nod. “Head towards it. We’ll travel to Earth together.”
After swiping through a few galaxy maps, I find Earth. Various figures start to populate the cockpit screens.
“I don’t think we can.” I stare at the instrument panels in front of me, doing calculations in my head. “It’s too far away from us right now, and we barely have enough fuel to get to Earth as it is. We’re going to have to rely on momentum more than I would want to already. Unless you know of a fueling station somewhere between here and there. Besides, we were lucky to escape unharmed. Turning back around and getting close to those enemy ships again could be suicide.”
“Then contact the other ship,” Zophie says, an edge to her voice. “They’ll be operating on an emergency channel. Or maybe the official Council channel. I’m not—”
“We can’t,” I say.
“What are you talking about?”
“Those alien ships might intercept the transmission,” Crayton says. “What if they use it to follow us?”
“We’re in a giant white rocket that just shot into the sky,” Zophie shouts. “We didn’t exactly make a subtle exit.”
“We can’t,” I say louder. The baby in Crayton’s arms wakes up. “We can’t contact them because this ship was refurbished to be an exact replica of the older models, meaning its communications systems were never upgraded. Their ship runs on a completely different comm system.”
Zophie starts to say something but instead lets out a whimper. The baby begins to shriek. Crayton looks back and forth between us, confused.
“So what does that mean?” he asks.
I turn to one of the port windows. In the distance, Lorien burns. Our world is weeping fire and smoke and death, and for a moment memories flash through my head. Happier times long since passed—chasing my brother through lush green fields, laughing over home-cooked meals, the faces of people I haven’t thought of in years. It’s so overwhelming that I have to swallow down the urge to cry, or be sick, or scream.
In all my years of hating Lorien and the way it was run, I never expected to see it like this. I wanted to change the planet, not watch it be destroyed.
“It means we’re alone,” I say.
Crayton stares at the floor.
“We left them,” he says quietly. “We left everyone to die.”
He starts to mutter names and then apologies. Tears stream down his cheeks. Zophie isn’t crying, though. Her eyes look out into space, searching for something but finding only stars and planets and other celestial bodies light-years away, and a cold, black expanse of emptiness.
I tap on the instruments again, confirming our course—breathing out a sigh of relief to find that the navigational system I helped to reinstall is actually working.
But that’s the last of the good news.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
“What is it?” Zophie asks.
“We made a fast start, but it cost us a lot of fuel.”
“Right . . . ,” Zophie says, bracing for bad news.
“Which means it’s going to be a long flight,” I say.
“How long?” Crayton asks.
I turn back to the control panel, staring at the number on the screen in front of me.
“About one and a half years,” I say.
CHAPTER FIVE
CRAYTON FINDS SOME PILLOWS AND PUTS ELLA down for a nap in a pulled-out drawer in one of the private rooms. Afterwards, we sit on benches in the little common area beside the galley and go over the events of the last hour so many times that they begin to feel unreal, like an old myth told to scare children into doing their chores. I have to keep reminding myself that every word spoken is true. I think we’re all in shock.
I know I am.
“All those ships,” Crayton says. “Those bastards.”
“Who were they,” I ask. “What were they? When they were wounded, they just disintegrated.”
Zophie narrows her eyes, staring at the ground. I recognize this look from the days at the museum when she would work out complicated problems in her head or try to figure out how we were going to get vintage wiring and fixtures for the refurbishment. Back when the rocket was just a project I was working on for some money and not the only thing keeping me alive.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Well . . .” Her nose crinkles a little. “There were always rumors at the museum of an old conflict between us and another planet. Tales archivists and historians told when too many ampules had been passed around at parties. There was no hard evidence to substantiate these stories, but there were hints that there was some truth in the claims—telling gaps in our historical record and allusions to terrible casualties and vicious otherworldly beings found in diaries and letters. We couldn’t help but speculate.”
“You’re talking about the Mogadorians,” Crayton says.
She seems a little surprised that he knows the word. It means nothing to me—and yet I feel as though I’ve heard it or seen it before. In encrypted messages I didn’t think were important, or whispered in the halls of the LDA when I was there so long ago.
“Raylan talked about them often,” Crayton says. “He had all these theories about secret wars just like you described. He was sure that his father had been not only a key figure in the conflict between us and the Mogadorians, but an Elder, and that there was some sort of conspiracy that led to the number of Elders being reduced to nine.” Crayton shakes his head. “Raylan’s claims changed all the time, but he was obsessed with trying to prove them. I always thought he was a little crazy, but . . . this is crazy.”
Zophie keeps nodding.
“There were . . . whispers that Raylan’s father had been a traitor to the Loric,” she says. “Again, there’s no hard evidence there even was a ‘secret war,’ but Raylan had probably heard these rumors at some point or another. I think it’s one of the reasons he was so keen on donating money to the museum and getting this ship rebuilt. He wanted to show that his family was doing something positive for the people of Lorien.”
“That’s all well and good,” I say. “But what else do we know about these . . . Mogadorians?”
Zophie lays it out for us—everything she’s heard during her time at the museum. According to rumors and legends, generations ago the Loric reached out to the planet Mogadore, trying to form diplomatic bonds with the planet. But their civilizations were barbaric and not ready for contact with more advanced beings. Something happened there—the details vague and sometimes contradictory, depending on who was telling the story—but from what Zophie could gather, many Loric lost their lives during the expedition, and subsequently all contact with the planet and its people was forbidden.
We try to digest this. Eventually we sit in silence, none of us knowing what to say. None of us sure how to react to the fact that
our planet might be completely obliterated by these monsters.
My thoughts race as I try to make sense of all this, piecing together a bigger picture of what happened. I think back to the message I’d intercepted earlier. About the airstrip. The prophecy.
“The evacuation,” I say. “Do you know who is on the other ship?”
“Janus wasn’t supposed to say anything,” Zophie says. “It was highly confidential. He was breaking his highest oaths by telling me.”
“I understand,” I say. “But it’s not like the information is going to go past this rocket.”
Her shoulders sag. She relents.
“I don’t know much. Something about nine chosen Garde. The Elders assembled them. Or Loridas alone, I’m not sure. They—along with their Cêpans—are the ones in the other ship. They’re the last hope.”
“For what?” Crayton asks.
“For the survival of our people.” Zophie smiles a sad little smile. “Well, other than us, I guess. I don’t know why they were chosen, but that’s what Janus said. They’re going to be . . . blessed with something. Maybe they already have been. Some charm to protect them. It sounds crazy, I know. Why would the Elders try to save a handful of us while the rest of the planet is sacrificed?”
I clench my jaw. Of course this is how they faced the planet’s destruction. By using us. By treating us as pawns as they always have.
“That can’t be right,” Crayton says.
“It is,” I say. “Right before the first wave of attacks, I intercepted a message sent out to nine Mentor Cêpans telling them something about meeting at an airstrip—that the prophecy was coming true. The Elders abandoned the rest of us.”
“That’s insane,” Crayton says. “What are these nine supposed to do on Earth? Everything I know about that planet sounds like it’s far inferior to Lorien.”
“It could be worse,” Zophie says. “We could be headed to Mogadore.”
Crayton opens his mouth to say something else, but the baby starts to cry again. He excuses himself and heads down the hall to tend to her.
“I guess we have to get used to that sound,” Zophie says. She stands. “I’m going to start taking stock of our supplies. We’ll need to ration. And I need to do something with my hands right now. Anything.”
A question has been circulating through my mind.
“Why did you ask me to come with you?” I’m still trying to fit everything together. “Surely there was someone else. Someone in the department who’s studied this damned relic. Why me?”
“You got us up here, didn’t you?”
“It’s going to be a long flight if we’re keeping secrets the whole time, Zophie.”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t want to stay and fight,” she says finally. “There was no time to argue with anyone about what our duty was. I don’t know exactly what you’ve been doing for the last few years, but I knew, even when you were working at the museum, how unhappy you were with Lorien and its leaders. Not that I blame you after what’s happened.”
I stare up at her, not saying anything for a little while. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about any of this.
“And you?” I ask. “Why didn’t you stay and fight?”
She turns away from me, staring out one of the portholes.
“My parents died last year. Janus is the only family I have. I thought we’d be able to talk to the other ship. I thought . . .” She wipes a tear from one of her eyes. “I was stupid. Everything happened so fast. As soon as I disconnected from Raylan, I called Janus and told him to meet me at the museum, but he was already being taken to the airstrip. He told me to find shelter. He was going to Earth. I didn’t understand. That’s when he told me about Loridas and the Garde. And then everything was on fire, and I couldn’t reach him. I didn’t even know where his ship was. At first I thought he was breaking all his sworn oaths as a member of the LDC by telling me this classified intel, but now I realize he only told me because he assumed I wouldn’t survive. He was saying good-bye.”
“Why didn’t he bring you with him?” I ask.
Zophie shakes her head. “Loridas was there. The LDC was involved. You know how strict they would be about who could be on that ship. Besides, if they made allowances for one person, they’d have to start letting everyone on.”
“Heaven forbid they protect their people,” I mutter.
“I had to come,” she says. “I had to go. I had to follow Janus.”
“And you needed a pilot who was a shitty citizen and wouldn’t have anything to leave behind.”
“He’s my family, Lex,” she says, not looking at me. “He’s all I have. You of all people know how important that makes him to me.”
And with one sentence the already-tiny common room seems to shrink around me as I think of my own brother. My chest buzzes and my throat tightens—after all these years, he can still take me by surprise, causing my heart to clench and dragging me down into a deep, palpable hurt.
Zophie smiles weakly. Unconvincingly.
“Earth is ten times bigger than Lorien, Lex. And it’s so different. How am I supposed to find him there?”
I stare at the metal floor of the ship, trying to think of something to say. Some kind of reassurance.
“You don’t give up faith,” I say. “Even when common sense tells you that you should.”
She must know I don’t believe this, but she does me the favor of not pointing that out.
CHAPTER SIX
I EXPLORE EVERY INCH OF THE SHIP, REMINDING myself of its layout. It doesn’t take long, since the rocket is basically just one long hallway. There are four small personal rooms. The Chimærae stay at the back of the ship, nesting around the boxes and supplies we brought on board. We’re lucky in that, as part of the refurbishment and exhibition, the closets are stocked with clothes, and the galley has some useful tools and appliances. For the next year and a half, we’ll be living in a model home, surviving off of Raylan’s supplies.
I find an old data pad in the cockpit outlining the functions and capabilities of the ship and show it to Zophie and Crayton. I tell them it’s my duty as their pilot to know this ship as well as possible and excuse myself for a few hours, choosing one of the tiny private quarters to call my own. It’s cramped and sparsely furnished with a dresser, a chair and a bed that is six inches too short for me. I toss the data pad onto the bed without turning it on and sit in the chair, staring out the dense glass of the porthole window. And I think of him. It’s not what I want to do, but it’s impossible not to, being out here, flying through space.
Zane. My younger brother.
There was a time when Zane was a constant, sunny figure in my life. He was a Garde who was going to make my grandfather the proudest Loric on the planet. At least that’s what he always said. I remember one morning when he was eight or nine¸ sitting around the breakfast table. He suddenly stopped eating, put down his fork and turned to our grandfather.
“Papa,” he said, his voice as serious as I’d ever heard it. “When I grow up, I’m going to be an Elder. And if there are already nine Elders, they’ll look at me and make me the tenth. I’m going to make our family proud.”
I’d stifled a laugh, but my grandfather just nodded and smiled.
“I believe you, Z,” he said. “But if you’re going to do that, you’ll need to start by eating the rest of your breakfast.”
When I think back on my life, the shining bright spot is when the two of us were both at the Lorien Defense Academy. He was just a kid—thirteen years old—but I was already in my second year as a technology specialist for the LDA. Much younger than my classmates. I’d had a knack for electronics that sent me rising through the ranks, allowing me to work on projects other people my age wouldn’t have dreamed of being a part of. Stuff like programming simulations and satellite navigations. I even helped tweak a few of our Loric technologies to be taken to Earth. I thought I’d found my calling. I had no desire to be a Mentor Cêpan. Aside from Zane, I’d nev
er felt the urge to train or supervise a kid with Legacies. But numbers and computer programs made sense to me. I felt at home there, at the LDA, working more hours a day than was probably healthy.
I saw Zane often. Mostly during meals or when he’d show up in the tech labs wanting to brag about how well he’d done in training. He’d study in the corner while I worked. Sometimes I’d have to wake him up and drag him back to his room when he’d fallen asleep over a book. We seemed like the perfect siblings. Both excelling. Both with promising futures ahead of us.
Zane was partnered with a Cêpan named Dalus, whose qualifications I had questioned from the very beginning. He was too new, too green to be training someone like Zane, who was headstrong and eager to show what he was made of. I didn’t think Dalus could handle him. The man was meek, with a quiet voice you had to lean in to hear. I’d spent enough time chasing Zane around our grandfather’s house to know that he needed an authoritarian figure keeping him on track.
I even complained to the higher-ups at the academy. All they said was that the bond between Garde and Cêpan had already been established and that it would be damaging to both of them if they were separated. So were the ways of Lorien. The LDA spoke on behalf of the Elders, and whatever the Elders said went. There was no room for complaint. And so I tried to accept that the system knew what was best for Zane. That as his older sister, I was maybe overreacting. Being too overprotective. Caring too much.
After Zane developed the Legacy of flight during his second year at the academy, I hardly ever saw him with his feet on the ground. Several of the Garde could fly, but Zane flew with such grace and speed. It was as if he was teleporting, darting from one end of the campus to the other in the blink of an eye.
He was living up to the promises he’d made our family. He was becoming something undeniably special.
Dalus saw promise in him too. Not just as a pupil, but as something he could exploit. If Zane ended up being the fastest flier on the entire planet, there was a certain level of respect that would be given to his Cêpan, whether Dalus deserved it or not. People would look at Dalus and say, “Ah, look at how well he trained this magnificent Garde.” And there were other perks as well. Even in my station in the engineering branch, I’d heard stories of older, wealthy members of the LDC betting on Garde races and other trials. If he played his cards right, Dalus could make a hefty profit off of my brother. So he pushed Zane to the brink, always insisting that he could fly faster, farther, for longer periods of time.