Author Archives: Kyler Barton

Leonick spent the next two days in Mastranda’s engine room, making small adjustments and repairs. Everyone else chose new quarters in Valiant Conductor II. Despite Leonick’s best efforts, there were some things he alone could not improve. Although she would fly true, the water supply tanks on Mastranada were nearly empty after everyone went through the shower. They would likely run dry before they could be refilled.

On Valiant Conductor II, Jyra unpacked her duffel bag in a spacious room located across the hall from Derek and Neeka’s quarters. All of her clothes fit into one dresser drawer out of the five built into the wall. As she laid her final shirt in place, she thought of her dresser in her room on Tyrorken, its contents turned to ash along with the rest of the house. She glanced up at the mirror mounted in front of her.

TF has taken everything from me, she thought, tucking her hair behind her ears. But I’m still here.

Even the rare glimpse of satisfaction couldn’t distract Jyra from her surroundings. Her new quarters were more accommodating and comfortable than they had been on Mastranada, but the sterile, angular aesthetics reminded her of the TF complex. She remembered the sound of the rifle shots that killed her parents and she tore her gaze from the mirror.

“This is where I belong,” she told herself firmly. “Vengeance is only made better by destroying the enemy with their own machine.” Not even her own voice could silence the doubts that festered in her head. The plan to attack TF ships was by no means a surprise; Macnelia had made that a clear objective and the onboard laser cannons were ready. Jyra became more and more preoccupied with the idea that the resistance would imminently face enemy ships in battle.

She found memories of her family leading to thoughts of the coming assault on the enemy fleet, which were followed by a slew of worries. Valiant Conductor II disguised the resistance as a TF associate, but it would only last until they attacked the first ship. How well were the TF ships fortified for battle? What had happened to the Nilcyn fleet that attacked TF at the same time the resistance broke into the complex to save Derek?

The Nilcyns were perhaps Jyra’s greatest concern because no one in the resistance seemed to know why they had targeted TF. Did their offensive overlap with the resistance assault simply by coincidence? Neeka had discovered a common code between TF and the Nilcyns, but no one had been able to draw any conclusions from the mysterious connection.

It didn’t help that thinking of the Nilcyns reminded Jyra of the man she and Craig encountered in the stock room back on Drometica. When she asked him what the Nilcyns were, he’d told her they were trouble.

“You’ll want to watch out for the Nilcyns,” he’d said.

Tired of having only her thoughts and memories for company, Jyra left her room and knocked on the door across the hall, self-conscious about disturbing a couple in their own room.

“Come in,” Derek called after a moment. Jyra entered and discovered that Neeka wasn’t there.

Derek was propped against the wall in his bunk staring at a screen mounted on a swiveling arm on one of the footboard bedposts. The wounds on his face were finally healing up, but he still looked as gaunt as ever since the rescue. He smiled when he saw Jyra and motioned for her to take a seat on the other bunk, which was still made.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Plenty,” Jyra said. “You look terrible,” she added with a smile, keen to keep the conversation away from her worries.

“At least you’re honest,” he said. He shifted his wounded leg and wiped his brow. “The last thing I need is false hope and empty encouragement.”

“Is something wrong?” Jyra said.

“Not according to Leonick,” Derek said. “It’s just a matter of time until I heal, but it could take a while. I know everyone’s worried about me and I don’t like it. The worries of others won’t help me get better.”

“I’m certain your leg’s going to recover,” Jyra said. “I don’t want your attitude to suffer, too.”

“Neeka’s helped me stay occupied,” Derek said, nodding toward the screen. “She hacked into a newsfeed from Tyrorken. TF claims the Nilcyns attacked them.”

“If the Nilcyns haven’t been able to disrupt the feed, maybe that means TF defeated them,” Jyra said.

“Neeka’s up the bridge right now, trying to figure out what happened to them,” Derek said.

“That’s a relief,” Jyra said.

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t avoid her own thoughts now.

“It’s just strange, isn’t it?” Jyra said. “The Nilcyns attacked TF the same time we did. And there’s that code Neeka found linking the two. It seems like there’s more going on that we know about, but that we should know. We’re about to engage in ship-to-ship combat with the TF fleet. What if the remaining Nilcyn ships fight for them? We’re already outnumbered and if we have to face a second fleet as well…”

“As I understand it, we’re going to hit as many TF ships as we can and then run,” Derek said. “A blitz.”

“Macnelia said we were going hunt down every TF ship,” Jyra said.

“I think that was something of an exaggeration on her part,” Derek said gently. “I’m sure it could be done, but it’s far too risky. This resistance has worked by executing campaigns that hit hard and fast. Lingering to wipe out a fleet with two ships, only one of which is armed, isn’t practical.”

Jyra found the question on her tongue again. Leonick didn’t have an answer, but maybe Derek would.

“Has something happened to Macnelia recently?” she asked.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Well, she just seems a little more distracted than usual.” She didn’t want to reveal she’d eavesdropped on Berk and Macnelia so she named another example.

“You heard about when we left Drometica and destroyed the base there?”

“Yes,” Derek nodded. “If the detonation came a couple minutes sooner, that would have ended it all.”

“She didn’t seem like herself that day either,” Jyra said.

“I see what you mean,” Derek said. “All I can do is guess. She’s under a lot of pressure and she harbors much hate toward TF.”

“Don’t we all?” Jyra said.

“Yes, but we’re not all leading this resistance,” Derek said. “If I were you, I’d ask Macnelia yourself.”

“I’ll need to come up with a better opening question first,” Jyra said.

“Yes, that wouldn’t hurt,” Derek said. He glanced at the screen.

“Anything new?” Jyra asked.

“Just more footage of what’s left of the complex.” Derek turned the screen with the foot on his uninjured leg so Jyra could see more clearly. It was nearly impossible to tell how enormous the building had once been. The footage had been captured from the air and clouds of smoke occasionally obscured the view.

“Not much left,” Jyra said.

“That’s as it should be,” Derek said.

The footage cut to a wrecked Nilcyn ship on the ground, covered in flames. Through the fire, Jyra could see the insignia on the side. She remembered seeing it for the first time on Drometica.

“Why do they mark their ships?” she said.

“Solidarity,” Derek said. “And for intimidation. Organized fleets like them are taboo in the galaxy. Even so, the insignia bears a certain degree of cowardice.”

“What? Should the “N” not be capitalized?” Jyra said with a smile. Derek shook his head.

“They’re applied with a paint that fades in a few days,” he said. “They mark their ships right before an attack. Soon after they depart, they split up and the insignias become as clear as glass on their hulls. It’s one of the main reasons they’ve managed to exist for so long.”

“If Neeka has their code or a code they use, couldn’t she disrupt it?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” Derek said. “She went up to the bridge about an hour ago to look into that code more. I think she’s acting on Macnelia’s orders. And I know Macnelia wants to know what the Nilcyns are up to as well. She may be angry and under pressure, but I think she’s still got us on the right path.”

“Thanks for the talk,” Jyra said, standing to leave.

“Time and talk is all I’ve got,” Derek said. He smiled, but he looked as though he didn’t want Jyra to go.

*

Valiant Conductor II had come about so Tyrorken was visible from the bridge. The ship was locked at its coordinates to maximize the accuracy of the radar readings. Most of the lights were still off, although there wasn’t any ship close enough that could tell the difference. Jyra glanced at her home world and then, through the gloom, spotted Neeka staring at a monitor. She approached and took the empty chair next to her.

“How’s it going?” Jyra asked.

“Slowly,” Neeka said, heaving a sigh. The code paraded across the screen. Every few seconds, a vertical line of characters cut through those that marched horizontally.

“That’s one of the things that’s making this harder,” Neeka said, tapping one of the scrolling vertical lines. “As it intersects the standard lines, each character completes a phrase or word or who knows what. I can’t believe I didn’t remember where I’d seen this sooner. I never figured out what it meant, but it’s so distinctive.”

“The one that got away can still play tricks years later,” Jyra said.

“Plus it’s easy to lose focus when an obsession’s involved,” Neeka said.

“Can you tell who’s sending this?” Jyra asked.

“It’s still between TF and the Nilcyns,” Neeka said, leaning closer to the monitor. “I think it’s mostly transmissions from the Nilcyns. Whatever it is, they’re posting it quickly.”

“Are they trying to negotiate?” Jyra wondered aloud.

“Could be” Neeka said. The code was moving faster on the screen. “If they keep this up, the encryptor won’t sustain the pace much longer.”

“Will it slow the entire message transfer or will it just pass the raw data through?”

“I don’t know,” Neeka said. “They’ve been careful enough up to this point.”

“Can’t the computers aboard this ship decode this for us?” Jyra asked.

“This is as much as the computers can decode,” Neeka said, nodding at the monitor. “It’d be twice as hard to do on Mastranada’s computer.”

“How’s it going?” Macnelia said, appearing from behind and putting a hand on Neeka’s shoulder.

“About the same,” Neeka said. “I think the Nilcyns are getting frenetic with their transmissions, though. If we’re lucky, they’ll overrun the encryptor soon.”

“Let’s hope they do,” Macnelia said.

She turned to leave and Jyra stood up faster than she meant to, which led her to speaking quicker than she intended.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure,” Macnelia said. “Follow me. I have to go check on the plans for the attack.”

“Who’s working on them?”

“Berk, Craig, and Shandra started right after they got situated in their new quarters. They’re not too far along I’m sure, but hopefully they have some ideas. But I don’t think that’s what you meant to ask about.”

“No,” Jyra said. “But actually it’s related.”

They climbed down the ladder from the bridge into the lower passage and headed aft.

“Something you said made me think we were going to destroy all the remaining TF ships,” Jyra said.

“Well yes,” Macnelia said breezily. “That’s the plan, but it may not be realistic to achieve in one attack. If we get into this fight and the battle turns against us, we’ll retreat. You can’t fight another day once you’re dead. So we’ll fall back and strike again.”

“What if they chase us?”

“We’ll isolate them and pick them off,” Macnelia said.

“How many ships are out there?” Jyra said. Macnelia finally stopped walking and turned around in the corridor.

“You’re trying to make some kind point,” she said sharply. “Just say it.”

“I’m worried that we can’t pull it off,” Jyra said. Somewhere in the back of her mind she felt the beginnings of relief, having finally spoken some of her thoughts.

“I don’t think we know enough about what we’re up against to organize such a thorough assault,” she added.

“Neeka will crack the code and we’ll be able to contact TF command,” Macnelia said. “We’ll pose as one of their ships returning from a mission and ask for an update on the crisis. Then we’ll know everything we need: ship counts, positions, and anticipated trajectories. And we’ll hit them.”

Jyra’s first thought was how soon Neeka would actually solve the code. At the moment, she seemed completely lost. Macnelia’s lips tightened.

“That sounds better,” Jyra lied. Macnelia didn’t seem to be in much of a mood to talk and Jyra didn’t want her to get upset.

“Excellent,” Macnelia said. The word snapped like belt and Jyra took a deep breath, relieved that she had the sense to end the conversation.

It was a fleeting feeling. It occurred to Jyra that Macnelia had been the one dodging specifics. She spoke as if she had already decided how they were going to attack, yet she was on her way to discuss those very plans. What needed to be deliberated if Macnelia had the final word anyway?

She’s decided, Jyra realized, struggling to keep a level head as the consequences of this fact fought for her attention.

But there was doubt, she thought, recalling Macnelia’s words. “If the battle turns against us…” What did that mean? If she had been quicker, Jyra would have clarified what circumstances would cause the resistance to retreat from the attack. She didn’t want to discuss the assault with Macnelia anytime soon, but maybe she could uncover the details another way.

*

The planners weren’t hard to find; they were gathered under the laser cannons, staring at a projection on the floor. The image showed a real-time rendering of Tyrorken in space that even included some of the larger ships positioned around it. The tiny projector had been clipped onto one of the laser cannons, the lens glowed brightly as it cast its bright light.

“I think we fly to the far side of the planet and orbit around to meet these ships locked in position,” Craig said, as Jyra approached. She saw Macnelia glance at her but didn’t meet her eyes.

“These ideas aren’t bad,” Macnelia said. “But none of them take into account what might be on the other side of the planet or what might come up from the surface.”

“We can’t know that,” Shandra said. “Leonick was right when we did the bomb run. The pollution disrupts the radar.”

“Now that you mention Leonick,” Berk said, “he’s been working on restoring Mastranada to full functionality.” Jyra chanced a look at Macnelia. She was frowning slightly and fortunately her attention was on Berk. Jyra knew she didn’t think fixing Mastranada was a priority.

“Some of us could scout with the smaller ship and maybe assess on what’s going on. I know Neeka’s working on the code and she also got that TF newsfeed broadcasting onboard. But the most accurate way to know what’s really going on down there is to use our own eyes,” Berk said.

No one spoke following this suggestion, but Jyra could tell everyone was considering it. Macnelia broke the silence.

“It sounds too risky at this point,” she said. “Once Neeka cracks the code maybe we can get enough of a preliminary reading to make a couple passes with Mastranada as Craig said. This is a good first step, but we need to do more. The longer we wait, the more time the enemy has to regroup.”

She stood and left the hangar for the bridge without another word. Everyone exchanged curious glances. Craig finally cleared his throat and addressed what everyone was thinking.

“So,” he said looking sideways at Berk. “I didn’t realize we looked so alike.”

The tip of Berk’s flask disappeared into his whiskers as he emptied the contents into his mouth.

“We need to get this done before the stress wrecks her,” Berk said.

“Scouting definitely can’t hurt,” Shandra said, turning to gaze at Mastranada. “Maybe I should check with Leonick and get his opinion on the condition of the hull plates that might have been damaged.”

“You can do that once we get a decent plan formed,” Berk said, setting his flask on the floor. “We volunteered to construct this attack so we need to make a little more progress before we start any side projects.”

“It sounds to me like we were just put on hold,” Craig said, nodding toward Macnelia’s wake. “Neeka needs to find something in the code before we can even scout.” Berk fidgeted with his empty flask. “I want to figure out how we’re going to take on the enemy, but I don’t want to do it blindly,” Craig added.

“Fine,” Berk grunted reluctantly. “I’m going to speak with Neeka. In fifteen minutes, though, we meet back here.”

“That’s all the time I need,” Shandra said, standing up and heading for Mastranada. Craig followed her and Jyra remained with Berk. He got to his feet and switched off the projector.

“What do you want?” he said, lumbering toward the main passage.

“I want to ask you about Macnelia,” Jyra said. “Something’s not quite right and don’t tell me it’s just stress. It’s more than that. She didn’t even realize she called you the wrong name.”

“It was kind of Craig to wait to mention that until she was out of earshot,” Berk said, his voice a low growl. Jyra stared at him, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t know what’s happened to her,” he said, running his fingers through his grizzled hair. “I’ve tried to get a straight answer from her, but it hasn’t worked.”

“Thanks for telling it straight,” Jyra muttered. “I mean, it’s about the only comforting part of it all. I just want to help her if I can.”

“We all do,” Berk said. “I don’t know if anyone else has picked up on it like you and me, but I think it’d be best not to share it with anyone. Not until we get this last attack out of the way.”

An uncomfortable weight materialized in Jyra’s gut at Berk’s words.

“That’s just it,” she said. “The way Macnelia’s been talking about this assault, it’s as though she wants it to be the final one. It seems she doesn’t care if it kills her, but if it does, then we’re all like to go with her.”

The ship shuddered gently under the women. Neeka looked up from the monitor at Macnelia and Jyra. They all exchanged smiles as the enormous engines came to life.

“Ready to link engine number one,” Neeka said into the earpiece.

“Initiate now,” Craig’s voice replied.

“Coming online,” Neeka said. Several tense moments passed before she spoke again.

“Linked. Onto the second engine.”

It didn’t take long before all three engines were connected to the bridge and responding to the controls.

“We’re looking good here,” Craig reported.

“And here,” Neeka said.

Their voices were drowned out as Macnelia lifted a com microphone to her lips and spoke.

“Attention throughout the ship, the engines are online.” Her voice echoed in every room.

“I could barely hear her over the noise down here, but I heard that,” Craig said through the earpiece and Neeka chuckled.

Macnelia smiled as she set the com down, but Jyra approached, grinning broadly.

“I have more good news,” she said. “You can tell them one of the storage bays in the stern is full of food and water.”

Macnelia shot a skeptical glance at Jyra and raised her eyebrows.

“Neeka, ask Craig if there are any crates of food aboard,” Jyra said.

Macnelia’s next ship-wide transmission revealed not only the presence of the food, but also where to find it.

*

Everyone reconvened in the main hangar beneath two of the enormous laser cannons. Leonick and Craig had collected some food and water from the storage bay on their way back from the engine room and after sharing mutual congratulations, the group exchanged talking for eating.

Jyra tore into a package of dried apples and gulped some clear water from one of the jars. The food was second only to what she’d eaten on Drometica. Even though she knew of richer flavors and purer water, she couldn’t forget the substandard quality of each she’d grown up with on Tyrorken.

As she chewed, Jyra stared at the massive doors on either side of the hangar. For a moment, she wondered if maybe the atmospheric shield on the door that had been closed since their arrival might still work. Then she remembered both shields were powered by the same source.

She took another swig of water and nudged Craig on the shoulder.

“We need to find an electrical schematic for the shield power panel,” she said.

Craig had punctured the vacuum seal on a package of bread and just torn into the crust with his teeth. Unable to speak his reply for the moment, he shook his head. When he swallowed, he answered properly.

“I asked Neeka,” Craig said. “According to her, there’s no entry for it on the ship’s computer.”

Neeka looked up from a container of cold soup and nodded.

“I didn’t investigate why it wasn’t there, but I figured it would be something we could probably use to get the shield working again.”

“It would make the whole job easier,” Jyra said. “Do you think Jed could have erased it?” she added to Craig.

“Why would he?”

“Well,” Jyra began, frowning as she tried to see where her reasoning was taking her. “If something was wrong with the shield, the diagnostic computer compares the schematic to the actual device. If any there’s discrepancy between the two, the computer sends an alert to the bridge. What if Jed deleted the entire shield schematic and overrode the diagnostic processor to make sure no one found out about it?”

Craig took another bite of bread and pondered while he chewed.

“It’s certainly possible, but erasing the entire program and bypassing the computer would take a long time.”

“We don’t know how long he had to sabotage the ship,” Jyra said. “Causing the shield to fail could have been the first thing he did, maybe before it even took off. If that’s how he undermined the ship, then the actual defect to the shield operation system is probably pretty small. It had to be impossible for anyone aboard to correct in a hurry.”

“So where do we start?” Macnelia asked, setting her jar of water aside.

“At the control box,” Craig said. “Maybe you and Neeka can find the schematic. I never knew Jed to be too great with computers and hopefully he just stuck the plans in some other location. It might be possible to hunt it down.”

“Can we enjoy our first meal in days first?” Shandra said, setting an empty box of crackers aside while reaching for a second.

“I know I’m not doing anything until I’m finished,” Berk grunted.

Jyra observed him out of the corner of her eye. Even with his bulky coat, he looked thinner. His beard and hair were as wild as ever, but his eyelids hung lower than usual. His clutched his flask in his left hand while he stuffed some sort of canned meat into his mouth with his right.

“We’ve got to finish with the laser cannons after we’re done,” Derek said, wincing as he shifted his wounded leg in order to better face the group.

“Careful,” Neeka said, setting her arm on Derek’s shoulder.

“I can turn myself around just fine,” he said shortly.

“How are you doing?” Macnelia asked.

“Fine,” Derek said, but his tone grew stiffer. “Couldn’t be better for someone who’s been shot in the leg.”

Jyra stopped eating, suddenly aware of how Derek must feel amid all activity, most of it beyond his physical capability with his injury. She recalled one of Dario’s friends had accidentally shot himself in the leg. Although the injury was said to be minor, it had taken more than six months to heal. Jyra wasn’t sure how much damage the bullet had done to Derek, but his inability to fully serve the resistance clearly irritated him. Where will the resistance be in half a year? Jyra wondered. Where will I be in half a year?

After the meal, Jyra and Craig made their way across the hangar to the shield control box. They removed the bent cover and after several minutes of studying the wiring, Craig pushed himself back from the wall, shaking his head.

“It looks normal,” he said. “Nothing’s cut or missing.”

“He likely wouldn’t have done anything in here,” Jyra said. “We just had to check.”

Craig wiped his brow before lifting the cover back into place.

“Let’s the check the box for the other door,” Jyra said as she drove in the mounting screws.

“All right,” Craig said. He sounded skeptical.

“We have another circuit to use for comparison,” Jyra said.

“Hopefully they’ll just dig up the schematic,” Craig said, fighting off a wide yawn.

“Until they do, let’s go to the other side of the hangar,” Jyra said.

*

“This is different.”

“How?”

“The wires here.”

“They’re just on the right instead of the left,” Craig said, staring into the control box for the second hangar door.

“Oh,” Jyra said, her excitement draining. She hated the feeling, but had often faced it while working in Jed’s garage. However much she might enjoy troubleshooting problems, the experience only gave her satisfaction if she solved the issue.

What if they couldn’t get to the bottom of the malfunctioning shield without the schematic?

Craig picked the cover up, but Jyra leaned forward suddenly, pushing a group of wires aside.

“What are these?” she said. “There were two wires entering the other box, but there’re four here.”

Craig set the cover back on the floor and examined the wires between Jyra’s fingers. They reached the conclusion at the same time.

“Of course,” they said together.

Their gaze traveled up to the top of the box, following the wires into their junction clips. One of the conductors had been pulled free.

“That’s it,” Jyra said. “That’s all he had to do.”

“Simple,” Craig said. “Sabotage the system on the opposite side of the hangar.”

“The shields share the same power source,” Jyra said. “I didn’t realize the lines for both sides of the hangar were routed through here.”

“No one figured it out fast enough either,” Craig said, reaching into the control box.

Carefully, he opened the clip and inserted the loose wire back inside it.

“Check it with the bridge,” Jyra said.

Craig jerked his head sideways to activate the earpiece.

“Macnelia or Neeka, update the shield status,” he said. “We may have solved it.”

“What?” Neeka replied.

“Update the atmospheric shield status.” Craig rolled his eyes and Jyra tightened her grip on the control box.

“We’ve got a reading!” Neeka yelled and Craig tore the earpiece free, cursing and holding his ear.

Jyra sank off her knees to lean against the wall, surrendering to a feeling similar to the one she’d experienced when she found the food in the storage bay.

Macnelia’s voice suddenly boomed over the com system, reporting the shield was back online.

Except for the two women on the bridge, everyone was in the middle of the hangar working on the laser cannons. Tools fell to the deck with a clatter and cheers erupted, the noise echoing through the cavernous room.

Craig extended a hand and pulled Jyra to her feet. His eyes gleamed beneath his Mourning Mark. Jyra glanced at the charcoal smudge and gave Craig a small smile.

“Your parents would be proud,” she said. The light in Craig’s eyes faded but he didn’t look away.

“So would yours,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. His hand glided down her arm, avoiding the wound near her elbow.

Jyra was aware of the approaching footsteps and knew who it was before he started speaking.

“All right,” Berk said, with a smile. “You’ve got the shield back up so come give us a hand with the cannons. They’re almost ready.”

*

Jyra opened her eyes, blinking in the dim light of her quarters on Mastranada. She pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. As she rubbed her eyes, the events before her nap came back to her. She and Craig had restored the atmospheric shield. Then they had helped the others mount and prep the laser cannons. Macnelia and Neeka returned from the bridge and suggested everyone get some sleep.

“Once the fighting begins, there’s no saying when we’ll be able to rest again.” Macnelia’s words filled Jyra’s head and she pulled on her clothes and wandered into the corridor. She wasn’t sure where she was headed, but as she drew closer to engine room, Jyra heard noises.

For a moment, she thought of the guard Berk had slain in the room, but she tried to focus on her fresh curiosity instead. She opened the door and discovered Leonick working at a panel on the wall.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” she asked.

“I do not sleep,” Leonick said. “Especially when I have as much on my mind as I do.”

“You always have a lot to think about,” Jyra said. “What is it now?”

“I am mostly preoccupied with fixing this ship.”

Jyra stared around the engine room and realized that since they crash-landed on Valiant Conductor II, she hadn’t heard or seen any effort to repair Mastranada.

“I think everyone thought overhauling the TF ship was more important,” Jyra said. Leonick dug a flask out of his pocket and took a mighty swig.

“Macnelia thought it was important,” he said, an uncharacteristic tone of bitterness entering his voice. “If something happened to the large ship, how would we escape? Until I get these new fuses in place, Mastranada cannot even power up.”

“Where did you get the fuses?” Jyra asked.

“From the TF ship. They were in a supply locker near the engine room. My point is, we have taken an awful risk staying aboard this ship, and we are about to take an even greater risk by firing on other vessels. I have not been able to convince Macnelia that repairing this ship is vital to our survival should something happen to the TF one during the fighting. I will not let this ship go down inside another.”

Jyra saw him glance at the energy cores behind him. She suddenly remembered the conversation she and Leonick shared in this very room before they bombed the TF complex. She learned Leonick had invented energy core technology. Jyra recalled the way he worked on them. She had never seen anyone approach a machine with such care and delicacy. TF had played a part in barring energy cores from becoming a standard fuel alternative for ships, which is what Jyra suspected motivated Leonick to join the resistance in the first place.

Jyra saw his point about using Mastranada to evacuate Valiant Conductor II in an emergency. It seemed odd Macnelia didn’t view fixing Mastranada as a priority. The conversation she recently overheard between Macnelia and Berk surfaced in Jyra’s mind. Macnelia hadn’t sounded like herself, but Berk had suggested she had been pushing herself too hard.

“Has Macnelia seemed different to you at all lately?” Jyra blurted before she could stop herself.

Leonick deftly pressed the fuses into their contacts and wiped his hands on his trousers.

“I cannot say,” he said. “If you are inquiring about her attitude toward repairing this ship, it does not matter because she should be ready to fly again.”

“All you had to do was replace the fuses?”

“There were other tasks,” Leonick said, snapping the panel cover in place. “Several power cables were shaken out of their couplings during the crash landing. I also patched three ruptured air lines.”

He stared around the engine room and his eyes fell on the energy cores again. A look of reverence spread across his face and he laid a hand on the closest one. Out of nowhere, Jyra realized Leonick’s expression reminded her of how her parents used to look at their young children.

“What is it?” she said, surprised that she had trouble speaking.

“These are the last energy cores I know of that actively power a ship,” Leonick said, before taking a long sip from his flask. “To see them and interact with them is a privilege I never expected to experience again. I understand machines and what they require to survive. Every machine I have made is part of me and I do what I can to nurture and support them. To meet again when I thought these cores lost has renewed my commitment to their survival.”

“You speak of them as though they’re your kids,” Jyra said. Leonick turned his gaze to her and nodded.

“In a way, they are,” he said. “And if we run into trouble during the coming assault, we are going to need them as much as they need me.”

He left the engine room and Jyra followed him into the corridor.

“Have you had any luck developing your time machine?” she whispered after him.

“I do not rely on luck,” he said shortly. “I rely on a systematic approach.”

“Well, have you started building the machine yet?” Jyra asked, still walking after him. Leonick paused and turned, drawing out his flask and unscrewing the cap.

“The first rule about designing a machine is knowing the environment in which it will function. In the case of the time machine, I am still searching for the correct environment.”

“You mean the galaxy parallel to this one in all ways except time?”

“Precisely, but the universe is a big place and I can only search it in small increments,” Leonick said, emptying his flask with a final gulp. “The parallel galaxy may not exist, but I would like to find out one way or the other. If the galaxy I am after is out there, then I will start building the time machine.”

Jyra already knew how she would answer the question residing on the tip of her tongue, but she had no idea how Leonick would respond.

“Once you build it, would you use it to change anything in your past?”

“I might,” Leonick mused. “But there is no sense thinking about it until the means to act on it are developed.”

His mouth curved into a grin as he entered his quarters and shut the door behind him. Jyra returned to her room and picked up her mother’s locket. She sat in the semidarkness, remembering how the jewelry hung on her mother’s neck. Jyra pulled the blanket over her and fell asleep, imagining what her counterpart might be up to in a parallel galaxy.

A few hours later, Jyra lay on her bed, turning her mother’s locket in her fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Derek had said. It made her realize she hadn’t considered the sacrifices she might have to make to get to the bottom of Dario’s death.

Her life on Tyrorken had been one of perpetual hardship and struggle. It was hard to forget the nights when it was difficult to breathe because of the pollution. As she grew older, her parents spent more time at work. TF even consumed most of the time Jyra would have had with Dario. There was little to be excited about on Tyrorken besides her dream of becoming a pilot.

Jyra knew she couldn’t escape her past experiences, but she could move beyond them. She no longer lived on Tyrorken. It was her home planet, but it wasn’t her home.

Jyra sat up and set the locket on her bedside table. She dug a mirror out of her duffel and examined her reflection. Her dark eyes glittered at her beneath her equally dark hair, which hung past her shoulders. She gave herself a small smile, which disappeared when she noticed no trace of the Mourning Mark on her forehead. She touched the spot where it had been. As she lowered her arm, she caught sight of the cut near her elbow. It no longer pained her, but Jyra could tell a scar would remain; the skin around the wound glistened in the dim light.

It would likely shine for a few weeks just like the scar on the back of her hand. Jyra looked at the white line that began at the base of the knuckle of her index finger. The sight of the scar reminded her of Jed. She couldn’t think of him without considering his message.

Did he carry his grudge against TF into his career with the company? When did he decide to sabotage the ship? Did he act alone? The last thought opened a whole new path of inquiry. If others helped him, were they associated with the resistance?

Though she fought to resist it, the memory of her parents’ murder filled her mind. Just before the killing shots sounded, the guard had said information had been passed to a known enemy. Could that enemy have been the resistance? Tadwin had also said TF had killed Dario. Jyra clutched her head in her hands, straining to recall the details.

“How far does this go?” Jyra breathed aloud, unable to assemble the information into a coherent thought. How had all these different people come to turn against TF? Jed, Jyra’s parents and brother, and all the members of the resistance with Jyra on this ship had a common goal and somehow weren’t aware of it. After witnessing the TF agents’ assault on Derek, Jyra understood the need for secrecy had been of utmost importance. As she thought about it, however, the confidentiality had undermined the resistance more than protected it. If they all had been able to work together from the beginning, perhaps TF would have fallen long ago. Then again, the resistance could have suffered that exact same fate.

Jyra’s thoughts returned to Tadwin’s insistence that TF had killed Dario. He had said it with a conviction Jyra had never heard in her father’s voice. He was often soft-spoken and vague, never one to speak in absolutes.

Before she could consider the idea further, voices in the corridor distracted her. Jyra stood up as quietly as he could and pressed her ear to the door. Berk’s gruff tone was easy to identify, but it took several moments before Jyra recognized that a second, breathless voice belonged to Macnelia.

“Settle down and just tell me what’s wrong,” Berk said gently.

“I’m having a hard time,” Macnelia gasped. She sounded out of breath. “I…I’m not sure what my…our next move is.”

For a moment, all Jyra could hear was the sound of Macnelia taking deep breaths.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Berk said.

“No,” Macnelia said. “It’s not that. We’re adrift in more ways than one. I don’t know what happened back there, but the Nilcyns were already attacking. We need to understand why. And we’ve got to get this ship back online. It’s all we have to further our campaign.”

“What do you want to see happen?” Berk said. Silence followed his question and Jyra strained against her door, listening.

“I want to see Tyrorken restored,” she said. “I want to save that planet and drive TF into oblivion.”

“Well we’re off to a good start,” Berk said.

“And we have a long way to go,” Macnelia continued. She began to sound more like herself. “Taking out their headquarters doesn’t eliminate them. There’s still more to do.”

“Do you feel better?”

“I think so,” Macnelia said, her voice faded with footsteps as she and Berk continued down the corridor.

Jyra returned to her bed, thoughts of her parents and the resistance suspended as she pondered what might be troubling Macnelia.

*

After another shift of rest, the resistance resumed work on Valiant Conductor II. Leonick completed his inspection of the engines and insisted they were ready for power. Shandra instructed everyone how to check for damage to a ship’s hull from the inside. Then everyone split off and began assessing different parts of the enormous vessel.

Jyra ventured into the stern below the engine room, making her way toward the starboard hull. “Ships of the Kaosaam System” had indicated this part of the ship would likely consist of storage and power bunkers. An empty cargo bay lay behind the first door she entered off main corridor. The closed door gave her moment’s pause, until she saw the marks from Berk’s hammer that marred its left edge. Members of the resistance had already been through this part of the ship to check and fix the doors.

A number of crates were stacked in the next room, which was dark. Jyra flipped a switch on the wall and several lights clicked on. She began reading the packing labels on the crates, moving between them with mounting eagerness and urgency. “Crackers, bread, oats, rice, pasta” Jyra read aloud, her voice trembling with excitement. Another label listed dried fruit, nuts, and chips. One box contained jars of water.

“There must be fifty crates here,” she said, pressing her fingers into her hair. “This will last us for months.”

For the first time in a long time, a sense of relief spread through Jyra and she sat on one of the crates. The fortune of finding such a large supply of food overwhelmed her. She put her face in her hands, surrendering to her feelings. For a moment, she remembered the feeling of her bed on Tyrorken, the creases in the sheets and the weight of the blankets. She thought of the days before she fled her planet, when her brother and her parents were still alive. It suddenly seemed as though no time had passed since their deaths.

Jyra pushed her hair back and wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. She waited for the relief of discovering the crates to fade, but it remained fixed inside along with her sadness.

Jyra heard footsteps in corridor and stood up to find the label on the crate so she could pretend to be reading it.

“Oh,” Craig’s voice said from the doorway. “I’ve strayed into your part of the ship. What’s in the crates?”

Jyra did her best to keep her face hidden as she tested her voice, wondering if it would betray her emotions.

“Food,” she croaked. “There’s food and water here.”

“Are you kidding?” Craig said, rushing into the room and checking the first label he saw. “I can’t believe it.”

Jyra gave a jerking nod and Craig noticed something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, the excitement draining from his words. He approached from behind and put a hand on Jyra’s shoulder.

She turned and pressed her face into his chest so that he couldn’t look at her. They put their arms around each other. One of Craig’s hands traced small circles on her back. Jyra focused on the sensation, managed to quell her tears, and she broke the embrace. She shuffled back to the pile of crates and sat down, staring at her hands in her lap.

“I’ve lost so much,” she said slowly. “For what? We destroyed a building, but TF ships are still out there. I thought the resistance would give me something I wanted.”

“What do you want?” Craig asked, joining her on the crate. Jyra glanced up into one of the lights, thinking.

“Vengeance,” she said dully.

“You don’t sound very convinced,” Craig said with a small smile.

“I know,” Jyra said. “I think it’s what I want, but I have no idea how to get it. When I heard about the plan to bomb TF headquarters, it seemed like the perfect solution. I thought it would satisfy me. But it didn’t and now I’m worried that whatever I want, I won’t be able to get it.”

“It sounds like you need to choose that first,” Craig said. “Once you’ve got a goal, you’ve got something to focus on and achieve. It doesn’t need to be related to the resistance.”

He stopped talking abruptly and stared at the floor. His eyes narrowed and his brow was furrowed. Jyra glanced at him and remembered the only other occasion when Craig had looked that way. It had been Jyra’s first day back at Jed’s Garage after getting stitches in her hand. Craig had arrived late and he wore that same expression when he entered the shop.

“You’re thinking about your goal, aren’t you?” she said gently and he nodded. “What do you want?”

Craig took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on his knees.

“I should start by reminding you of some advice I gave you once. After we got out of the TF complex, I told you not to regret things you didn’t do.”

Jyra recalled the exchange more vividly that she cared to, but she only nodded to encourage Craig to keep talking.

“We’ve both lost our parents to TF, but in different ways,” Craig said and Jyra felt her eyes grow wide with curiosity. “I haven’t done a very good job of taking my own advice. I know I did all I could to prevent my parents’ fate, but it’s easy to blame my efforts, because, obviously, they weren’t enough.”

“What happened to them?” Jyra said. Craig rarely discussed his parents and Jyra had never seen them.

“Have you ever heard of Somasteria?” Craig asked. Jyra shook her head.

“TF has gone to great lengths to keep the disease out of public knowledge. Once someone contracts the illness, TF quarantines them. If they or members of their household are caught discussing it, they are thrown in a medical facility. More of a jail really.”

“What causes it?”

“Somasteria is caused by several of the products TF uses for drilling. Excessive direct contact with skin leads to the early stages of the disease. It primarily attacks the blood, but eventually compromises the nervous system. There’s no cure, only symptom blockers, but within about two years, the victim is completely comatose.

“Both of my parents contracted the disease on a weeklong drilling mission. They weren’t even handling the solvents, but they were exposed to the fumes. Your susceptibility depends on the strength of your immune system.

“The first symptoms weren’t very severe—lapses in memory and difficulty sleeping—but they got worse as time passed. They had trouble eating and drinking. Forming complete sentences became a challenge. They developed paranoia and night terrors. Even through all that, it wasn’t too hard to look after them, until they began to forget who I was. There was a two-week period where they asked my name each day. At the end of those two weeks, they stopped asking. Not long after that, they just stared straight ahead and never said another word.”

Craig pushed himself off the crate and crossed to the opposite wall. Jyra was too stunned to move. She couldn’t believe such a debilitating illness could be hidden from the public, let alone that it had affected someone so close to her. It sounded too horrible to be real. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have her parents gradually forget who she was. Craig’s ordeal seemed even worse because he had been there, watching it happen.

“I wanted to hide them,” he said, turning away from the wall. “I wanted to get them somewhere safe, but they were each in medical beds by the end. There was no way to move them on my own and when the TF doctors came, it was all over. My parents were transferred to the medical facility, beyond my reach.”

“Can’t we go after them?” Jyra said.

Craig gave a hollow laugh and shook his head.

“That brings me back to my point,” he said, pushing his hair off his bowed forehead. “I could try to rescue them. And what would happen if I did? Get myself injured or killed in the process. At the very least, I’d get a company of TF agents pursuing me. The way I figure, even I get out of there with my parents, it’s more of a risk than I care to take. They look at me but don’t see me. Even if they’re still alive, my parents have left their bodies. Sometimes it takes all I’ve got to fight back how I regret not being able to save them from TF. I can regret the things I did, because I could have prevented them. But it’s not worth going through the anguish and grief over things I didn’t do. Life’s hard enough without extra misery anyway.

“Let’s finish checking the hull,” he said after a brief pause. “Then we should head back to our ship.”

“All right,” Jyra said, but before we regroup with the others, we need to do something.”

After completing the inspection and finding no faults with the hull, Craig and Jyra made their way back to Mastranada. They bypassed the cargo bay, ignoring the chatter within.

Jyra entered her quarters and promptly began digging through her duffel while Craig lingered in the doorway. After moving Dario’s dagger and setting “Ships of the Kaosaam System” on the floor, Jyra found the small canister. She stood and beckoned Craig forward. He stood in front of her, eyeing the silver vessel in Jyra’s fingers.

“Close your eyes,” she said, unscrewing the lid.

She dipped two fingers into the charcoal powder and applied the Mourning Mark to Craig’s forehead. Some of the black dust fell into Craig’s eyebrows and eyelashes, disappearing immediately.

Jyra screwed the lid back on the canister and gripped Craig’s arm. He opened his eyes and a let out a deep breath. Jyra extended her fingers again and pressed the Mark and Craig blinked before pulling her into another embrace.

“Thank you,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“You’re welcome,” Jyra replied. “May you carry their memory with you forever.”

“And you,” Craig said.

*

“Well?” Macnelia asked when Craig and Jyra stepped into the cargo bay.

“The hull’s solid,” Craig said.

“In that case, I suggest we prepare to power up the engines,” Leonick said. Berk gulped his whiskey and passed the flask to Leonick.

“Right, let’s get to it,” Macnelia said. “It’s time we had little control over our direction. What do we do first, Leonick?”

“If you mean in order to start the engines, we need to calibrate them and bring each one online and link them to the bridge.”

“Jyra, can you help Neeka and me forge the link from the bridge?” Macnelia asked.

“Of course,” Jyra said.

“Leonick, why don’t you take Craig to assist in the engine room?”

“I cannot think of reason, so come along,” Leonick said, motioning to Craig.

“The rest of you will work with Berk in the main hangar,” Macnelia said.

“What are we doing?” Shandra asked.

“Getting the auxiliary laser cannons mounted in place,” Macnelia answered. “Once we fix the shield drive, we’ll start hunting down the remaining TF ships.”

Mereda—Two Tyrorken years earlier:

“You’ll like him,” Craig assured Jyra as they walked toward the shabby building in one of Mereda’s run-down neighborhoods. “He comes on strong at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

Jyra followed Craig toward Jed’s Garage, second-guessing the apprenticeship with every step.

They entered the small office and the door closed behind them with a loud bang. The temperature was at least twenty degrees warmer than it had been outside. A desk covered with invoices, many marked with greasy fingerprints, took up most of the office. A man sat behind the desk. A small bald spot on the top of his head reflected the sunlight streaming through the open aluminum shutters mounted on the window. He was busy writing, his head bent low, so his eyes couldn’t be seen. The sleeves of his stained work shirt were rolled back, revealing his oil-smeared forearms.

“Jed?” Craig said. Jyra glanced back at the door. Jed was obviously used to the noise it made; he hadn’t so much as flinched when they entered.

“One moment,” Jed replied, stretching the words out as though counting down to the moment Craig would have his attention.

He lifted his pen, slammed the point on the paper, and threw himself back in his chair.

“All right,” he said in a booming voice that filled the office and nearly made the shutters rattle. “This is the new apprentice?”

Craig nodded and stepped aside. Jyra took a step forward, extending her hand.

“Jyra, sir,” she said, aware of how soft her voice sounded compared to Jed’s rambunctious one.

“Swap the ‘sir’ for ‘Jed’ and I think you’re hired,” Jed said, standing to shake hands. He caught sight of his own and seemed surprised to see it covered oil. “Guess we should save it for later. Hand’s a little grayer than it should be.”

“My hands will be getting dirty sooner or later,” Jyra said, keeping her arm over the desk. Jed stared for a moment then shook her hand and smiled.

“I like your attitude. Might be a good change around here. Word is I come off as too intimidating. Do you believe that?”

“Hard to say, I haven’t even known you for a minute yet.”

Jed laughed. It was louder than he talked. He stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his overalls, which appeared just as soiled as his work shirt. The whole outfit seemed stretched over his portly figure. Jed’s pale blue eyes glimmered against the tan skin of his round face.

He clapped Craig on the shoulder as he passed him then turned at the door. His smile had disappeared, the gleam in his eye was gone.

“We’re way behind on work,” he said. His voiced sustained the same volume, but it contained a chill that seemed impossible given the stifling conditions of the office.

“Craig, go over what’s what in the shop and then you two get your asses in gear. I’d like to keep the customers we’ve got who aren’t put off my intimidating nature.” The door slammed as he left, as if to fortify Jed’s commands.

“You did well,” Craig said. “Let’s get to work.”

The shop itself was more bedraggled than the office. The ceiling sagged and the walls leaned to the left. The front and rear of the shop each had a large articulated door that could be raised on rails. When Craig pushed them up, Jyra saw the ceiling flex as it took the weight of the doors.

An extra wide skiff occupied both service bays. Two old workbenches ran the length of the shop, one on each side. All the tools and supplies had to be stored below, on, or above the benches since nothing could be kept in front of the doors. The smell of grease-cutting solvent filled Jyra’s nose. The overhead lights buzzed as the lamps blinked to life.

“Not too hard to see what we’re starting with today,” Craig said, closing the cover over the light switches and laying a hand on the skiff.

“Fuel powered,” Jyra declared, walking closer to the machine. “More expensive to run than electric. Who can afford something like this?”

Craig pulled a rag from his back pocket to scrub the grime near the nose of the skiff, which revealed the logo for Tyrorken Fuels.

“I should have guessed,” she said.

“It’s better to not call attention to it actually,” Craig said. “Jed’s not too fond of TF. He’s been turning down repair offers from them for months, but they’ve got plenty of machines that need service and the money to pay for it.”

“Why didn’t he want their business?”

“The same reason most people don’t want to get involved with TF,” Craig said, shrugging and turning toward the workbench to the right of the skiff. “A company that big might start out as a customer, but before you realize it, you’re working for them. Jed’s worried they might take his shop.”

Jyra couldn’t quell the sense of unease that settled on her as she pondered this information. Her parents, both TF employees, rarely spoke about what they did at work. Recently, they looked more exhausted than ever when they came home. Dario said they were working harder than usual, but it shouldn’t last. Jyra sensed something more to the change than just her parents’ declining behavior. An aura of anxiety seemed to follow them and spread to whatever room they occupied. Their silence in the midst of the vague lurking turmoil only added to the ominous feeling Jyra felt when she woke up every morning.

The clatter of tools freed Jyra from her thoughts. She realized she was gazing at the cracks in the drooping ceiling and the slanted walls. Few things seemed to distract her lately more than a mention of TF.

“Understand I’m delighted to be an apprentice here, but why would TF want this place?” she said, glancing overhead.

“I’m sure they could find a use for it,” Craig said. “Probably be better off tearing it down and starting over, but until that happens we’ve got a few repairs to make.”

They crawled under the skiff and lay on their backs while Craig gave an overview of the work they had to do. He directed his flashlight beam to parts of the machine as he talked.

“Fuel power means more maintenance, but most of that work is purely mechanical,” Craig said. “We hardly need to do any programming on this thing. The work order calls for a larger fuel tank, so you can get started pulling this old one off.” He slapped the side of it and a low metallic note reverberated inside it.

“Where do I start?” Jyra said.

“I’ll get you some wrenches. You’ll need to unhook the fuel lines here”—he indicated the disconnects with the beam of his flashlight—“then you just unbolt it from the frame. Grab that jack over there and put it under the tank so it doesn’t fall when you loosen it.”

The first part of the task went well. Jyra managed to unfasten the fuel lines in a few minutes. She raised the jack until it started to press on the bottom of the tank then she began looking for the mounting bolts. Sand and dirt covered the head of each one, but the large brackets welded to the tank made the bolts easier to locate.

The grime, however, nearly fused the bolts in place. Jyra had to tug on the wrench with both hands to make any progress.

The last bolt was hardly accessible. Jyra had to place the wrench inside a narrow cavity and align her body next to the tank. Anticipating resistance, she yanked back on the wrench. The bolt gave way immediately. Her hands slipped free and the back of her right hand struck the corner seam of the tank.

She crawled from beneath the skiff. When she raised her hands to push stray hair from her face, she felt a warm wet rush on the back of her wrist.

“Oh,” she said automatically. Blood flowed over her dirty hand where it had hit the fuel tank. Craig looked over from the workbench and saw Jyra’s bewildered face before noticing the blood advancing down her arm.

“What happened?” he said, dropping wrenches and rushing around the skiff to take a closer look.

“My hand slipped,” Jyra said. “I cut it on the tank.”

Craig took her wounded hand and examined it briefly.

“That’s exactly what you did,” Craig said, with a sharp intake of breath. “We need someone to stitch you up. Come on.”

*

The injury became the most memorable part of the day, so much in fact that Jyra completely forgot about meeting Jed and his attitude toward TF. She didn’t return to the shop for two days on the medic’s instruction. Her hand felt stiff, especially around the wound. Jyra had never before appreciated how much she depended on the flexibility of her skin between her wrists and fingers.

Dario shook his head and clicked his tongue in mock sympathy when he saw the stitches.

“Maybe you should consider a different line of work,” he suggested with a grin.

Jyra laughed as she pushed his face aside with her good hand.

When she was able to work again, Jed was the first person Jyra saw in the shop. Craig hadn’t arrived yet. Jed wore a ratty pair of coveralls and held a stack of papers in one hand and a pen in the other as he circled the skiff, examining it. Craig had finished removing the old fuel tank and the new one now sat under the skiff, waiting to be secured in place.

Jyra stood near the door, not wanting to break Jed’s concentration. He slapped the stack of papers into the same hand as the pen and shook his head.

“Breaking even’s a thing of the past,” he said as he approached. “Write that down. It’ll be on the test.”

“I’ll remember without writing it down if that’s all right,” Jyra said with a small smile.

“Not up for too much writing?” Jed said, pointing at Jyra’s stitches.

“Not at present.”

“It’s tough work,” Jed said. His voice deepened, becoming more serious. “Patching up ships gets harder when you need patching up, too.”

“Sorry, sir,” Jyra said, then remembered. “I mean, Jed. I’ll be more careful.”

“No need for apologies. That’s a thing of the past, too.”

Jyra nodded and glanced at her stitches. Something caught her eye beyond her hand. Jed’s boots were covered in vibrant red dust. Jyra had never seen dirt that color, but she had heard of it from Dario.

“What were you doing out on the Crimen Plains?” she asked. She motioned her head at his boots and Jed lifted one of them.

“My brother just started working on the oil platforms,” Jyra added. The Crimen Plains were full of the rich red soil. As far as anyone knew, it was a natural phenomenon located to the west of Mereda. The brown earth turned red for twenty or so square miles. TF had just set up an operation to drill three test wells there. Jed didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter and he spoke slower than usual.

“I was checking on some opportunities,” he said vaguely. “I’ve been looking for some extra work outside of the shop.”

“Are you working for TF?” Jyra said. Jed looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Then he set his papers down on the workbench and leaned against it with a sigh.

“Much as I hate to admit it, I’ve had to look to the big business for help,” he said. “I thought offering TF shop service here might get ends meeting again, but so far it’s a wash. I went out to see about becoming a field tech.”

Jed frowned and his shoulders rolled forward, tipping him into a defeated posture.

“What wrong with that?” Jyra said.

“TF is what’s wrong,” Jed said, his tone becoming heated. “It’s taking control of this whole world. It’s got the money, influence, and resources to do it. All I ever wanted to do was make a living with my damn garage and now I can’t even do that!”

He stepped back from the bench and kicked one of its wooden legs. Dust billowed off his boot and the tools clattered from the blow.

“Sorry,” Jed said wiping his flushed face with a grimy hand. “It’s not easy being civil all the time when you feel like you have no control over your own affairs. TF is the only source of additional income around here. I hate that company but I’ve got no other choice.”

The door opened and Craig walked in. Jyra thought he hardly looked in better spirits than Jed.

“You made it,” she said, trying to smooth the tension from Jed’s outburst.

“Sorry I’m late,” Craig said. “Trouble with my folks this morning. How’s your hand?”

“It’s been better,” Jyra said, turning it so Craig could see the stitches. He approached and extended a loose fist to her.

“Can you do this?”

Jyra made the same fist with her wounded hand and nodded.

“Great,” Craig said. “That means you can pick up that wrench and get the new fuel tank bolted in.”

Valiant Conductor II—Present time:

Jyra never forgot Jed’s temper and the disdain that filled his voice when he discussed TF. After that day in the garage, she never saw him much, presumably because he had found work in the Crimen Plains. A few months into the apprenticeship, Craig mentioned Jed had received a promotion with TF. This meant Craig had to take over managing the invoices and scheduling repairs for customers—essentially doing all the work Jed used to do.

Not long after Craig undertook his new duties, Jyra thought about how Jed had been promoted so quickly. For someone who despised TF as much as him, it seemed odd that he had managed to make such an impression on management. The way Dario told it nearly every week at dinner, it seemed the Plains were the place to be. The first three wells had yielded more oil than even the loftiest predictions and TF had focused its workforces below the mysterious red soil. Amid all the activity and qualified people, TF selected Jed to advance to a grander position.

Jyra stared at the text on the screen, her mind racing to find words. She was completely transfixed by feelings of loss coupled with disbelief.

“Craig?” she said. The chill of the surroundings crept into her tone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jed sabotaged the ship,” Jyra said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen, reading and rereading the message.

“What?”

“You heard me. He left a note on the bridge. It’s signed with his name.”

“Who is Jed?” Shandra asked.

“My former mentor at a repair garage on Tyrorken,” Craig said. “Jyra worked there as an apprentice. It’s the same garage where we launched the ship that brought us to Drometica.”

“Why did he, or at least why is there a message claiming that he deliberately undermined this ship?” Berk said.

“Is there anything in the message about how much he hates TF?” Craig inquired.

Berk and Macnelia looked at each other then both fixed Jyra with a stare.

“Did you know anything about this beforehand?” Macnelia said. Jyra began shaking her head and even though he was on the opposite end of the ship, Craig picked up on the beginnings of an accusation.

“I knew nothing about the message,” Craig said quickly. “But Jyra can confirm Jed made no secret of how he felt toward TF.”

“Could someone please read the message?” Shandra said. It suddenly occurred to Jyra how frustrating it must be sitting in the cockpit of Mastranada listening to the proceedings while being so removed from the action.

Berk read the message. Leonick broke the brief silence that followed.

“If the message is authentic, it seems like we can work out what he did to the ship so that we can go about fixing the modifications, as he calls them.”

“If it’s authentic,” Macnelia said.

“What he mentioned is consistent with what we’ve seen,” Craig said. “Not even the bulkhead doors engaged. He probably loosened the wall panels back here, too. Leonick was right about the screws being removed.”

Macnelia frowned, but Berk nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Our goal here is to get this ship back in order. The message raises new questions, but it’s not something that needs to be resolved right now.”

“Wait,” Jyra said. The screen bearing Jed’s words suddenly flashed and the words ‘transmission complete’ replaced the message.

“Transmission to what?” Macnelia said, stepping in front of the monitor. “We need power on the bridge now,” she said. Jyra glanced at her. The way Macnelia spoke sounded more like an order than a request.

“I am already tracing the circuits,” Leonick replied, his voice as level as ever. “The severe atmospheric shift caused most of the breakers to trip. It is a standard safety feature.”

“Just get it done,” Macnelia said, cutting off Leonick’s rambling.

Berk moved to the back wall of the bridge, inspecting it with his flashlight. He opened a hatch in one of the wall panels and flipped a number of switches.

“Local breakers,” he said. “Once the power surges up here, we don’t need it damaging the processors.

After several tense minutes, Leonick’s voice came through the earpieces.

“The bridge should have power restored.”

“We’ll let you know,” Berk said has he leaned into the electrical panel and activated a switch. Lights sputtered overhead, casting a dull glow over the bridge. Berk immediately cut their power.

“Darker is safer for the moment,” he said. “Tell me when the monitors turn on.

The third switch he tried caused all the bridge screens to flash brightly as electricity flowed into them. The hum of the processors filled the silence.

“Got it,” Macnelia said. “Now we can find out where the transmission went.”

The keyboard lit up as the computer came online and she went to work. Jyra couldn’t make any sense of how Macnelia did what she did, but after another few minutes, a list appeared on the monitor.

“Other TF ships,” Macnelia said, the glow of the screen reflecting on her face.

Berk lowered his flask with a telltale swishing sound and approached the console.

“He broadcast the message to the fleet,” Berk said.

“If they believe it,” Jyra said, considering Jed’s words, “they’ll think this ship is lost or at least unoccupied.”

Macnelia pushed herself back from the console with a heavy sigh.

“Hopefully it throws other ships off our trail until this one is ready to go after them,” she said. “Let’s head back to Mastranada, gather our supplies, and get to work.”

*

Jed was on Jyra’s mind for other reasons besides his message. An hour later, she was working on routing cables in the engine room back to their original terminals. The task wouldn’t have been so difficult if her arm wasn’t injured. Jed’s phrase filled her head every time pain shot through her arm: “Patching up ships gets harder when you need patching up, too.”

Jed had managed most of his sabotage by crossing wires or unhooking them entirely. Doing so had compromised many of the systems designed to protect the crew in the event of a hull breach.

Leonick was busy inspecting the engines for signs of damage. Jyra caught sight of him occasionally when he crossed one of the catwalks in hurried strides, eyes focused straight ahead. Jyra remembered the disciplined fashion of how he performed maintenance in Mastranada’s engine room. In this much larger setting, Leonick seemed to become part of the machinery, installing himself in an area to methodically complete tasks and repairs.

Everyone else besides Neeka and Derek were testing and patching the doors throughout the ship. Many had been damaged by the relentless pull from space. Sometimes a door just needed to be refitted onto a track or a pair of glides. Others needed several strikes from Berk’s hammer to bend them back into shape.

A small clock in Mastranada’s cockpit was all that reminded Jyra of the passage of time. The resistance worked an entire week, rarely stopping for meals or sleep. Jyra caught sight of Tyrorken through a porthole once her work took her out of the engine room. Her home planet spun against the black canvas of space. Valiant Conductor II had drifted far enough that the ruined ships around dusty sphere were no longer visible. How had such an insignificant world hosted so much pain? Jyra turned away from the porthole, and returned her attention to the panel.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused her to set her screwdriver aside, but before she could meet the person, he rounded the corner.

“Hi,” Derek said, still leaning on his crutches. “Macnelia said I might be able to help you.”

“Maybe,” Jyra said, raising her eyebrows at the crutches.

“I’m healing up just fine now that I’ve got proper care,” Derek said. “Just tell me what do.”

Jyra fought back a slew of questions she longed to ask in order to show Derek what needed to be rewired. They hardly got into the work, however, before Jyra’s curiosity overwhelmed her.

“How did you do it?” she blurted. “How did TF never suspect you?” This wasn’t how she had envisioned this conversation beginning. She had thought of it for so long, imagining different situations when she might interview Derek about what happened. She felt like lunging at him, as though it might help get her questions answered faster.

“Are you all right?” Derek asked, leaning away from her. “You look crazed.”

“I’ve wanted to talk to you since we got you back,” Jyra said. “I’m sorry, I have lots of questions about the resistance, you, my brother, and all of it, really.”

“Well, to start with your first question, TF agents definitely noticed something wasn’t quite right about me. It was easier to keep a low profile until I started leading the mining expeditions. Do you—?”

“Macnelia told me about that assignment.”

“Yes. Well about the time that began, I was definitely under close scrutiny, especially after the ship I piloted to Drometica went down.”

“Do you think they rigged it to fail?” Jyra said. Derek nodded.

“That’s when I realized they must know I was up to something. They kept me on Tyrorken after that. I met your brother and he, Craig, and myself began working on an offensive strategy. I knew TF was keeping an eye on me, but we had larger problems. The most significant was a lack of participants and how do you recruit people to rise against the corporation that sustains them? Or they think sustains them,” he added, his tone suddenly bitter.

“I had my rig team to draw from, but no matter how loyal they might have been, it would only take one detractor to ruin everything. My frustration replaced better sense at this point and there’s no doubt I started making stupid decisions because of it.

“Giving my team the day off for the funeral and coming to see you were the right things to do. They weren’t smart, though, especially for someone like me. I was already on the wrong side of TF, but I didn’t realize how much I lost their favor. They got a tracer on me and the night of the launch, they knew right where I was. They probably even knew I’d gone to your house. I should have been more careful.”

Derek paused and turned back to his panel. Jyra picked up her screwdriver, reflecting on the new information.

“What was Dario’s attitude toward the resistance?” she said.

“He thought it was a great idea,” Derek replied. “He was working to get the oil platforms networked. If that had happened, a single glitch could cause them all to malfunction. Dario should have been the leader. He had the charisma, the energy, and the gift for getting people to see his point of view.”

“Do you think TF was responsible for his death?”

“I have no idea,” Derek said. “I don’t think we’ll ever know that.”

“I’m going to find out,” Jyra said.

“That might be harder to do now that we dropped a bomb on TF headquarters,” Derek said. He turned and their eyes met. “I’m sorry for all TF has taken from you. I understand your need to do what you must, but I’d hate to see TF consume your life, too.”

“I need someone to get to the engine room!” Berk hollered as both consoles lit up with warning beacons.

Leonick jumped off the floor and, keeping his arms wide for balance, fled the cockpit to head aft.

Macnelia handed her earpiece to Berk who fitted it on his own ear. Jyra tried to remain focused as she checked diagnostic reports.

“Engine control fuses blew,” she said. “We can’t maneuver.”

“Standard safety mechanism,” Craig said. “There should be spare fuses back there.”

Mastranada sailed through space, knocking debris from the battle aside as it headed for the TF freighter. They could see the port entrance to the main hangar that bisected the ship. It could hold four fuel transport tanks, each four times the size of Mastranada. With the introduction of tankers, TF didn’t rely on freighters as much as it once did to take its products to other planets. Jyra suspected TF agents must have sent it up to fight since it wasn’t as valuable as fully outfitted battleships.

“Does anyone else think our trajectory is taking us toward that hangar?” Shandra said.

“They’ll destroy us before that happens,” Macnelia said. “We need to change course.”

“Leonick, are you there?” Berk said.

“What’s all that?” Craig said, pointing.

Jyra noticed what he referred to: a cluster of debris floating alongside the freighter, slowly drifting apart as each individual object followed a seemingly random direction.

“Those look like the laser cannons from that battery that fired at us before we dropped the bomb,” Jyra said, identifying two of the larger objects spinning lazily as though suspended by cables. As she watched, they skated straight away from the ship.

“Are we heading toward the hangar?” Craig said, nearly repeating Shandra’s question.

“I don’t know,” Macnelia said. “The freighter’s moving across our path. We might collide with it.”

“Leonick!” Berk shouted. He clamped the earpiece to his head and gave a small sigh, indicating he’d established contact.

“We’ll get the damage sorted out soon,” Berk growled. He dug in his coat for his flask, but Macnelia slapped his arm.

“You need to stay alert,” she warned. The ship struck another stabilizer and it lodged against the cockpit glass. A white divot appeared where it dug into the transparent barrier between the cockpit and space.

“We can’t maneuver,” Berk said, jerking his flask free of the pocket and swallowing a mouthful. “There’s nothing to do about it.” He glared at the stabilizer, which shook against the cockpit glass.

Berk jumped in his seat and pulled the earpiece away from his scalp, reminding Jyra of when Macnelia had shouted in Shandra’s ear with a similar misunderstanding.

“What?” Berk yelled, try to match Leonick’s volume. Everyone leaned in to hear the answer.

“The blast warped the fuse station! We have no control until we pound the contacts back into alignment, repair several cable leads, and install replacement fuses.”

“You’re all satisfied?” Berk snarled and everyone leaned away from him. “Leonick could use some help.”

“I think Shandra’s right about where we’re headed,” Macnelia said.

The freighter seemed to be turning away from them, but they were definitely closing in on its hangar.

“What do you think?” Macnelia said, jerking the back of Berk’s seat. Berk furrowed his brow and clutched his temples with both hands.

“It’s a risk, but we’ll crash into the hull of the damn thing if we do nothing,” he said. “Leonick, bridge the contacts with whatever you’ve got. We need the strongest thrust we can get!”

“Hang on,” Leonick’s voice crackled through the earpiece. Craig heeded Berk’s suggestion and left to assist in the engine room.

“What’s going on?” Neeka’s voice said through Berk’s earpiece.

“We’ve been hit and we’re heading toward a TF freighter,” Berk said. “Not sure if we’re going to land in the hangar or crash into it. I need to talk to Leonick, now. We’re trying to restore engine control.”

“Those are bodies,” Jyra said, staring at the debris field near the freighter. Macnelia walked between the consoles and squinted ahead of them.

“You’re right,” she said.

At least fifty corpses floated amid the laser cannons and other wreckage from the freighter.

“Leonick, we’re running out of time here,” Berk said.

“The hangar’s lit, but the rest of the ship is dark,” Shandra said, gazing at the behemoth before them. “What happened?”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll be around to find out,” Jyra said.

“Standby,” Berk said. “They’ve got a bridge over the fuses set, but it’s probably going to fail after a few seconds of engine power. Aim for the hangar. Ready, Leonick?” he added into the earpiece.

“Go!” Berk ordered.

Mastranada lurched forward as the energy from the twin cores cycled into the engines. Jyra guided the ship to starboard and it shot toward the hangar. The stabilizer caught on the cockpit glass shuddered in place. As soon as Jyra felt the vibration of the engines, the sensation disappeared.

“Hopefully that’s all the push we need,” Macnelia said, resuming her position behind Berk’s chair.

Mastranada glided by a laser cannon that rotated in place like a top whirling in slow motion. Jyra averted her gaze as the nose of the ship hit one of the floating bodies. When she looked again, the hangar entrance yawned before them. Mastranada crossed the threshold of the larger ship and immediately sank—the gravity drive of the freighter was still operating. Berk didn’t have time to lower the landing legs and the impact when the ship hit the hangar deck tossed everyone in the cockpit upward.

Jyra gripped the arms of her chair, her eyes wide with fear, as they skidded toward the massive closed door on the other side of the hangar. Were it open, the momentum would likely carry Mastranada all the way through the freighter.

The view from the cockpit began to change. Mastranada started to spin slowly as its belly shrieked against the floor. It completed a full half-turn before jamming to a halt in the corner of the wall and door on the starboard side of the hangar.

Despite the unsettling arrival, Jyra glanced up and saw the foreign stabilizer on the cockpit glass fly free. She understood what the debris field had already proven; the atmospheric shield that should be cast over the open hangar door wasn’t functioning. Everything vulnerable to the vacuum of space had been sucked out of the freighter. She watched as the stabilizer soared in a direct path toward door they had just entered.

Then Mastranada shuddered and an eerie, grating groan climbed from the ship’s keel.

“We’re getting pulled back out,” Shandra said.

Jyra couldn’t see the stabilizer anymore, though she focused on the spot where it had passed beyond her sight.

Suddenly, on the far side of hangar, right near the doorframe, she saw an explosion of debris, but it was so small and the spectacle so brief it seemed to be just a puff of dust. A second or two later, the steel door slid into view, sealing the hangar from the punishing forces of space. As it closed, Mastranada slowed its progress and finally stopped when the door reached the opposite side of the jamb.

“What is going on?” Neeka said, stepping into the cockpit with Derek behind her, leaning on a crutch. They both looked extremely shaken.

The lights of the hangar filtering into the cockpit made both of them pause in the doorway.

“We just succeeded in landing on an enemy ship,” Berk said, turning in his chair to face them. “And I’ll be surprised if we find anyone besides us who’s alive on it.”

*

Macnelia suggested everyone head to the cargo bay. It worked better for meetings and Leonick and Craig wouldn’t have to travel all the way to the front of the ship from the engine room. Berk instructed them where to meet via the earpieces. Within minutes the resistance members assembled, surrounded by supplies and crates, some of which had scattered during the rough landing. Weapons used in the mission to rescue Derek were still piled in a corner near the cargo door.

Craig had fallen from a ladder after he bridged the contacts on the fuse panel under Leonick’s instruction. He smiled as he dabbed the small cut over his eye.

“Definitely worth it,” he told Jyra and she couldn’t agree more. If they hadn’t managed to land in the freighter, they would have either collided with it or their ship would have drifted onward, crippled in space with no control.

Macnelia looked around at the group with a grim smile, which disappeared altogether when she saw the fresh Mourning Mark on Jyra’s forehead. Derek sat on a crate and clutched Neeka’s hand. His clothes were in good condition and Jyra realized he must have had some stored in the cave that he’d been able to retrieve from the crates. Except for the wounds on his face, he looked much better in his pressed outfit compared to the shabby attire everyone else wore.

“We accomplished the two goals of our mission,” Macnelia said. “Although, we didn’t plan much beyond them. If we had, it seems those plans would’ve been upset anyway. What we know so far is we’ve crash-landed in a TF freighter hangar. We’ve got our ship’s scanner checking the enemy vessel for people, but as we were able to penetrate the open hangar so easily, it looks like it has been exposed to space for a long time.”

“What about airtight bulkheads?” Craig said. “TF could afford to upgrade its ships.”

“This freighter looks like it’s a bit on the older side,” Berk said dismissively. “In fact, I think that’s why they sent it into battle.”

“Isn’t that still going on?” Neeka said. “Why isn’t the freighter a target?”

“There’s nothing to say it isn’t,” Berk said. “But it’s not likely to be.”

“I didn’t think freighters came equipped with guns,” Neeka said.

“They don’t,” Derek mumbled.

“They mounted laser cannons on the hangar floor and used those,” Macnelia said. “It was probably a quick retrofit, too. When the Nilcyns attacked, TF had to act fast to repel the enemy.”

“Which is why they threw cannons into what is usually an unarmed ship,” Derek said. “An unexpected battleship.”

“The crew was small,” Jyra said, recalling the floating bodies. “If all of them were vented into space, I counted only fifty or so.”

“Cannons could fire through an atmospheric shield,” Derek said. “Which is what they must have been doing, but if there were bodies in space, the shield failed somehow.”

“The laser cannons were torn free and pulled out there, too,” Shandra said.

“We’ve got a few unanswered questions,” Macnelia said. “Some of which concern the damage to our own ship. Until we can get outside, we won’t be able to resolve most of them.”

“Will we be able to get outside?” Neeka asked. “Into the hangar?”

“After we entered the freighter, the door closed, sealing us in,” Berk said. “Although plenty of air systems would have been overwhelmed, some immediate data I gathered before coming down here is the freighter seems to be restoring safe environmental conditions for us. Even the gravity drive still works.”

“How did the door close?” Neeka asked.

“I’ve got a theory,” Jyra said. “We’ll know for sure once the freighter is ready to receive us.”

*

Jyra returned to her quarters and pulled off her topcoat. She extracted Dario’s dagger from the pocket and turned it over in her hands. Her eyes then fell on the locket, which she had moved to the chair. She set the two souvenirs side by side, the objects that tied her to her past. Jyra’s own memories seemed foreign to her somehow. They were now marred, half by a numb void and half by an aching sadness. Even as the thoughts entered her mind, she felt her knees weakening, the sense of loss dragging her toward despair. First her brother had been torn away and then her parents had been taken beyond her reach.

Jyra shook her head and tried to think about something else. She had hoped to talk more to Derek, but he seemed keen to leave after the meeting. Before adjourning, Berk had estimated it would take about an hour before it would be safe to open Mastranada’s door. The ship had served them well for the previous mission, but the absence of an airlock was now a noticeable drawback—there was no way to keep Mastranada’s atmosphere isolated from the freighter’s when they opened the door.

Jyra put her theory aside about the closing hangar door to tackle the likelihood of others surviving on the freighter. It was a far more complex problem that could distract her from the pain that lurked on the fringes of her mind, waiting to rush in to occupy any cerebral vacancy. She rummaged in her duffel and pulled out “Ships of the Kaosaam System,” searching for a ship similar to the class of the freighter. Once she located it about halfway through the book, she flipped to the cross-section illustration.

The first detail she noticed was the size of the main hangar compared to the rest of the ship. Though it didn’t look like it from the exterior, the hangar took up about half of the volume of the ship’s living areas. Jyra imagined the size of the breach and how much of the oxygen had been sucked free immediately. The massive loss of pressure and sudden demand for oxygen hadn’t overloaded the air systems. Even so, the enormous vent from the hangar door could have reduced air levels instantaneously to the point that humans couldn’t survive.

Jyra studied the cross-section further and remembered what Craig had mentioned about the bulkheads. Despite the age of the freighter, the illustration suggested it likely had two of them, one in front of the engine room and one behind the bridge. Between the bulkheads and the hangar were crew quarters, bathrooms, and, in the forward section, a galley.

It was possible that others were still alive, sealed safely behind the bulkheads. Jyra leaned in to examine the page more to see if the bridge and engine room had their own air systems, when she remembered something else. Except for the hangar, the rest of the ship had been dark. Jyra put her tongue between her teeth, thinking of returning to the cockpit. From there she would be able to see if TF agents entered the hangar, once they realized the breach had been sealed. As she left her quarters, she thought about the airtight bulkheads.

The vacuum of space would have spread through the freighter the moment the breach occurred. Despite that, the crew would still have time to seal themselves on the bridge or in the engine room before being flushed from the vessel. Presumably, some crew members would be in both locations. But fifty people seemed like a lot to operate just two laser cannons. By the time she reached the cockpit, Jyra believed everyone aboard had been vented into space. But if the freighter did have the airtight bulkheads, why hadn’t the doors closed to isolate parts of the ship from the consequences of the breach? And what caused the breach in the first place? Those were the two questions on Jyra’s mind as she took her seat at her console.

Berk was in his usual chair, flask in hand, watching the readouts on his monitor. He glanced at Jyra as she sat down. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scorched flask.

“I know I asked you if you had any spare flasks, but I really don’t need this one,” he said.

“I don’t need it either,” Jyra said. Then, keen to keep the conversation away from her family’s demise, she added. “How’s it look out there?”

“The oxygen level is still rising,” Berk said. “But if there’s anything harmful in the air, we’ll only find out once we step out of our ship.”

“How long now?”

“I’d say another half hour,” Berk said. He tipped his head back and poured the remainder of his whiskey into his mouth. “What’s your theory about the door closing?” he asked.

“It’s pretty simple,” Jyra said. “The stabilizer we hit that stayed on the glass flew off after when we landed. I think it hit the button to activate the door on its way out. If the ship hadn’t spun like it did, the stabilizer would have stayed put.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Berk said, leaning back in his chair. “Lucky for us, too. No idea where we’d have ended up.”

“Macnelia still in the cargo bay?” Jyra said.

“Preparing for the exploration,” Berk said. “She started cleaning the guns when I left. A couple of them jammed because of all the dust. Has there always been that much dirt in the air?”

“It got worse every year,” Jyra said. “Macnelia said TF operations could have destroyed the planet if they continued much longer. I guess we’ll see if our efforts paid off.”

“I think they will,” Berk said. “Of course, it’s not over yet.”

“I thought the resistance didn’t have any plans,” Jyra said, recalling Macnelia’s words from the cargo bay.

“Well we need to make some,” Berk said. “Judging by the glance I got of the TF complex after we bombed it, I think we finished it off pretty well. Trouble is, there’re agents hanging around, not to mention a number of ships just like the one we’ve landed in that are going to be returning to base. And we’ve got to be ready to face them.”

“What about the Nilcyns?” Jyra said.

“We’ll have to deal with them, too,” Berk said. Jyra lowered her eyebrows and felt as though she were deflating where she sat. “What’s the matter?” Berk asked.

“I don’t know,” Jyra said. “Aside from rescuing Derek, I saw dropping the bomb as our primary objective. We’ve done that and I didn’t expect we’d be hanging around long after we achieved that goal.”

“If we’re going to make a lasting difference, we’ll need to be here for a while,” Berk said.

“What do you mean?” Jyra said, rolling her eyes. “Form a new government?”

“Not quite that long, but maybe.”

Jyra waited for Berk’s face to break into a smile behind his whiskers or for a barking laugh to rise from his belly, but nothing happened.

“You actually mean that,” Jyra said.

“It’s what I’d like to see us do,” Berk said. “You don’t just go blowing up the source of people’s livelihoods and move on, expecting them to pick up the pieces, especially when vermin of the previous establishment are still alive.”

*

The search party assembled behind the door, testing their earpieces. Shandra agreed to remain in the cockpit, monitoring the receiver. Leonick was eager to be part of the expedition. Jyra rested one of her hands on the gun strapped to her hip, certain she only imagined the smell of gunpowder emanating from the weapon. She didn’t want to think about killing the guards.

“Opening door,” Berk grunted.

Light spilled into the hallway along with a rush of air. Berk leapt onto the hangar deck and Leonick followed. They both held their guns low, aiming them across the enormous room. Craig, Jyra, and Macnelia jumped free of Mastranada.

“Closing door,” Shandra’s voice reported through the earpieces.

“Go ahead,” Macnelia said.

“The air smells strange,” Craig said.

“Ozone,” Berk said. “The breach stressed the air processors. That odor will likely be pumped throughout the ship.”

Jyra gazed upward. Massive steel beams stretched across the ceiling and met vertical counterparts that supported the walls. The beams were spaced every ten feet or so. A series of heavy shutters hung on the wall opposite Mastranada. Jyra knew from her reading that the shutters concealed storage compartments. Lights were mounted on the ceiling between the beams. Jyra set off for the vast cargo door on the other side of the hangar. From her perspective, the opening only looked about four inches tall. If she fired her gun at the door, she doubted the bullet would even reach it.

“Where are you going?” Macnelia said.

“I want to see what caused the door to close after we flew through it.”

“Keep your eyes peeled for any movement,” Berk said.

The search party fanned out to the edges of the hangar. Jyra marveled how the towering white walls dwarfed everyone, even Berk. The farther she walked, the more Mastranada looked like some kind of model or toy.

Not even halfway to the door, Jyra paused when she noticed a series of threaded rods poking out of the otherwise smooth floor. She approached them and realized what they were for.

“I think I found one of the laser cannon mounts,” she said. “The rods are bent toward the door, which is consistent with how the cannons would have been torn off their frames.”

“Any word on how the door closed?” Berk said.

“Almost there,” Jyra said. “It’s a long walk.”

She pressed on, looking over her shoulder at each exposed wall stud that could easily provide cover for two people standing side by side. She had already passed the door that led to the forward section of the freighter. If agents came through it, Jyra would be cut off from the others.

At last, she reached her destination. Even as she took her final steps toward the door control panel, she could see it had sustained heavy damage. The buttons were shattered and the cover plate looked as though a giant had swung a dull axe into it—a deep crease cut across it horizontally.

“At the door panel,” Jyra said. “Or what’s left of it. Something hit it hard.”

As she spoke, she noticed the smudges of gray paint on the panel and on the wall nearby.

“It was the stabilizer we picked up on our cockpit,” Jyra said. “It hit the button when it was sucked back into space.”

“Looks like you were right,” Berk said through the earpiece. “Do you think the panel can be repaired?”

“Maybe, but we should see if we can lock the door from another location before fiddling with the controls here.”

“Good plan,” Berk said.

“Can you help me with this?” Macnelia’s voice cut in. Across the hangar, Jyra heard the rattle of metal and realized Berk and Macnelia were opening one of the shutters.

“I don’t believe it,” Berk said.

“What is it?” Craig and Jyra said together.

“There’s a laser cannon in here,” Macnelia said. “We can rearm this ship.”

“Check the other compartments,” Jyra said, jogging across the hangar.

By the time she met with the others, they were all moving along the same wall, opening the compartments. They had discovered a total of three laser cannons. Of the final three compartments, two were empty and they found one more cannon.

“Perhaps we should expand our search,” Leonick said. “If we cannot get the atmospheric shield working again, these cannons will be no better at attacking ships than the guns at our sides.”

The euphoria of finding the heavy arms dissipated as the search party realized the workload required to effectively wield the cannons.

“We might need lights before we move on,” Jyra said. “The rest of the ship was dark.”

Returning to Mastranada and conducting a hurried search through the crates yielded only three flashlights.

“I thought we had headlamps,” Berk said.

“I haven’t seen those for a long time,” Macnelia said.

“There must be some kind of emergency lighting in the freighter’s corridors,” Craig said. “We can make do with what we’ve got.”

“Right,” Berk said. “We’re wasting time. Leonick and Craig, you two can check the stern. Macnelia, Jyra, and I will take the bow.”

Once they were back in the hangar, the two search parties headed for their respective doors.

Berk hit the button and the door sprang open, as though attached to a taut spring.

“You two saw that, right?” Berk said.

“Yeah,” Macnelia said.

A cry of surprise from Craig came through their earpieces.

“Sorry,” he said. “The door just…”

“It happened over here, too,” Jyra said.

It turned out Craig was correct about the lighting. An eerie red glow illuminated the passage beyond the door.

The stench of ozone increased in the corridor. Jyra turned on her flashlight. An odd assortment of objects—bits of metal, toiletries, clothes and shoes—littered the floor.

“Crew quarters are off this passage,” Jyra said. They explored the corridors to their left and right. Some mattresses had been pulled off the bed frames. The flashlights gleamed on the smooth dark walls.

“This is creepy,” Macnelia said. Jyra was glad she said it instead of her. A pair of boots sat at the foot of one bed, the laces wrapped around the frame.

“Not keen on privacy,” Jyra said. “All the room doors are open.”

They moved on. Berk kept his gun aimed into the crimson gloom. Jyra pointed her flashlight on the floor so they wouldn’t trip on the debris. They reached a ladder and had to climb through a hatch to the next level.

Macnelia placed her hand on one of the rungs, pulled it away, and held her palm in the beam of her flashlight.

“Blood,” she muttered.

“To be expected,” Berk said from the next level. Jyra stepped off the ladder next to him and saw what he held in one hand.

“The vacuum sends a jagged piece of steel like this shooting down a corridor, you better hope you’re not the way.”

Jyra shuddered at the thought and felt the wound on her arm throb. Macnelia joined the others.

“Check in,” Berk said.

“Still here,” Shandra said.

“Leonick?”

“We’re working our way toward the back,” Leonick replied. “Lots of wall panels have been partially pulled free.”

“Makes sense,” Berk said. “Let us know when you get to the engine room.”

Jyra did her best to ignore the sense of foreboding that lurked in the back of her mind. She felt similar to when she and Craig had been in the middle of the food mission on Drometica. The darkness and unfamiliar surroundings of the freighter reminded her of the stockroom and the old man.

Berk’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“That looks like a bulkhead doorway.”

Jyra leaned left to see around Berk and realized he was correct. The jamb was thicker than usual, which they could see because the door was open. The three of them inspected both sides of the bulkhead.

“Aren’t these doors supposed to close the second a breach is detected?” Macnelia said, following the glow of her light as she trained it along the base of the door, which sat suspended above them, waiting to drop into place.

“They’re supposed to,” Berk said. Jyra swallowed hard. Every door she had encountered on the freighter seemed to have some abnormality if not an obvious malfunction. Berk seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“Let’s get to the bridge,” he said. “If we don’t have more clues about what happened by then, we should come back here to do more tinkering with this bulkhead, see if it’s hiding anything from us.”

“Craig you were right,” Berk said into the earpiece. “This ship’s got airtight bulkheads. Have you passed one yet?”

“Coming up to one,” Craig answered. He sounded somewhat out of breath.

“Is the door open?” Berk asked.

“Looks like it is.”

Jyra, Berk, and Macnelia climbed another ladder. The landing floor was as cluttered as the rest of them, but the debris crunched audibly beneath their boots.

“Glass,” Macnelia said. By the light in her hand, they could see the ink etched onto the larger fragments.

“Navigation panels,” Berk said. “We’re getting close. They must have been pulled all this way from the bridge. The smaller shards probably made it all the way to space.”

They climbed three more ladders until Berk gave a satisfied sigh.

“We’re here.”

He had to push a small cluster of chairs off the hatchway. The emergency lighting did little to make the bridge any more inviting. The same dark coat of paint from the dormitories reflected the red glow in large, blurry swaths on the walls and low ceiling. Dull standby lights winked on the various consoles that were arranged in a semicircle. Beyond them stood enormous clear panels that provided a panoramic view of the stars. The complete lack of activity that should have filled the room stole Jyra’s breath away. The unrelenting aroma of ozone made her head spin. She panned her flashlight over the bridge and Macnelia copied her. The lights glinted off the dark monitors. Berk stepped into the middle of the semicircle, passing the consoles. He noticed the corner of one nearest him was smeared with blood. At that moment, Loenick’s voice came through the earpiece.

“We have reached the engine room,” he said.

“Any sign of life?” Berk said. Macnelia and Jyra paused opposite the other, each standing next to a console closest to the vast windows. They listened to the conversation in silence.

“No, but every door all the way back to the engine room was open,” Leonick said. “It is rather unusual. You did not come across any torn wall panels, did you?”

“I didn’t,” Berk said.

“Some of them seemed to have the screws taken out of the them,” Leonick said.

“Well they could have been pulled out when the vacuum ripped the whole panel forward and then the screws would’ve been easily vented clear of the ship,” Berk suggested.

“You misunderstand me,” Leonick said. “The screw holes in the panels are clean. The screws were removed by hand. Any stress against the holes would have warped or cracked them and they are as smooth as ever.”

“The more we add to the mysteries, the more chance we have of solving at least one,” Berk sighed, pushing his hair back. He set his gun on one of the consoles and dug in his jacket for his flask.

“We have located the breakers as well,” Leonick said. “A lot of them are tripped.”

“Don’t throw them just yet,” Berk said, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey. “We don’t need to advertise this ship’s got living folks aboard. I think our first priority is to figure out the doors, what happened to them, and make sure they don’t have any surprises waiting for us.”

“Could the Nilcyns remotely sabotage them?” Craig asked.

“At this point anything seems possible,” Berk said. “But I hope the Nilcyns have nothing to do with this or we’re in more peril than we thought. I don’t like surprise peril.”

“So to troubleshoot the doors, we should check each one,” Leonick said.

“Indeed,” Berk said. “Start at your end and work back toward the hangar. We’ll meet there.”

“Affirmative,” Leonick said.

Berk glanced at the two women

“I guess we’ll go see what the bulkhead door can show us.”

They headed toward the ladder hatch. The two flashlights fell on the far rim and the sight made all three of them stop. A mixture of blood, flesh, and hair hung near the edge of the hatch.

“Haven’t been checking that area of the other hatches,” Berk said. “They’re probably all like that. Agents getting pulled through when the breach occurred.”

Jyra turned to avoid looking at the gruesome remains and her eyes fell on one of the console monitors. Without the reflection of the bright flashlight glaring off the screen, Jyra squinted to make sure she wasn’t imagining what she saw.

“There’s text on that monitor,” she said.

She walked toward it, quickening her pace out of fear and excitement. Berk and Macnelia followed, crowding behind Jyra who leaned in to read the dark purple writing.

Though I do this at the cost of my own life, I do it for the good of my planet and in hopes of defeating TF, to forever banish it from Tyrorken.

After undergoing crude modifications, this ship, Valiant Conductor II, became a machine of war. Even in standard service, its purpose disgusts me. It’s gratifying to use my skills and knowledge to undermine this ship and I’ve made a few modifications of my own. I am about to override the safeguards and terminate the atmospheric shield. I’ve rigged all the doors to remain open, so everyone on this ship will empty into the void. Personally, I can’t think of a better fate for TF agents. Next time, you ought to have stricter checks and standards for those you hire as shipboard mechanics.

–Jed Skytok 

“Never heard of that guy and it seems like I never will,” Berk said. “What’s the matter?” he added to Jyra as she leaned back from the monitor, biting her lip.

“He ran the garage where I trained as a mechanic,” she said. “He was Craig’s boss.”

The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated out of the cellblock and entered Jyra’s dull mind. Her legs no longer shook. She remained hidden behind the desk as the guards strode toward the exit. Through her welling eyes she saw only a swimming mixture of white and gray. She felt the sensation of warm moisture on her arm, as well as on her cheeks, as the blood flowed from the wound like tears. When Jyra registered the red soaking through the sleeve of her topcoat, one of the guards spoke.

“What’s that?”

Jyra lifted her gun from the floor and inched toward the edge of the desk until she could peer around the corner. Her joints and limbs were stiff from shock. She wiped her eyes and saw the guards crouched near the open door. Jyra’s stomach lurched as she noticed a drop of her blood on the floor halfway between the desk and the guards. A similar spot of crimson must have dripped from her wound when she sneaked into the room. Now the guards had spotted it and it wouldn’t take them long to find her.

“We’ve got to get the radar online again,” the second guard said. “Another Nilcyn strike force might land and we wouldn’t know.”

Jyra slid over to the far side of the desk and pulled herself up. She approached the guards from behind, careful to stay out of their peripheral vision. Jyra raised her gun. Sweat glistened between the trigger and the finger poised to pull it. She stopped a couple paces from her targets. Her arm extended and she shot the first guard through the neck. The second guard yelled and he instinctively dodged the gunfire. He had no cover and Jyra put a bullet in his head with a second shot.

The gun slipped from her fingers. Jyra stared at her hands, ignoring the dead men in front of her. Her arms were steady. All understanding and purpose fled from her body as she sank to the ground. Voices cried out of the earpiece. Jyra slowly raised an arm and plucked the device from her ear. The acrid stench of the fired gun filled her nose and comprehension rushed into Jyra’s mind like water into a sinking boat. The cognitive grasp of her circumstances failed to jolt her into action.

“I need to go,” Jyra mumbled to herself.

She leaned forward to grab her gun. It took several tries before she forced it back into the holster. Her eyes were fixed on the door and she stood, knowing she had to leave. A glance over her shoulder convinced her otherwise. Jyra walked back into the dim cellblock, unsure of what directed her steps.

The sight of the bodies of her parents caused her knees to fail. Her kneecaps slammed onto the hard floor with a heavy thud that was drowned out by Jyra’s wail. She held her left arm over her eyes and pounded the bars with her right fist. The volume of her cry surpassed the crashing of the metal. Her parents were in separate, but adjacent cells. Tadwin’s right hand held Sherlia’s left. Jyra realized he must have reached for his wife after the guards shot them; the horizontal bars would have broken their grasp when they fell.

Overwhelmed, Jyra rolled onto her back as her tears ran over raw skin, washing the grit from her face. Her eyes hurt when they were open. She closed them and saw the faces of her family. TF had destroyed them all. She forced herself to look at the bodies again. Both of them had worn a business suit today. They had landed facedown, but Jyra knew both of their jackets had the TF logo embroidered on their chests. She stared at her mother, who was closer, and saw a fine gold chain on the back of her neck. Jyra hesitated, then reached through the bars. She took hold of the chain and gave a firm tug. The clasp gave way easily. Jyra pulled the necklace from under Sherlia and a locket came trailing into view. She picked it up, but couldn’t tell much else because her eyes were flooding again. Jyra put it in her pocket and thought she needed to say something aloud.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she said, through her constricted throat. “I’m sorry I ran away.” Jyra stopped talking as she remembered the final exchange she had with her parents. The guilt alone was enough to silence her. She sobbed forgetting any measure of time as her mind wandered, recollecting the rage she felt toward her parents for the contract they made with TF as well as the fights she had with them in the past that no longer mattered. Then she found herself remembering listening to her mother’s last words before the guards opened fire. Sherlia had been working to destroy TF, too.

“I’ll do it,” Jyra said. “Once we get Derek back, we’ll finish what you started.”

She wiped her nose and prepared to stand, but once again found herself immobilized. Her lip trembled and she resisted the urge to breakdown again, but couldn’t suppress it. She remained with the bodies, her head bowed in mourning.

The door to the corridor opened. Jyra noticed, but it was as though she heard the sound while submerged in a pool. She remained still, bound by grief. Whoever entered gasped, reacting to the slain guards.

“Hello!” a voice called, high and terse.

Jyra started to turn to greet the newcomer. Her hand brushed her weapon as she rotated in place. She could still smell the aroma rising from the firing chamber. She didn’t want to look out of the cellblock. Whoever had arrived, Jyra knew the dead guards would be present in the room beyond. Instead of the faces of her departed family swimming in the blackness, she suddenly saw the image of the guard falling in Mastranada’s engine room after Berk shot him.

Footsteps in the cellblock returned Jyra’s attention to the hard floor. She willed herself to speak.

“I won’t hold anything against you if you kill me now,” she whispered. The person behind her drew closer. “All I want is to be with my family. Help me see them again.”

“Jyra, are you all right?”

She spun around and looked up into Craig’s pale face. He was trembling as he returned his gun to its holster.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice still higher than usual. He knelt down and Jyra fell into him, carried by another wave of misery.

“They killed my parents!” she shouted into Craig’s topcoat. She heard him open his mouth but then felt his head swivel so he was looking into the cells.

“Why…? How…how could they? Why?” he stammered.

“My mom,” Jyra said in a quivering voice. “She was passing information to the Nilcyns. Both of my parents wanted TF destroyed.”

“Did the guards hurt you?” Craig said. Jyra shook her head.

“Craig we need an update!” Neeka’s voice said through Craig’s earpiece.

“I’ve got her,” Craig replied. “We’re moving out.”

“It’s getting messy out here,” Neeka said. “Hurry!”

“Should we…?” Craig began, looking troubled. “Do you want…?”

“Leave them,” Jyra said. “Let’s go.”

Craig stood, helped Jyra to her feet, and the two of them left the cellblock. As they passed the fallen guards, Craig slowed his pace, eyeing the rifles. Jyra kept her gaze straight ahead and pulled Craig onward.

“Just keep moving,” she said stiffly.

“Right,” Craig said. “We got Derek out,” he added.

Jyra had imagined freeing Derek many times since she witnessed his capture. She always figured she’d feel a rush of elation. Everyone in the resistance would celebrate his safe return to their ranks. Jyra knew the importance of Derek’s rescue, but she couldn’t access any of the feelings that should have accompanied the success.

They made it to the stairwell without encountering anyone and started climbing back to exit the same way they came in. A door above them clanged shut and they heard voices.

“Into the corner,” Craig hissed, pulling Jyra against him. He freed his gun and they waited, listening to the footsteps drawing closer. Shadows rose in the light on the landing above them, the hinges of the door squealed, and the voices were gone.

Craig and Jyra continued upward. They paused at the door and saw a platoon of guards marching away from them down the hallway beyond. Shards of glass glittered on the floor.

“What’d they break?” Jyra mumbled.

“An air mask reserve,” Craig said. “I saw a bunch of empty compartments that used to hold them when I checked my location. All the clean air in the complex is escaping from where the missile hit.”

After several tense minutes, they made it to the exit door through deserted corridors. A carpet of dust had already gathered on the floor, blowing in through the warped doorframe.

“Where are the others?” Jyra said.

“Hopefully back on the ship,” Craig said. “You ready?”

Jyra nodded. Craig opened the door and they plunged into the punishing storm of dirt and smoke.

Night was falling and neither of them could see for a moment. They choked on the foul air and felt their way along the building. Gradually, Jyra’s eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings. She stared up and saw a torrent of burning debris shooting toward the earth. By the time she and Craig reached the corner of the complex, the deadly projectiles smashed into the ground, raising clouds of sparks and more dust.

“Run!” Craig shouted. He began coughing as he started down the slope. Jyra sprinted after him. Clods of earth, sent airborne from the impact of a steel beam, pelted her as she staggered and coughed, fighting to stay upright.

Through the gloom, Jyra glimpsed the fuel storage tanks. Craig leapt aside as a sheet of engine cowling lodged into the ground nearby. Jyra dove behind it to avoid a barrage of bolts and flames as the rest of the engine landed to her right. Despite the shelter, she felt the wave of heat blow over her skin. Craig and Jyra reached the fuel tanks, but an incoming projectile distracted them. Craig realized the danger first and grabbed Jyra’s arm, wrenching her toward Mastranada. The projectile hit the nearest storage tank, ricocheted, and spilled flames over the dirt. Jyra saw the leaking fuel pooling and spreading across the soil.

Dust blasted from beneath Mastranada and the howl of the launch thrusters roared over the wind. The door opened, hands reached out, seized Craig and Jyra, and pulled them inside.

“Go!” a voice nearby shouted. Jyra felt the floor beneath her rising.

She lay in the corridor staring at the ceiling and gulping the fresh air. Everything smelled like dirt. Jyra coughed again and a cloud of dust issued from her mouth like smoke. Craig leaned against the wall, wheezing and pushing his hair back. His sweat turned the dust on his forehead to a slick wash of mud.

Mastranada suddenly banked. A low growl like, deeper than the thrum of the engines, filled the ears of everyone on board. It reminded Jyra of the explosion that destroyed the mountain base.

“Fuel tank blew,” Craig said. “A couple more seconds on the ground and that blast would’ve been the end of us.”

He caught Jyra’s eye and muttered an apology as his faced reddened. Jyra knew he didn’t mean to be insensitive, but she couldn’t help thinking her parents had already met their end. Part of her wished she were still outside, choking on dust and falling to her knees, unable to think about anything other than her burning lungs and dry throat.

“What’s going on?” Shandra said. Jyra saw her leaning against the wall opposite Craig; she had been one of the people who helped them aboard. Jyra coughed again, both from dust and emotion before she spoke.

“TF guards killed my parents,” she said. “I was in the detention facility when it happened.”

Despite her exhaustion, Jyra’s inner dialogue continued unabated. Why didn’t you do anything to prevent it? it said. You were so close, you were armed, and you did nothing.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Shandra said.

“Me too,” Jyra said. “I wish I’d stopped it.”

“Don’t,” Craig said. “Don’t blame yourself. I saw the rifles those guards had. You wouldn’t have stood a chance attacking them in the cellblock. I can’t believe you managed to kill them in the first place.”

“I surprised them,” Jyra said. “I’m sure I could have taken them before they shot my parents.”

“I don’t want you to regret something you didn’t do,” Craig said. “I know what it’s like.”

“No you don’t!” Jyra shouted, spitting to clear the dust from her throat. She stood up and stalked down the passage, wiping the tears away as they fell, simultaneously feeling anger toward Craig and shame for her outburst. The path to her room was empty. She threw herself onto her cot, too tired for frustration or grief. Jyra pulled off her topcoat, rummaged in her duffel, and retrieved a small aid kit. She wiped her oozing wound with a sterilizing pad then tied a clean sock around it. Exhausted, she leaned back and fell asleep, fighting to ignore the faces of her departed family.

*

Jyra woke to the sound of tapping at the door. She noticed she was sleeping under the blanket Craig had given her and felt worse for losing her temper with him.

“Come in,” she said thickly, expecting to see Craig, but Macnelia pushed the door open. She still wore her topcoat. Like the rest of her, a thick layer of dust clung to the frown upon her face.

“I heard what happened,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Jyra said. She didn’t feel any reassurance from the words and dreaded hearing similar sentiments from the others. “Where are we?” she added.

“We found a supply tank and managed to pump a little fresh water into the ship. We’ve landed to the north, beyond the combat zone. Folks are cycling through the shower and resting up.”

Jyra didn’t have the best sense of smell, but even she was suddenly aware of the odor of sweat that permeated her quarters.

“How’s Derek?” she said.

“Alive,” Macnelia said wearily. “Neeka’s looking after him in her room. Bastards didn’t treat his wound at all, but Leonick got the bullet out. His leg’s infected, but the antibiotics seem to be taking care of it. TF guards beat him as well, but he’ll recover. Just needs rest now.”

“When are we dropping the bomb?” Jyra asked.

“As soon as I fix this to it,” Macnelia said. “I didn’t know if I’d have time to complete it, but I’m glad I did. She pulled a bright orange roll of cloth from under her coat.

It was only about three inches wide, but at least ten feet long. Brown letters had been embroidered into it.

“Back on Jiranthem, I used to be a kite racer,” Macnelia said.

“How do you race kites?” Jyra said.

“You race against others towed by kites,” Macnelia explained. “You stand on a board on the ocean and the kite pulls you along. Whoever crosses the finish line first wins.”

“Were you any good?”

“I won a few trophies,” Macnelia said. “I miss racing, but I figured I’d make a tribute to it with the bomb. I finally thought what to name it.”

She stretched the orange cloth tight so Jyra could read the writing.

“Nematocyst Blast,” Jyra said aloud. “I don’t understand.”

“The part of the sea we raced in sometimes had these creatures that drifted near the surface. A large bulbous part of their body kept them floating and they trailed long, thin tentacles underneath. Those tentacles had cells on them that would, as it’s clinically described, sting you if you touched them. It was much more than a sting, though.”

Macnelia hoisted the right leg of her trousers. Above her sock, Jyra saw an area of skin on her calf stained dark purple.”

“That spot is where I got stung, but that color covered my whole leg after it happened,” Macnelia said. “As the venom spread, it felt like the veins in my leg were rupturing.”

“Sounds like a good name then,” Jyra said.

“The shape of the bomb resembles the buoy part of the creature and the kites I used to race,” Macnelia said. “I’m going to clamp this tail into the hatch cover, but I wanted to show it to you first.”

“Why did you race if the creatures were out there?” Jyra asked.

Macnelia rolled up the tail and made to leave, but paused at the door.

“The thrill of racing was worth it,” she said.

She left and Jyra stared at the ceiling, wondering what it might feel like to step into an ocean.

*

Jyra pulled her towel off the rack and buried her face in it after her shower. She wiped the condensation off the mirror and inspected her wound in the reflection. The glass had made a straight, deep cut in her arm, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

The last of the dirt ran into the drain. Jyra watched it, wishing her sadness could flow away just as easily. Even after she had dressed, she felt like something was missing. She brushed her hair, telling herself there was no way to escape the grief.

Jyra left the washroom and headed down the hall. She raised her arms to tie back her hair and felt the shooting pain from her wound. Ignoring it, Jyra bound her wet locks into a ponytail as she descended a staircase.

At first, she thought she would go straight to see Derek, but she stopped by her room first to put on her topcoat, after shaking a fraction of the dust loose. Satisfied with her appearance, Jyra proceeded down the hall and rapped on the door of Neeka’s quarters.

The door slid back and Neeka drew away from it, her face softening and Jyra remembered the news of her parents’ death had spread throughout the ship while she slept.

Against the far wall, Jyra saw Derek lying in Neeka’s bed. Though blankets covered his injured body, his face alone had many cuts and bruises.

“Hi,” he murmured. “A member of the rescue mission, I see.” He pointed at the badge on her coat, hardly visible under the dust.

Jyra didn’t know what to say. Derek’s black tousled hair framed eyes that were surrounded by dark rings. He had seemed a little overweight when he delivered the letter, now his body looked somehow diminished. He coughed once and sat up against his pillows.

“It could have been worse,” Derek smiled weakly. “Leonick’s got me patched up well enough.”

“How’s your leg?” Jyra said.

“It hurts, but should heal fine,” Derek said. “I’m sorry I didn’t clue you in sooner about what I was up to.”

He knew Jyra hadn’t been happy with him for that, but it no longer seemed important. Derek had apologized now and there wasn’t any sense in allowing it to bother her further.

“And of course,” he added and Jyra held her breath and braced herself. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your parents. It’s too horrific to contemplate. I may be weak, but if you need anyone to talk to, we’re both here.”

He glanced at Neeka, locking his jaw. She gave a sympathetic smile in reply then opened her mouth to address Jyra, but Jyra spoke first.

“Did you ever hear if my mom was working against TF?” she said.

“She may have been, but she wasn’t associated with our group,” Derek said. “I don’t know if Dario mentioned anything to her about what we were up to.”

It seemed to Jyra the only person who could answer her question was her slain mother. She felt her sadness rising.

“Thank you,” she said, distracted by her emotions. Neeka and Derek watched her politely and Jyra realized she wasn’t making much sense.

“I mean, thanks for getting me involved in this and bringing me the letter,” she continued. “If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be sitting at home, wondering where they…when they’d be home.”

Derek’s supportive gaze faltered. As she fought to maintain her composure, Jyra noticed the shift in his expression.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“They showed me footage,” he said slowly. “Your neighborhood was where most of my rig crew lived. The footage showed TF agents burning it.

“I can’t be sure if it’s real,” he added hastily. “They were trying to break me down. I delivered a couple letters to houses near yours.” Jyra swallowed hard.

“Well at least I wasn’t there,” she said after a moment.

“TF is short on time,” Neeka said. “We’ve got the advantage now.”

Derek nodded. Jyra expected to feel cheered by the news. She put her hands in her pockets and felt something metallic. Jyra turned toward the door.

“Feel better soon,” she said abruptly.

“Count on it,” Derek said.

She made her way back to her room and entered it before pulling her mother’s locket out of the topcoat. She sank onto the cot as her fingers released the clasp. The locket folded open. Two small photos occupied the center and two others, one on each side mounted on hinges, swung onto Jyra’s hands. Her parents stared out of the two central photos with fixed expressions.

The photos had been taken on a special occasion. Jyra recognized Sherlia’s formal dress and the collar of Tadwin’s button-up shirt. The photo of Dario was on the left. She stared at the part in his hair and the bow tie that sat crookedly beneath his chin. He must have been about ten years old then. Jyra had to wipe her eyes in order to see the photo of herself. She wore a blouse that seemed too large for her. Her wide smile elevated her entire face. She vaguely recalled the photo session. It had been taken at a studio in Mereda.

Jyra closed the locket, catching another glimpse of her younger self. For a moment, she wondered if she would ever look that happy again. Another idea entered her mind, and she shrugged off the coat and left the locket on top of her cot. She headed for the bridge, pondering Derek’s information.

Berk sat before his usual console. He was covered in dust and still wore his topcoat. Shandra leaned back in Jyra’s chair, surveying the monitor. Her hair was wet from the shower and she now wore slacks and the same long-sleeve shirt she’d worn while Jyra briefly helped her stock food in the galley. Berk turned around when Jyra entered the cockpit, approached, and pulled her into a tight hug.

“How are you holding up?” he asked once they stepped back from each other.

“As well as I can,” Jyra replied. “What’s going on here?”

“Macnelia’s been outside attaching the tail to the bomb, then we’re taking off for the attack run,” Berk said.

“All right,” Shandra said. It sounded like an interruption, but Jyra noticed the earpiece she wore.

“Macnelia’s back on board,” Shandra said. “Time to fly.”

“I’m going to beat her to the shower,” Berk said. “See you in a few.”

“We’re supposed to take off,” Shandra said.

“Macnelia needs to shower first anyway,” Berk said. “We won’t leave before that.” He departed, pulling off his topcoat, which sent dust billowing into the air.

“I actually wondered if we could make a stop before we initiate the bomb run,” Jyra said.

“What do you mean?” Shandra asked. Jyra crossed to Berk’s chair and took a seat. “Derek just told me he saw footage of TF burning my neighborhood. I want to see if it’s true. Either way, I’d like to visit my home one last time. After we drop the bomb, aren’t we heading straight into space?”

Shandra thought for a moment. Then she grimaced and Jyra heard a voice coming from the earpiece.

“Turn it off before you yell,” Shandra said before pulling off the earpiece. “Macnelia’s mad at Berk for showering first.”

“At least we can communicate throughout the ship now,” Jyra said.

“I wish Leonick had put these together sooner,” Shandra said. “They would have been a big help in the mountains.”

“Do they have a location tracker in them, too?” Jyra said, finding the technical talk to be a suitable distraction from her misery.

“Leonick said they’d be too much of a hassle to have an adaptable locator program built in, but they can pinpoint the wearers location on the surface of a planet. Leonick crunched the numbers using blueprints of the complex to calculate where we were within the complex based on where the earpieces reported we were on the planet surface.”

“Even though we were on different floors?” Jyra said.

“The guy has a clever mind,” Shandra said.

Jyra remembered Leonick talking about time travel and where he had come from. She wondered if he had discussed it with anyone else. Jyra was about to ask Shandra if she knew anything about it, but Shandra spoke first.

“I know you told Craig he doesn’t know what you’re going through,” she said. “But I want to let you know that I do.”

The reality of her parents’ death came rushing back to Jyra and she shifted uneasily in her chair.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I told you I was metalworker,” Shandra said. “I had good job on Jekka as a hull plate sealer. I was one of the top students at the training academy, but that means nothing if you ever make a mistake. And that’s what I did.”

“What happened?” Jyra said.

“I rose through the hierarchy at the shop and soon had some apprentices working under me. A luxury cruiser was in dock for a hull plate job. For whatever reason, my team didn’t prioritize as well as usual. The deadline came up and we were close to completing the job. The starboard aft portion was all we had left and the deadline hit. I took another day to finish it up. A week later the cruiser took off on a sold-out trip to tour the main planets. It broke up in the atmosphere, killing everyone aboard. Analysis of the wreckage revealed a fissure had opened near the engine room on the starboard side. The pressure fluctuation ruptured a fuel tank and all that fuel ignited. My oversight caused that wreck.

“Needless to say, I lost my job and was cut and branded with this mark to ensure I’d never work in the field again in this system.” She pulled her right sleeve back and, just below her elbow, Jyra saw scar tissue in the shape of an X in the middle of a circle of distorted and wrinkled skin. It stood out against the other scars she’d received from common labor.

“The worst part is I found out my parents were aboard. Dad had bought tickets as a surprise for my mom,” Shandra said. She paused and dragged a sleeve across her eyes.

“I miss them as you miss yours and maybe you and me could have done things differently to save them, but those are the sort of thoughts that keep you from remembering them as they ought to be remembered. Those thoughts undermine you. It’s been five years and I’m still fighting them. Don’t let them take root any more than they already have.”

Shandra pushed herself out of her chair and made for the exit. She paused at the door with an afterthought. “Tell Macnelia I support your request to stop by your house before we make the bomb run.”

Jyra remained in her chair, processing Shandra’s story. She didn’t have long to think about it because Macnelia and Craig entered the cockpit after a few minutes.

“What’s going on?” Macnelia said. “Where’s Shandra?”

“She left,” Jyra said. “I’m not sure where she went.”

Craig fell into Shandra’s vacant chair and looked at the monitor. He navigated away from the earpiece control and checked the radar.

“According to ship IDs, it looks like TF might be gaining the upper hand,” he said.

“I don’t care if he’s in the shower or not, let’s go,” Macnelia snapped.

“I actually have a favor to ask,” Jyra said, wishing Macnelia were in a better mood. She didn’t seem particularly open to suggestions at the moment.

“I went to see Derek. He told me agents forced him to watch footage of TF burning my neighborhood. I’d like to drop by there and see if it’s true. Shandra thinks it’s a good idea.”

“So do I,” Craig said. “Once we release the bomb, we won’t be able to go there anyway.”

“One more delay shouldn’t matter at this point,” Macnelia said, but Jyra could tell she was angry. “It’ll have to be quick, though. If the battle is favoring TF, we need to get to the complex before they restore its defenses or this will all be much harder. I’m going to take a shower now.”

Macnelia left and Craig swiveled back to face the screen. Jyra stared at the back of his head and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say what I said.”

“I know,” Craig replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

*

Berk shifted in his chair, rubbing damp strands of hair out of his face. He and Jyra piloted Mastranada to the east. Jyra had gotten her wish. They were only five minutes from her home or, if the footage was correct, what was left of it.

The ascending smoke foreshadowed what would be on the ground before the door opened to reveal the damage. Mastranada landed in the middle of the street. On either side of the ship, the houses had been burned to their foundations. Wrapped in her topcoat, Jyra jumped out of the ship and crossed to the wreckage of her home. Smoke coiled out of the smoldering piles of ash. Odors from oil refineries mixed with those of burned juniper and baked plastic. Distant thuds of explosions echoed across the plains. Berk, Craig, and Macnelia, in a better mood after her shower, followed behind Jyra as she stepped into the charred remains of what had been her living room. The area of the house seemed even smaller with the walls and roof missing. She moved to where the kitchen used to be and reached into the rubble.

“Here’s a seventh one for you,” she said, tossing Berk her father’s flask. Her fingertips were soiled with the charcoal that had gathered on the metal. Jyra placed a fingertip on her forehead and smudged a new Mourning Mark there. She saw a cluster of bolts that had once attached the tabletop to its legs. Just days ago, Jyra had sat there when Derek had delivered the letter. She heard the click of a camera and saw Macnelia taking pictures of the destruction.

“Why would they do this?” Craig said, dusting the charcoal off his hands after he picked up a scorched can.

“I think it was to see if they could get more information out of Derek,” Jyra said. “Or to punish my parents. They knew everyone on this block.”

Berk met Jyra’s eyes and Jyra was sure they both experienced the same thought. Berk set off toward the other house sites and Macnelia followed while Jyra continued exploring what was left of her home. She found a dagger in what had been Dario’s room. The weapon was in the remains of a desk drawer. The flames had damaged neither the blade, nor the handle. Nearly everything else was now coals and ash.

“I think we should go,” Craig said. Jyra nodded, placed the dagger in her pocket, and the two of them traipsed back toward the ship. Jyra expected to feel a greater sense of loss, but instead felt somewhat relieved. She couldn’t explain why she felt freer. She and Craig waited by the ship as Macnelia and Berk returned from down the road. As they approached, Jyra threw an arm around Craig and pulled him to her side. Macnelia raised her camera and took a photo.

“A final memory made on this rock,” Jyra said with a weary smile. She still felt guilty for yelling at Craig and hoped to repair the damage in short order.

They opened the door and climbed back into the ship, welcoming the fresh air.

“Some people were burned in those houses,” Berk said gravely, confirming Jyra’ fears.

“What?” Jyra said.

“Definitely bodies in rubble,” Berk said, taking a swig from his flask.

Jyra sighed and swallowed hard as she began imagining the people who had been barricaded in their homes while TF agents set the houses ablaze. Nearly all of those neighbors were at Dario’s funeral.

“Let’s drop the bomb,” she said.

They all made their way to the cockpit. Berk and Jyra took their seats. Macnelia picked up the earpiece Shandra left on the console and spoke.

“We’re initiating the bomb run,” she said. Jyra and Craig analyzed the radar data while Berk began takeoff procedures.

“The Nilcyns are definitely retreating to space,” Craig said. “TF has increased ground artillery defenses.”

“We can outmaneuver them, I expect,” Jyra said. It was obvious that their attack run would be much harder now than it would have been if they hadn’t visited Jyra’s neighborhood.

Shandra and Leonick entered the cockpit.

“Neeka and Derek aren’t coming up,” Shandra said.

“Understandable,” Macnelia said. “Let’s go.”

Mastranada leapt into the air and flew toward the combat zone. Craig clung to the back of Jyra’s chair, Macnelia to the back of Berk’s, and Leonick and Shandra braced themselves in the doorway.

“Switch to the incendiary mount target screen,” Berk said. “We won’t need the radar.”

Jyra pulled up the controls and selected the correct mount. A target request field opened automatically.

“Are we making a pass to see if we should target the shipyard or the complex?” Berk asked.

“I’ve thought about that,” Macnelia said. “What do you think, Leonick?”

“If the bomb falls between the complex and shipyard more to the north, it will provide maximum damage,” Leonick said.

“That’s what we’re after,” Berk said.

Laser bullets and missiles lit up the sky ahead of them. Closer to the ground, they saw ships ascending.

“More TF ships are launching,” Jyra said. “The Nilcyns must be holding their own in space.”

“We’ll for sure soon,” Macnelia said. “We’re close enough to designate the target.”

Jyra tapped the request field and a map of the ground beneath them filled the screen. She zoomed out and located the TF complex.

“Where were you thinking?” Jyra said, turning to face Leonick. He walked forward and squinted at the screen.

“Here,” he said, tapping the screen twice. A box asking to confirm the location opened on the monitor and Jyra confirmed it.

“Two minutes until we reach the target,” she said.

“Hold on!” Berk shouted. Leonick jumped back into the doorway just before Mastranada banked to the right. The flares of two missiles lit up the cockpit as they flew by.

“We’re a target, too,” he said, wiping his brow. “Keep your eyes peeled for incoming munitions.”

“What about the radar?” Craig said.

“Won’t help from this range,” Berk said. “By the time we see it on the screen, we’ll be dead.”

“Closing in,” Jyra said. A detonation nearby rocked the ship and Craig nearly lost his grip on Jyra’s chair.

The TF complex was in sight. They were approaching from nearly the same direction as before. A plume of smoke from the remains of the fuel storage tanks behind the facility billowed upward.

“One minute,” Jyra said.

“Got a spray of laser bullets coming in from the northwest,” Macnelia said.

Berk sent the ship into a dive to avoid the barrage. Jyra saw the cannon barrels swiveling from a battery on the ground.

“Pull up and turn to port!” she said.

Mastranda groaned as it leapt sideways and shot toward the sky.

“Bring us back toward the target,” Macnelia said.

“Working on it,” Berk said through his teeth. “It’s not a target if we’re not there to bomb it.”

He pulled the ship back on course, bringing it between the shipyard and the complex. Jyra’s fingers hovered over the release button.

“Watch out!” Shandra shrieked.

“I see it,” Berk said, jumping the ship higher.

“Target in range,” Jyra said.

“Do it!” Macnelia ordered.

Jyra hesitated. Craig leaned in from behind her and hit the button. The mount arms parted and Nematocyst Blast tumbled free.

“Mount’s clear,” Jyra said.

“Watch out for that ship!” Leonick said. Mastranada was headed straight for a large TF freighter and they could all see the guns on board aiming toward them. When Berk flipped Mastranada to head the other direction, they glimpsed the orange tail flapping behind the bomb. The ship pulled up and began flying toward the clouds when a flash seared across the cockpit, blocking out everything beyond it. The ship quivered as it rose, riding a massive shockwave from Nematocyst Blast.

Mastranada reached the clouds when another TF ship appeared. Parts of the hull smoldered and it had been heavily damaged in battle. Two of its cannons targeted Mastranada. Berk diverted by heading back toward the ground. Jyra saw a crater and fires burning where the TF complex used to be. Far below, the freighter that had menaced them fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the force of Nematocyst Blast.

“Pull up radar!” Berk ordered.

Jyra did and Macnelia glanced over at the screen.

“That ship’s following us,” she said.

Berk steered Mastranada to face the sky again and gunned the engines.

“It shouldn’t be able to handle another pass into space,” he said. “The stress will break it.”

The enemy ship fired several rounds and missed. Mastranada burst into the cover of the clouds at last. Jyra saw stars glittering beyond. Then the scene of the battle became visible. Debris from ruined ships filled space. The larger pieces were sucked toward Tyrorken and everything else drifted aimlessly.

A TF ship engaged a Nilcyn spacecraft nearby and the glow of the lasers flickered against Jyra’s eyes. Another pair of ships dueled from afar with missiles. A small stabilizer, blown free of its ship and spinning as it glided, hit Mastranada.

“Now we just need to get out of here with no one seeing us,” Berk said.

“Or deciding to follow,” Jyra said.

Berk fired the engines when he spotted a possible escape route. Suddenly a round of lasers rushed by the cockpit. Realizing the munitions originated behind them, Berk flew forward to escape the danger, but it was too late. The heavily damaged ship they encountered just below the clouds fulfilled its goal. Though it couldn’t make it back out to space, its laser bullets could. Just as Berk accelerated, a laser struck the stern. The impact threw everyone in the cockpit sideways as Mastranada spun out of control and headed toward a TF freighter.