Category Archives: Kaosaam System

The vast frontier of space appeared through the cockpit glass. Jyra leaned back in her seat, searching for Tyrorken amid the stars. Though she scanned the depthless view, her tan-colored home world eluded her eyes.

“You won’t see it yet,” Berk said, entering data for a course to Tyrorken into Mastranada’s nav computer. “Drometica’s facing the opposite direction and both planets have orbited away from each other.”

Jyra realized he must be right. Her ears and toes sensed the gentle hum of the engines. She only noticed it when she focused on the vibration. Berk pushed his matted hair back with his thick fingers and released an agitated sigh. Jyra didn’t have to ask what bothered him; it became apparent when Macnelia stepped into the cockpit behind them.

“She flies well,” Macnelia said, running her fingers up and down her camera strap.

“For a ship that escaped being crushed by a mountain,” Berk said. “When did you program the battery bomb to detonate?”

“What?” Macnelia said. Jyra watched her reaction closely. Her hand stopped on the camera strap, but her eyes widened with genuine concern.

“The countdown on the bomb,” Berk said. “You seemed to think it was set to go off in eight hours. Did you feel the blast when we took off? If we had been there a moment longer, the explosion would have swallowed this ship and all of us.”

Macnelia glanced briefly at Jyra, expecting to see some clue regarding Berk’s outburst.

“You think I deliberately tried to sabotage the entire resistance?” she said, bristling and taking a few steps into the cockpit.

“I think you haven’t answered my question,” Berk said.

“I set the bomb for eight hours,” Macnelia said, gritting her even teeth. “When we took off I felt a pulse in the air, but I thought it had something to do with the engines.”

“When did you start the time ticking?” Berk said.

“When you were flying the ship to clear the snow to simplify the hull inspection,” Macnelia replied. Berk fixed her with a scrutinizing look then turned back to his monitor.

“You don’t believe me?” Macnelia said.

“Unless you took a photo of the timer after you set it, no I don’t,” Berk said. He finished inputting the coordinates to the nav computer, stood up, and continued speaking as though the exchange with Macnelia hadn’t happened. “At least we’re heading in the right direction now. The ship’s on autopilot.”

“Everyone’s picking out rooms,” Macnelia said. “I want you both to get some shuteye during the trip. I think you need it,” she added, glaring at Berk.

Jyra left her seat and tried not to exit the cockpit too quickly, though she was eager to be out of the middle of the bickering. Berk’s boots tromped behind her.

The excess heat from the engines finally began circulating through the ship, but the large cargo bay still held the chill of the mountain air. Jyra only spent the amount of time necessary amid the crates to locate her duffel in the cold surroundings. As she moved down the main corridor, she could tell most of the rooms were occupied based on the scuffling sounds behind the closed doors.

She tapped on a promising door and heard no reply. The room behind it was almost entirely empty, except for an old wooden chair in one corner and a cot in the other. Jyra stepped inside, wishing she had grabbed a heavy coat or blanket from the cargo bay. Before she could shut the door, Craig whispered her name. He was in the room directly aft from hers. She stepped out of the way so Craig could enter her quarters.

“All these rooms are rather uninspired,” he said, taking a seat in the chair, which creaked under his weight.

“Just like the crew in some ways,” Jyra said, setting her duffel down. She explained the argument between Berk and Macnelia.

“Berk thinks Macnelia set the bomb to go off sooner on purpose?” Craig said, after hearing about the exchange.

“Seems that way,” Jyra said. “It’s hard to believe Macnelia would go as far as killing everyone, including herself, but she was acting weird. When I met her in the main cavern before we brought her luggage up she was taking pictures and she mentioned that she wouldn’t blame us if we left her behind.”

Craig leaned back in the chair and rubbed the whiskers sprouting around his mouth, considering the significance of Jyra’s revelation about Macnelia.

“This is a difficult time,” he said, dropping his hands into his lap. “You know me. I’ve known about the resistance plan for a while, but I’m still questioning the course of action. We’re taking the resistance to the next step, but bombing TF headquarters makes me uneasy simply because of the risk. On the other hand, I feel like we’re avenging Dario’s death as well as saving the lives of everyone on Tyrorken who can’t escape when the planet can no longer sustain them.”

Jyra felt her stomach muscles clench at the sound of her brother’s name.

“That’s…strange,” she said, speaking as the thought entered her mind. “Macnelia said something similar. She tried to explain how what happened to Dario changed her outlook on the resistance.”

Jyra stopped talking as the force of emotion constricted her voice. It wasn’t sadness, but rather a fierce sense of bitterness. If only Dario had talked about the resistance. How had he really felt about it? It wasn’t something she could bear to hear from Macnelia, Craig, or, if they rescued him, Derek. She wanted the answer from her brother’s mouth and she couldn’t have that anymore. Craig watched her out of the corner of his eye and Jyra sensed his gaze.

“I wish I knew,” she began, urging her mind to jump ahead of her crawling speech. “I wish I knew if TF deliberately caused his death and what he thought the resistance should do.”

“How would that help?” Craig said gently.

“What happened to him has shaken those in the resistance,” Jyra said. “I understand better than anyone wanting to avenge his death, but without knowing what he wanted, it’s selfish. I feel like it undermines his memory.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Craig said.

“Of course you didn’t,” Jyra said. “No one does because they don’t know how he felt. That’s the point. I think Macnelia’s realizing that. Why are we doing what we’re doing if our motivation for doing so is fractured?”

“Because there’s a greater need and time isn’t on our side,” Craig said. “And I agree that’s what we should be focused on. It’s hard. I’m still stuck on trying to talk Dario out of the oil work in the first place. Then there’s my own guilt of what we’re about to do. Even so, it’s much bigger than all that now. Our planet is in jeopardy.”

Jyra nodded and Craig sat back in the chair again, which creaked into the lengthy silence in the room.

“I just remembered something,” Craig said, adopting a new tone. “You said you’d tell me about Berk and his bullet wound.”

“I’ll tell you on the condition that you get me a blanket then let me get some sleep,” Jyra said.

Craig got up, went to his room, and returned with a blanket.

“Here you go,” he said. “What’s the story?”

Jyra explained Berk’s history on Silanpre and how he’d been held prisoner in a medical center.

“So his arm healed up that fast because of experimental chemicals they gave him in a corrupt hospital?” Craig said.

“That’s what he told me,” Jyra said. “And most people don’t have that kind of physique.”

“That’s true,” he said, standing up to leave. “Thanks for the update. See you in a few hours.”

“See you then,” Jyra said, settling back onto the cot.

*

It didn’t take long before Jyra awoke to a knock on the door. She sat up, coaxing her dull muscles in action.

“What is it?” she said.

“We’ve got a problem,” Berk said through the door. “Get up to the bridge as soon as you can.”

Jyra kicked the blanket off and retied her hair. Her head felt twice as heavy as she shuffled into the corridor. She reached the cockpit and dropped into her seat.

Neeka crouched next to Berk’s monitor and Berk was in his seat, draining a flask into his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Jyra said, gazing at the stars, letting the dazzling scene banish the residual feelings of sleepiness.

“There’s a fleet up ahead,” Berk said. Jyra sat straight up at the news and stared intently into space. The gray hulls of ships and the glow of their engines were impossible to miss.

“They’re so exposed,” Jyra said. “What are they doing?”

“They seem to be heading the same way we’re going,” Berk said. “The catch is there’s only one group I can think of that would flaunt their unity so openly in this system.”

“You think that’s the Nilcyn fleet that attacked Horbson?” Jyra said.

“Positive,” Berk said.

“We can’t know that,” Neeka said.

“No we can’t,” Berk said. “If your radar had been working properly back at the base, we would have detected the arrival of Craig and Jyra’s ship as well as identified the Nilcyn strike force.”

“Not that it would have mattered,” Neeka said heatedly. “I told you already. They’ve changed their com frequency so it wouldn’t have been picked up anyway.”

Berk took another swig from his flask and threw it behind him.

“Cut engines,” he said.

“What?” Jyra said.

“I said cut the engines!” Berk said. “I don’t want to catch up to a whole enemy fleet.”

“We don’t know what they are yet,” Neeka said.

“I don’t see any other fleets around here,” Berk said, standing up so he towered over Neeka. “You can confirm what they are later. For now, I’m ordering to stop engines so we don’t get any closer to them now. We have no projectiles on this ship to defend ourselves.”

Jyra leaned forward to switch off the engine thrusters, but paused.

“If they are Nilcyns, where’s the renegade fleet to destroy them?”

“No other ships to assemble this deep in space to challenge them, unless you suggest I take the pod out and we can take them on together with no artillery,” Berk said.

“Cut,” Jyra said, flipping the switches.

“And Derek keeps waiting,” Neeka said in an undertone. Berk strode out of the cockpit, his boots thumping on the steel floor.

“How’s progress?” Jyra said.

“Slow going,” Neeka said. “Easier without him chugging whiskey next to me. I’ve got their com frequency isolated, but they’ve got layers of protection on it.”

Neeka stood up and sat in Berk’s vacant seat. Almost immediately she leaned back, staring at the code scrolling across the screen in front of her.

“Funny,” she murmured.

“What’s that?” Jyra said, moving over to stand behind Neeka’s chair.

“I feel like I’ve seen this code before somewhere,” Neeka said. Jyra couldn’t make any sense of the red digits flying from one side of the monitor to the other.

“How do you remember something like that?” she asked.

“I don’t know, part of being a programmer I suppose,” Neeka said. “A couple more years and I’m sure all code will look the same, making as much sense as ink spilled on a tablecloth.”

Jyra directed her attention to the fleet, which continued to move away from them. Beyond the gray ships she could now see her home world, a tiny sphere floating in space like a speck of dust.

“You all right here?” Jyra said, walking toward the exit. Neeka nodded with a half a glance at Jyra. She bent over the keyboard and began typing. Jyra headed aft and saw Shandra walking toward her, wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

“I heard Berk and Macnelia talking,” Shandra said. “Something about a fleet up ahead?”

“Yeah, it’s there,” Jyra said. “Heading away from us, though.”

“Well that’s much less exciting,” Shandra said. Her arms dropped to her sides and Jyra realized she had never seen Shandra in short sleeves. Scars and burns covered her exposed skin.

“What happened?” Jyra asked, pointing at the damage. Shandra folded her arms automatically and didn’t meet Jyra’s eyes.

“Work injuries,” Shandra said and immediately turned and walked back toward her room.

Jyra stood in the passage, processing Shandra’s behavior. Where had she worked before? Her reaction had been so strong that it couldn’t just be shame of the scars.

The visual presence of Nilcyns, coupled with the encounter with Shandra, erased any desire for Jyra to go to sleep. She descended the ladder into the lower corridor and decided to visit the engine room rather than return to her quarters. It was brighter and much warmer than before, owing to the heat from the engines and additional lights that blazed through the catwalks and the overhead machinery.

It only took a couple footsteps over the threshold before the mixed feelings reared in Jyra’s mind. On Tyrorken, her work at the garage had always been a place to leave her worries behind. The opportunity to focus on mechanical tasks promised to clear her mind of anxiety. Sometimes projects were challenging and painful, such as when she cut her hand on the fuel tank, but the solutions were always within her reach. Beneath the garage roof, she had the tools required to rectify all kinds of damage to a variety of vehicles. Jyra found herself wishing that she could pull out the contents of her mind to sort through them on the workbench, tweaking and adjusting the broken pieces one at a time.

Standing in the presence of the engines, Jyra felt some of the clarity that came from the garage work, but only for a moment. Another feeling rose over the peaceful one like a shadow climbing on a wall, shrouding other sensations from existence. As she sensed the feeling, her eyes snapped to the ladder on the far wall. The bright lights made the floor under the bottom rung impossible to ignore; she had wiped away the even layer of dust that settled over the rest of the room from that spot.

Jyra remembered when she and Berk had taken off and the beverage had spilled. She could smell the tangy odor that emanated from the smashed mug. What if that guard had a sister? She lost him just as quickly as Jyra lost Dario. Death for nothing. Jyra felt her feet falling sluggishly as she began backing out of the room. Sparks flashed nearby and Jyra jumped and stumbled into the wall.

Leonick emerged from behind one of the energy cores. He wore a pair of enormous tinted welding goggles that made his already small face appear even more diminutive. The strap of the goggles also pushed most of his hair upward. Jyra wondered if perhaps he had just been electrocuted. He held a small torch in one gloved hand, a pair of pliers in the other, and his mouth formed an earnest smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You startled me,” Jyra said. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Did I startle you or was it the sparks?”

“Both.”

“Excellent because this is startling work,” Leonick said, ducking out of sight. “It means I am doing it right.”

Jyra had never seen him so willing to interact, or indeed, so excited. She came around to where Leonick had opened a panel at the base of the portside energy core. Wires, as thin as the strands of a spider web, glistened like shards of glass in sunlight. Jyra sensed the anticipation kindling in her chest. It was a familiar feeling from her days of working at the garage. The sensation of nervous excitement that crept in, imposing on her lungs, whenever she began taking apart a vehicle, discovering how it all fit together.

Jyra leaned over Leonick’s shoulder to peer into the crisscrossed network of wires, but she couldn’t make any more sense of how the core actually functioned.

She remembered Leonick had mentioned something about corrosion, as he switched off the torch and pulled off the gloves.

“What’s damaged about the cores?” she asked. Leonick swiveled on his heels and spoke, filling Jyra’s nose with the stench of whiskey.

“Most of these wires are corroded,” he said, gesturing at the exposed silver conductors.

“Where’s the corrosion?”

“Right here.” Leonick pushed the goggles onto his forehead and brought one of his smooth fingernails right up to the edge of a wire. Jyra tilted her head and, for an instant, saw a clear buildup clinging to the strand near Leonick’s pinky. She repeated the brief duck of her head and again only saw the corrosion for a moment.

“I can barely see it,” she said.

“I can see it better than you can,” Leonick said. “But it is still difficult. You have to learn how to see it.”

“How do you learn that?” Jyra said.

“I did not learn how. I just know how,” Leonick said. “What you look for is what you see.”

“When did you first see corrosion in energy cores?”

“Twenty-two Jekka years ago,” Leonick said.

“Were you a metalworker?” Jyra said. She knew Jekka was home to most of the metalworkers in the galaxy. Spaceports covered the planet because nearly all ships in the Kaosaam System went there to have their hull plates resealed by metalworkers. Apprentice metalworkers had to go through a rigorous training program, but once certified, they had a plenty of work for the rest of their lives.

“I do not have the hands of a metalworker,” Leonick said, holding them up to the light to advertise their smooth skin. “That job is respected throughout the system, but I chose a more interesting path once I understood myself. When I was younger, I discovered that I intuit machines. I started working as a mechanic, but I did not like it. My mind was always elsewhere and it dawned on me that my comprehension of machines was more advanced than others.”

Leonick stopped talking abruptly to redirect his attention to the energy core. Jyra watched as his hands—each wielding a miniature toothbrush—darted among the silver wires. The bristles grazed the translucent deposits, rubbing them loose. Leonick’s precise movements reminded Jyra of an old flipbook of a flying spaceship she used to own. Overtime, some pages grew limp, while others remained stiff. When she tried to use it, clusters of pages skipped over her thumb and the spaceship seemed to jump from one side of the book to the other instead of smoothly flying the distance. Leonick’s hands moved like that spaceship. The action seemed sporadic, but it was undoubtedly controlled because each stroke with the brushes scrubbed off more corrosion.

The smell of alcohol rose from Leonick again and Jyra leaned back, the odor breaking her concentration.

“Why do you drink so much?” she said before she could stop herself. Leonick’s hands stopped and he withdrew them from the energy core. He began spinning both brushes with his fingers.

“Do you ever get an idea fixed in your head?” he said. “You try to think about other ideas, but the fixed thought remains, no matter what you do?”

Jyra nodded.

“That is how my mind works all the time,” Leonick said. “My brain is inventing. I intuit that which exists and that which is yet to exist. My body cannot match the speed of my mind. If it could, I would know peace. If it could, I would relax.”

“Drinking makes you forget,” Jyra said.

“Alcohol interrupts the neural activity, which provides the clarity I need to construct my ideas in the world around me. There are two ways I can put an idea to rest. I drink until I can no longer process it or I build it so the thought becomes reality and stares back at me.”

Jyra wondered what it would be like to constantly be bombarded with information she herself kept creating. She didn’t think she could stand the chaos.

“What’s something you know of that doesn’t exist yet?” Jyra said.

“A time machine,” Leonick said. “Of course, time traveling already happens to some degree within the galaxy.”

“You mean when someone travels between two planets?”

“Exactly. A day on one world is not the same length as a day on another. A greater difference can be found between galaxies, such as the one I am from. The time machine I have planned would allow true time travel, such as to your childhood, for example. The only way to get there now is by discovering a galaxy parallel to this one in every way, same planets, same people, except it is thirty years behind.”

“You’re from a different galaxy?” Jyra said, partly shocked that she hadn’t considered the existence of other galaxies, despite her interest in space travel. The rest of the shock came from knowing she was talking to someone from another system.

“I am,” Leonick said. “The universe is a big place.”

“How old are you by your galaxy’s time?”

“Eighty-three,” Leonick said, smiling his small smile as Jyra’s eyebrows jerked upward. “Time moves faster back home.”

Jyra certainly had never considered the time differences in the whole universe. Questions from the new information she learned replaced the clarity she felt watching Leonick work on the energy core.

“How old are you in this system?” Jyra said.

“Thirty-seven,” he replied.

“But you were inventing in your home galaxy?”

Leonick nodded.

“What’s your favorite invention?”

“That I have built or that is in my head?”

“That you’ve built,” Jyra said.

Leonick turned toward the energy core and laid a hand on the cowling.

“This,” he said.

Jyra stared at him and Leonick’s cheeks lifted as he gave a wide smile.

“You invented energy cores?” Jyra said.

“I did,” Leonick said. “Much of the time I spent on Jekka involved manufacturing them, but they are harder to market than you think.”

“But they’re an ingenious power source,” Jyra said.

“You flatter me,” Leonick said. “The fact remains, as you can see, they are challenging to maintain. I have to use these brushes to clean the conduction wires, otherwise I might bend one out of place. That is all it takes to compromise an energy core. I developed them assuming mechanics that serviced them would do so with my level of patience. I was wrong.”

“You said I could learn to see,” Jyra said. “Couldn’t others learn to maintain energy cores? You can instruct them.”

“Even you should be able to understand my brain is not wired to teach people such depth of understanding,” Leonick said. “As long as simpler forms of energy and locomotion exist, people will seek the easier approach.”

“But other forms of energy cost more on the front end,” Jyra said. “Mining and refining. I grew up around that. Now we’re on our way to drop a bomb to end those activities that threaten the survival of my home planet.”

“I should say people will seek what they believe to be the easier approach,” Leonick said with a heavy sigh. “I speak not just of seeing, but also of the depth of seeing. You have experienced challenging truths that most people know of only in their fears. Your depth of sight is greater for it. Would you like to scrub the wires?”

Leonick lifted one of the brushes he twirled toward Jyra. She took it while processing what she had just heard. Jyra sank to her knees next to Leonick, ignoring his smell as she moved toward the open panel.

“Focus on the brush,” Leonick said, his voice dropping to a growling whisper. “Let it guide you.”

Jyra extended her arm to direct the brush through the open hatch at the base of the core. Sweat ran off her fingers onto the thin handle. She stared at the wires, trying to see the corrosion. The head of the brush rotated as she spun the handle between her thumb and forefinger.

“You found some,” Leonick said. The bristles scraped on a wire, wiping a deposit free. Jyra didn’t remember seeing it before she started spinning the handle, but the falling remnants beneath the wire proved she succeeded.

“I still can’t really see the corrosion,” Jyra said.

“You need more practice,” Leonick said. “But first, you need more sleep.”

He stood up and pulled a flask from his overshirt pocket. Jyra continued staring into the energy core, listening to the gurgling noise as the liquor rushed into Leonick’s mouth.

She remembered watching Leonick as he worked on the explosive in Macnelia’s room.

“Did you envision the bomb in your mind?” Jyra said. Leonick lowered the flask and wiped his dirty sleeve across his mouth.

“Macnelia had it mostly figured out. I assisted with the detail work,” Leonick said.

“Do you feel—” Jyra paused to search for the right word “—responsible, at all, for what we’re about to do?”

“I have a difficult time feeling emotional extremes,” Leonick said. “Too much going on already.” He pointed to his head and rolled his eyes. “She asked me to help and I helped. I feel justified destroying part of a fuel industry that lobbied against energy cores.”

“What do you mean?” Jyra said.

“On Jekka, the liquid fuel companies fought the energy core project. They did all they could to block my funding proposals. I do not hold any anger toward them, but it is something I considered while building the bomb,” Leonick said.

Leonick knelt down to refit the panel cover on the energy core. He and Jyra rose together and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for finding a core-powered ship,” he said. Leonick dropped his arm, set the goggles with the other tools, and walked out of the engine room. Jyra followed him into the corridor and told him to sleep well as he entered his quarters. She headed for her own room, but saw Neeka coming toward her.

“What’s going on?” Jyra asked.

“I decoded the signal,” Neeka said. “It’s a Nilcyn fleet.”

“Are they holding their course?” Jyra said. Neeka nodded.

“In fact,” she said, “I think they are heading for Tyrorken as well.”

Jyra had no idea how long she had slept before Berk awakened her to give the news about the fleet cruising ahead of them. While the work with Leonick hadn’t been physically demanding, it left her wanting nothing more than to lie down for another few hours. Instead Jyra’s mind was back in action as she sat on her cot, considering Neeka’s information.

Why would a Nilcyn fleet be heading for Tyrorken? TF owned the only valuable assets on Jyra’s home world and they were well protected. What if the fleet fired on the resistance ship? Berk said Mastranada didn’t have any projectile weapons on board. Fleeing an attack was their only defense.

Jyra put her forehead in her palms and rubbed her scalp with her fingers. The moment she left Tyrorken, she no longer recognized the pace of her life. It felt as though no time had passed since she left her planet. Despite the risk of an attack, Jyra felt a sense of relief for the presence of the Nilcyn fleet. Were it not for the enemy ships, Mastranada would still be flying toward Tyrorken at top speed and there would be no opportunity for rest.

The comfort of this idea lasted mere moments because Derek entered her thoughts next. Neeka was right. Every delay extended Derek’s imprisonment. Jyra tried not to think about what the TF agents might have done to him, but she hoped they at least had the kindness to treat his leg. She imagined helping Derek limp down one of the stark corridors of the TF complex, guiding him to safety. She had only been to the building a few times to visit her parents at work. The hallway she envisioned resembled the one that led to her father’s office. Jyra remembered then that they didn’t know exactly where Derek was imprisoned.

Ignoring the urge to lie down, Jyra left her room for the cockpit. She couldn’t sit doing nothing while the ship sat motionless in space and Derek languished in a cell. Neeka was still in Berk’s seat, her elbows on the console and her hands clamping her head, forcing her eyes to remain on the monitor.

“Everything all right?” Jyra asked, taking her seat. Neeka didn’t break her gaze with the screen even as she replied.

“Yeah.” The sound of her voice contradicted the word. Jyra glanced at Neeka’s monitor and saw the red of the code characters marching across it.

“What are they saying?” Jyra said.

“I don’t know,” Neeka said. “I’m trying to remember where I’ve seen this code. It’s bothering me so much, I can’t get to sleep.”

“Would it help if we got moving again?” Jyra said.

Neeka finally looked away from the screen.

“It might,” she said. “If you think it won’t upset Berk too much.”

“The Nilcyns are beyond eyesight now,” Jyra said, surveying the star-studded canvas ahead. She powered up the engine thrusters and felt the vibration climb out of the floor into her boots.

Neeka smiled, switched off her monitor, and stood up.

“Time to give sleep another try,” she said, walking toward the exit. “Thanks,” she added.

“Get some rest,” Jyra said. “We’ll be there soon, I expect.” She transferred to Berk’s seat, turned the monitor back on, and pulled up the coordinates Berk entered into the nav computer. They had at least four hours of the journey left. Jyra flipped a switch and the proximity radar map filled the screen. The pulsing destination dot flickered over Tyrorken. The Nilcyn fleet was about halfway between Mastranada and Jyra’s home world.

Jyra swallowed hard, unable to keep from thinking about her parents. What would they do after their daughter destroyed their office? Would they come with her or remain on Tyrorken to make a new life?

She could not deny she missed their faces and the comfort of their embrace. The feelings didn’t warm Jyra as they once did. Thoughts of her parents were now overshadowed by Dario’s death, his funeral, and how Jyra had been contracted to follow the same line of work. Her parents had set it all up and though she knew she played a role in fracturing the relationship with her mother and father, she thought they were more responsible. She tried to control her breathing, which became more uneven as she reflected on her home life.

“One thing at a time,” she told herself. Jyra switched the monitor input again and saw their arrival estimate had increased. She remembered what Berk had said about the Drometica and Tyrorken rotating in opposite directions. Whatever coordinates had been entered, the planet would likely make another full turn on its axis and bring the destination closer to Mastranada.

The sound of boots thudding on the steel floor announced Berk’s arrival. Jyra turned to face him as he filled the cockpit entrance.

“Why are we moving?” he said.

“The fleet’s far enough ahead,” Jyra replied. “And Neeka’s right. The longer we sit out here, the longer Derek is at the mercy of TF.”

“I gave the order to cut the engines,” Berk said.

“And I followed that order. Now I’ve restarted the engines.”

“Because of Derek,” Berk said, taking a seat in Jyra’s usual chair. “You’re afraid of what’s happening to him.”

“Aren’t you?” Jyra said.

“Yes,” Berk said. “But I don’t let that fear dictate my decisions. You start acting on feeling alone and you’ll lose focus.”

“I’m also trying to carry out the plan, which is to get to Tyrorken,” Jyra said.

“What matters more?” Berk said, unscrewing the cap on a flask. “Reaching our destination or rescuing Derek?”

“Why does it matter?” Jyra snapped. “How long were you planning to have us wait out here? Come to think of it, who put you in charge? I thought Macnelia was leading this attack.”

Jyra felt a surge of satisfaction to see Berk swelling, as though preparing to shout a reply. Her irritation blocked out any fear or consideration of Berk’s size or possible temper. His face contorted and he turned away, hunching his shoulders. Jyra stifled a cry of surprise as Berk grunted and punched the wall, sinking his fist into the metal. Berk raised his head to gulp whiskey from his open flask, which he set on the console. He swiveled toward Jyra and stared at his knees.

“Macnelia is the leader of the resistance,” Berk said. “But she’s had a rough few weeks. As I said, too much emotional influence can interfere with one’s actions.” He opened and closed the fingers he had just rammed into the panel.

“That’s what’s happening to Macnelia right now,” he continued. “It’s happened to me and I don’t want it to happen to you.”

He paused again, but finally lifted his head and Jyra saw Berk’s glittering eyes staring into hers.

“Feel what you are going to feel, but don’t let it lead you to do anything irrational,” Berk said. “When I drink, it dulls the rash actions my emotions command. Something leftover from my hospital days.”

Jyra felt an urge to cut the engines again. She glanced at Berk’s injured hand and saw dark bruises forming on his knuckles. Still shaken by his physical outburst, Jyra tried to take the conversation in a new direction.

“How do you know Macnelia’s upset?” she said.

“I talked to her,” Berk said. “It turns out—” he paused once more and Jyra could tell he was deciding whether he should share the information.

“She’s obviously angry about the time bomb,” he said.

“She was angry at you for accusing her of setting it incorrectly and sabotaging the resistance,” Jyra said.

“That’s how it appeared,” Berk said, nodding. “But after discussing it with her, she believes she made a mistake. Macnelia’s mad at herself and the anger is compounded because her error nearly destroyed all of us. Add in her personal turmoil and it’s enough to unhinge anyone.”

Jyra wasn’t sure what to think. She was getting used to the bombardment of questions that tended to rush into her mind, as though the words she heard shattered a dam holding back the thoughts.

“What happened when she set the bomb?” she said.

“She doesn’t remember,” Berk said. “All she can recall is taking pictures of the main cavern and walking to and from the battery bank.”

“There’s a gap in her memory?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t you had times when you wanted to recall something specific, but all you can remember is something that took place around the time of what you’re seeking in your memory?”

“I guess so,” Jyra said. “I wonder if Neeka’s going through something like that right now.”

“What do you mean?”

Jyra explained about the code Neeka swore she recognized, but that she couldn’t recall where she had seen it before or what it meant.

“Maybe her worries about Derek are interfering,” Berk suggested. “Macnelia is also upset about what might happen to him.”

“She hasn’t seemed that concerned about Derek,” Jyra said.

“Because she hasn’t shown it,” Berk said. “She didn’t let the weight of it get to her until now. The simplest way to describe Macnelia at the moment is she’s dealing with a lot of repressed sadness. She’s been too busy to feel, but the impact finally broke through and overwhelmed her.”

Jyra thought of the bomb riding underneath the ship. She hoped Macnelia had been of sound mind whenever she worked on the explosive. Leonick had helped out, too Jyra reminded herself, and the brief worry passed.

She was about to inquire if Macnelia had mentioned anything to Berk that referenced her comment about being left behind on Drometica, but Berk pointed at the screen by Jyra.

“What’re they doing?” he said, leaving his chair to crouch beside Jyra, who swiveled to stare at the monitor.

The radar map showed the Nilcyn fleet had reached Tyrorken. The ships remained visible, which meant they weren’t penetrating the atmosphere. During the next ten minutes, the fleet moved into a different formation, becoming a tight crescent that spun with Tyrorken’s rotation.

“They’re targeting something,” Berk said. “If they hold that position, we just need enter the planet from the side opposite them. Keep the engines at full and we can get there before the fleet comes around again.”

A fresh thought of her parents’ safety replaced the flood of questions about Macnelia in Jyra’s mind.

*

Mastranada glided onward, closing in on Tyrorken. Berk and Jyra delved into the ship’s computer, pretending to be interested in running more diagnostics. Instead, they both sought work to block out their real concerns. Jyra could only stand twenty minutes of the mindless search on the monitor before her curiosity got the better of her and she left the cockpit hoping to talk with Macnelia.

“We’ll need to fill up the water tanks soon,” Berk said, as Jyra crossed to the exit. She caught sight of the Berk’s knuckles that struck the wall. The bruising had disappeared.

“I wouldn’t trust the water in them now given how long this ship was likely in the yard,” Jyra replied. “Then again, I wouldn’t trust the water on Tyrorken either.”

She passed the galley and, out of the corner of her eye, saw a shadow moving on a wall inside the room. Jyra stepped over the threshold and saw Shandra crouched by a crate, unloading the food from it and stacking the goods in a lower cupboard. Though she wore a long-sleeve shirt, one of the sleeves was pushed back, revealing the scars on her arms. She looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Can I help?” Jyra asked. Shandra nodded. Jyra knelt down and began pulling cans of soup from the crate.

“What’s this?” she said, staring at the unfamiliar label.

“Tomato soup,” Shandra said.

“Never heard of it.”

“Most people I meet haven’t,” Shandra said. She yawned as she took the can out of Jyra’s hand to place it in the cupboard.

“Can’t sleep?” Jyra said. Shandra dropped her arms to her sides, tugging the crumpled sleeve down over her skin and crossing her arms.

“No, I can’t,” she snapped. “Does it matter?”

Jyra pushed herself off the floor and opened her mouth with no idea what she was about to say.

“What is with everyone?” she demanded. Shandra’s eyes grew wide with shock and she leaned back toward the crate like a cowering pet.

Jyra turned on her heel and stalked out of the galley, wishing she’d bypassed it in the first place. She wasn’t sure if Macnelia wanted to talk, but she had to try. Jyra knocked on her door and waited. When the door didn’t open, she knocked again.

After a minute or two, the door slid back and Macnelia stood behind it, her hair tangled and the skin under her eyes sagged.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The Nilcyn fleet ahead of us has moved into an attack formation around Tyrorken,” Jyra said. “We’re heading at full speed to enter the planet opposite the Nilcyns.”

“What Nilcyn fleet?” Macnelia said, rubbing the back of her head. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought—” Jyra realized right then that Berk hadn’t actually told Macnelia about the enemy ships.

“May I come in?” Jyra asked. Macnelia turned away from the door and sat on her cot. Jyra closed the door and sat in the nearby chair, a much sturdier counterpart than the one in her room. Macnelia looked sickly in the light reflecting off the pale green walls.

“There is a Nilcyn fleet ahead, likely the same one that hit Horbson,” Jyra said. “If all goes according to plan, we’ll be through Tyrorken’s atmosphere before they can detect us.”

“That’s a big ‘if,’” Macnelia said. She held up her hand with the tips of her thumb and forefinger nearly touching. “I’m this close to calling this whole thing off.”

“What do you mean?” Jyra said. “We can’t. Derek needs our help.”

Macnelia seemed to be deflating where she sat. Jyra hardly recognized the vibrant woman she had talked to in the presence of the bomb she designed.

“We can do this,” Jyra said firmly. “We’ve done so much and gotten this far.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this mission since I got the news,” Macnelia said. Jyra didn’t have to ask; she knew “the news” referred to Dario’s death.

“I’m wondering what good can come of more carnage,” Macnelia continued. “When we drop the bomb on those TF people, they have families and loved ones who care about them and who are going to miss them as much as I miss Dario.”

A sudden surge of comprehension coursed through Jyra as she realized Macnelia struggled with guilt similar to her own regarding the death of the shipyard guard. For a moment, it was impossible to see any distinction, but the difference emerged.

“That may be true,” Jyra said. “But as you told me, this is about more than that. TF threatens the future of the entire planet. It’s on the cusp of compromising every human life on Tyrorken. The families of the TF employees might have to mourn their loved ones from the comfort of a transport as they fly away from the dying world, but at least they’ll be alive. This resistance represents a last stand for Tyrorken.”

“You sound like you should be in charge of this campaign,” Macnelia said, finally allowing a small smile to creep across her face.

“Berk said you were leader,” Jyra said.

“I suppose,” Macnelia said vaguely.

Jyra took a deep breath, realizing she was about to reveal that Berk shared information from his conversation with Macnelia.

“Do you remember what you were thinking about when you set the time bomb?”

Macnelia’s smile vanished and her expression became cold. She glared at Jyra, but then directed her gaze at the floor, squinting.

“I was thinking about Dario,” she said. “I was thinking that I was about to avenge his death. But I had competing thoughts that were quite similar to the ones I just shared. Would this mission get back at those responsible for Dario’s death? I still can’t answer that question and I keep expecting a definitive reply to present itself. While I’m waiting, we’re on our way to fulfill the mission anyway. So it sounds like I’ve already decided. But of course I haven’t. These thoughts keep going around, like a ship circling a planet and they distract me. That very distraction nearly took out this ship and everyone on it.”

“Why did you tell me you wouldn’t have been surprised if we left you behind?” Jyra said.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Macnelia said. Her lips curved into a wry smile. “I thought I was going crazy. No resistance needs someone in that state because they make mistakes. There’s a big difference between planning an attack and carrying it out. I can handle the slow buildup, but the rushing execution brings out the worst in me. During the planning stage lives generally aren’t put on the line. Now we’re on our way to destroy who knows how many.”

“It’s worth it,” Jyra said. Macnelia wiped her eyes and pushed her hair back with one hand.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said.

*

Jyra wished she could keep working on the energy cores in order to ease her mind. As she wandered through the ship, she thought about the question she’d blurted after the frosty exchange with Shandra. It was easy to understand Neeka’s concern for Derek. Jyra found it harder to pinpoint the trigger of Macnelia’s misery, but Berk’s idea of repressed feelings seemed likely. Of course, Berk was also distressed, but Jyra figured he was more agitated over Macnelia’s wellbeing. She couldn’t determine the source of Shandra’s irritation and wondered if anyone aboard might offer some clues. As far as Jyra could tell, neither Craig nor Leonick were affected by the gloom that had spread throughout Mastranada.

Still absorbed in her pondering, Jyra returned to the cockpit and saw Berk sitting in front of his console.

“Any more news about our water supplies?” Jyra said.

“It’s more fascinating than you can imagine,” Berk replied. He threw back his head and drained his flask, which he dropped to the floor. Jyra noticed three others scattered around his boots.

“How many flasks do you own?” she asked, scooping them up from under him. She screwed all the caps on and dumped the collection on the console.

“Six,” Berk said. “Why? Do you have one you want to give me?”

“No,” Jyra said, taking her seat while trying to ignore the dented panel next to her. “It just looks like you’ve been drinking more than usual, though there’s nothing usual about it.”

“That’s reminds me of something unusual I found,” Berk said, sitting up in his chair. “Apparently, the air mixture in here is higher in 02 than most ships. I know Leonick was using a torch in the engine room and I think the air in there is probably balanced enough for that. However, open flame elsewhere might be a bit risky.”

“Does anyone aboard smoke?” Jyra asked.

“If they do, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”

“I’m serious.”

“I haven’t seen anyone with cigarettes,” Berk said. “I think we’re safe.”

Jyra saw Tyrorken looming before them and leaned back to check Berk’s screen, but it was too far away to see clearly.

“What’s our arrival status?” she asked.

“We’re about two hours from the new coordinates,” Berk said. “They’ll be moving away from us soon, though. That said, I think we’ll be on the ground in no more than three hours.”

“I might get some more sleep if you’ve got things squared away here,” Jyra said, standing and stretching her arms behind her head.

Berk reached across the console to access the air processor controls and his sleeve brushed the empty flasks. They clattered to the floor and he sat back to stare at the mess. Then Berk glanced at Jyra over his shoulder.

“I’m all right,” he said. Jyra raised her eyebrows in reply and left the cockpit.

She settled on her cot, surrendering to the fatigue that crept in from her extremities. The barrage of thoughts lost their distinction and entwined with each other. As she closed her eyes, Jyra envisioned the ideas coalescing in a long, shining rope that stretched into the depths of her mind. Sleep switched off her consciousness and she murmured to herself in the darkness of her room.

“I’m more than these thoughts.”

*

The cot slid sideways and Jyra rolled off of it. Though disoriented and still half asleep, she threw out her arms and braced herself as she was pitched into a corner of her room. The gentle vibration had been replaced by a constant lurching of the ship. Jyra retrieved her boots, which had migrated to another corner, and pulled them on. Clinging to the wall of the passage, she made her way to the cockpit. Berk was where she had left him. Macnelia clung to the back of his chair and a dusty glaring light flooded over the consoles. A particularly wild jerk threw Jyra into the cockpit and she caught herself on her chair. She hastily took her seat and clipped into the safety harness. The roar of air rushing over the exterior of the ship filled their ears.

“What’s going on?” Jyra shouted, as though she were speaking in the middle of a hurricane.

“Local air pressure’s too thin to support us!” Berk shouted. “We keep hitting rough patches that slow us down, but aside from those, we’re in a freefall toward the planet.”

Jyra did her best to review the gravity data, but her fingers keep slamming the incorrect keys on the keyboard, which shook as violently as the rest of Mastranada. The ship’s haphazard descent flummoxed the G sensors. Jyra saw the artificial gravity system actuator clicking on and off because the readings on Tyrorken’s gravity kept fluctuating.

“Altitude?” Jyra said.

“Can’t say!” Berk hollered. “No reading!”

Mastranada plunged through clouds, all various shades of brown. Despite the flashing warning lights and intermittent blaring of alarms, Jyra couldn’t block out the churning feeling in her stomach. A dull tan haze was all she could see through the cockpit glass. The ship suddenly flipped forward as the aft launch thruster caught a dense patch of air the front thruster missed. The stern-over-bow tumbling caused the engines to speed the ship toward the ground and then immediately counteract that trajectory.

“Get out of here!” Berk shouted to Macnelia as her body fell over his; she managed to maintain a grip on the back of his seat.

“It’s not safe!” Jyra said, jerking her head toward the exit. “Go!”

Macnelia slid off the seat and clambered free of the cockpit as the ship began the rotation of its second flip.

“We need a blast from the engines!” Jyra said. “Break the rolling momentum!”

Berk raised a thumb from his fist and nodded.

“At negative one hundred and ten!” Jyra said. She stared at the brown haze through the cockpit glass as she hung upside down in her harness.

As Berk fired the engines and Mastranada shot toward the ground, Jyra felt the pressure in her ears relax. Her body also eased off the back of her seat, indicating the speed of the ship’s descent decreased.

“Altitude?” she shouted.

“We have a reading!” Berk said. “Twenty thousand and we’re stabilizing.”

The rushing sound of air faded and the computer reoriented the launch thrusters to correct Mastranada’s landing position. The ship dropped through the haze and Jyra finally glimpsed the surface of her home world again. She ignored the thought of her parents that threatened to push into her mind and focused instead on landing procedures.

“Any read on where we are relative to TF headquarters?” Jyra said. Berk shook his head.

“The computer’s still calibrating,” he said. “We should extend the legs, though. We’ll be on the ground soon.”

Mastranada landed in a vast plain under a caramel colored sky. The few trees in sight had twisted trunks and the punishing climate had long since sucked away their moisture.

Jyra unclipped from the harness and stood up, hoping her stomach would settle.

“Until the computer catches up, we won’t know much,” Berk said.

Jyra left the cockpit and headed to the cargo bay. The straps had held most of the supplies in place. A few loose crates had been tossed about the room during the landing, but the damage appeared minimal. Jyra stepped into the passageway, preferring to use the smaller door, rather than empty most of the fresh air from the ship out of the cargo bay. She was about to open the door, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Watch out for the hull plates. They’re still too hot to touch.”

Jyra turned and saw Shandra leaning against the wall. She looked disheveled, likely caused by the tumultuous landing.

“I will,” Jyra said. “I’m not even sure why I want to go out there. The air’s horrible.”

Shandra approached, rubbing her right arm with her left hand.

“Sorry about earlier,” she said. “Sometimes my anger gets the better of me.”

“Happens to all of us,” Jyra said, hoping she sounded both nonchalant and sincere.

“It’s just—” Shandra paused. Jyra was suddenly reminded of when Berk had hesitated before sharing the information about the causes of Macnelia’s frustration.

“I used to be a metalworker,” Shandra said. “All the scars on my arms were from regular work, except for one.”

She stopped talking again at the sound of hurried footsteps. Neeka appeared at the end of the passage.

“Is the computer up yet?” she asked, rushing toward Shandra and Jyra. Her eyes were wide and her hands were clenched near her stomach.

“What is it?” Jyra said.

“I remember,” Neeka said. “The Nilcyn code. I remember where I’ve seen it before!”

“Where?” Jyra asked.

“I discovered it when I worked at TF with Macnelia,” Neeka said.

“What are you talking about?” Shandra said, taken aback by the urgency.

“I saw a code broadcast by the Nilcyn fleet and I knew I’d seen it before,” Neeka said. “I didn’t remember I’d first seen it at TF until just now.”

“Why would the Nilcyns be sending—?” The three registered the idea before Shandra could finish the question.

They stood in silence, which was broken only by the fading noise of the launch thrusters as they spun to a stop.

“Berk and I saw the fleet as they approached Tyrorken,” Jyra said, after taking several breaths. “They were moving into an attack formation. That doesn’t make sense if they’re in league with TF. But there’s nothing else worth targeting.”

“I need to see if the computer’s calibrated,” Neeka said. “We’ll know more once I can hack into their system again.”

They set off for the cockpit. All desire to step back on her planet vanished from Jyra’s focus. How could the Nilcyns be connected to TF? From Jyra’s perspective, no entity could be worse than the evil enterprise that threatened Tyrorken. If TF had command of the Nilcyns, a renegade fleet of space pirates, Jyra cast aside any lingering doubts about dropping the bomb.

When the three reached the cockpit, they found everyone else clustered inside, checking monitors or surveying the arid landscape through the glass.

Neeka pushed past Leonick and Craig, making for Berk’s usual seat. Shandra entered ahead of Jyra, who remained in the doorway and called over the murmuring and commotion.

“Neeka’s made a discovery. Based on a code she saw transmitted by the Nilcyns, it appears as though they may be working in alliance with TF,” Jyra announced.

Berk and Macnelia, now displaced from the console as Neeka took the chair, gathered behind her to watch.

“What do you mean?” Macnelia said.

“When we were programming the radar,” Neeka said in a rush, her eyes locked onto the screen as her fingers flashed over the keyboard, intuitively striking keys to begin searching for enemy transmissions. “I don’t know how I found this code, but I never forgot about it because to this day I haven’t solved it.”

She sat back, shaking her head. The monitor showed negative frequency detection.

“There is too much interference,” Leonick said. “The pollution levels will weaken any signal and if the Nilcyns are communicating with the headquarters for Tyrorken Fuels, they are close enough to do so over impenetrable networks. That is based on the assumption that they are on good terms.”

“Is there anything we can find out while we’re sitting here?” Craig said. “Do we have any of the blueprints handy to plan a rescue mission?”

“Things are different,” Macnelia said, pushing her hair back. Jyra noticed she still looked rather haggard. “I don’t think anyone thought there’d be a Nilcyn fleet nearby during our operations.”

Macnelia paused, frowning under a furrowed brow. Everyone waited in silence. Neeka turned away from the monitor, fixing Macnelia with a pleading look.

“We should fly closer to eyeball the strike zone. We’ll keep low to the surface and hopefully stay off enemy radar,” Macnelia said. “Pilots, take us in as close as you think is safe. Everyone else, to the cargo bay to prepare our gear.”

Jyra started the launch thrusters as she sat down. Neeka left her chair looking dejected, and Berk settled into it.

“Wouldn’t it be great if TF and the Nilcyns destroyed each other?” he sighed, once the others had left.

“Maybe if Derek wasn’t held prisoner in the complex right now,” Jyra said.

“Just being hypothetical,” Berk said. “Let’s go see the real thing.”

Mastranada leapt off the cracked earth and began flying east. The dust that collected on the cockpit glass when the ship was parked blew away. As they climbed over a line of dunes, Berk grunted as he glanced at his monitor.

“I got the slightest radar read,” he said. “It just flashed in and out.”

“We can go a little higher,” Jyra said. “Maybe we’ll get a stronger signal.”

Berk adjusted the engines and the ground shrank away as they ascended. The natural light faded as the haze surrounded the ship, but Berk leveled off.

“Got it,” he said. Jyra saw him staring at the screen, his brow furrowed like Macnelia’s. “I think,” he added.

Jyra crossed to check his monitor and felt as confused as Berk. The radar showed Tyrorken and the Nilcyn fleet in space above the planet, but the ships were scattering.

“There are other ships,” Jyra said, surprised to see the number of additional active spacecraft around the Nilcyns. Berk nodded.

“They’re fighting,” he said. Jyra leaned in and saw the digital rendering of a battleship disappear as its steel counterpart was destroyed.

“Looks like the battle started without us,” Berk said.

*

“What do you mean?” Macnelia said again.

“From the radar readout, it looks like the Nilcyns are fighting above the TF complex, right on the threshold of space,” Jyra said, leaning on a crate in the cargo bay. Berk remained in the cockpit, but had insisted Macnelia be told about the battle immediately.

“TF is all that could be sending up a defensive force,” Craig said, speaking from the floor where he had surrounded himself with plans of the complex, retrieved from a nearby crate. “Nothing else on the planet has the resources.”

“Why would they fight at the threshold?” Shandra asked.

“It is a Nilcyn tactic to destabilize larger ships,” Leonick said. “Some planets have severe gravity shifts that could knock heavy artillery vessels off course.”

“Very well,” Macnelia said, interrupting. “New plan. Land as close as we can to TF without raising suspicion. Craig, keep working on those plans. We’ll need to get in and out with Derek as quick as possible.”

Jyra nodded and ran back to the cockpit. Berk brought the ship low to the ground again.

“We’ve passed a couple of pit mines,” he said. “What’s the word?”

“Bring the ship in as close to TF as we can without drawing enemy fire.”

“At least that’s specific,” Berk said.

“We’ll be there soon if you’ve seen the mines.”

“Hard to miss. They’re enormous.”

“Climb!” Jyra cried.

Berk angled the engines and ship pulled up, barely clearing the top of a rig tower.

“I’ll watch for those now,” he said.

The haze became thicker and Berk took Mastranada higher. Once they were above the smog, Jyra looked ahead and saw the TF complex through a small clearing, a looming structure of steel and glass. She had always thought it resembled a fearsome reptile because the main entrance had been cantilevered over the parking lot like a pointed upper jaw. Jyra used to imagine the floors over the main doors would come crashing down to swallow the vehicles and people underneath it. The building extended back from the parking lot and had been constructed around existing machinery so the architecture curved and shifted to avoid the equipment. The glass exterior reflected the sky, creating a brown sheen like scales to complete the reptilian image in Jyra’s mind.

Despite the perpetual cover of the sullied clouds, they weren’t thick enough to hide the light from the explosions above them. Berk checked the progress of the battle on the radar screen.

“Lost some more ships,” he said.

“We should get out of the haze and start looking for somewhere to land,” Jyra said. They were closing fast on the TF complex. Mastranada aimed toward the ground and nothing could be seen out of the cockpit for a few moments. As they dropped out of the haze, Berk had to negotiate a hasty pull-up again as the roofs of buildings appeared before them. Jyra spotted the perimeter wall that circled the TF campus.

“It’d be nice to land inside of that,” she said.

“Risky, though,” Berk pointed out. “TF is under attack and if they weren’t prepared for it, they’ll be scrambling, which bodes well for us. Or, they are ready, which means we might be targeted immediately.”

“Let’s fly beyond the wall and see what happens,” Jyra suggested.

Mastranada soared onward and entered TF airspace. Jyra watched as they passed between vast storage tanks and abandoned pressurized steam systems. They made a sharp turn and headed back the way they came. Jyra stared at the massive complex, searching for guards or laser cannons.

“How about we land between those tanks?” Berk said, pointing at the round vats ahead of them.

“All right,” Jyra said. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the seeming lack of activity at the complex put her on edge. The launch thrusters engaged and Mastranada landed on the gravel, relatively concealed by the fuel storage tanks. Jyra got to her feet, which felt heavier than usual. She walked out of the cockpit ahead of Berk and reached the cargo bay sooner than she expected.

Macnelia had changed and now wore ankle-high boots, dark brown dungarees, and a long-sleeve black shirt. She had tied her hair back and strapped a wide belt around her waist.

“We get a good spot?” Macnelia asked when Jyra and Berk stepped into the room around a large crate.

“You can knock on the backdoor if you like,” Berk said.

“I’ll let the bomb do that later,” Macnelia said.

“It’s strange,” Jyra said. “There’s no sign of anyone. We weren’t fired upon or anything.”

Macnelia considered this information, but after a moment clapped her hands.

“Well, we should take advantage of that. Come get your gear.”

Jyra walked around the main pile of crates and saw the floor covered in supplies for the rescue mission. A number of thin topcoats, all identically dyed to mimic the hue of the haze outside, were stacked in a pile. Berk strode forward and retrieved his shotgun from the collection of guns that had been laid out. Coils of rope, some tied to grappling hooks, were displayed against the wall.

Craig still sat on the floor drawing on the blueprints before him, his tongue between his teeth.

“Where’s everyone else?” Jyra said.

“In their rooms getting ready,” Macnelia said. “Except Leonick and Neeka. They’re staying aboard.”

“They are?” Jyra said, surprised. She assumed Neeka would want to come help rescue Derek.

“Neither of them believes they would be much help in a fight. Anyway, we need to keep the ship protected and we won’t get far without com equipment operators.”

“Com equipment?” Jyra was beginning to wonder whether she should be participating in the mission, given how little she seemed to know about it.

“Leonick’s calibrating the earpieces right now,” Macnelia explained. “He’ll make sure the channel stays private so we can all talk to each other when we’re inside. Neeka’s going to see if she can hack into anything that might be helpful. Maybe she’ll deactivate the locks on all detention wings.”

“I don’t think we’ll be that lucky,” Berk said, before taking a hearty swig from his flask.

“Neither do I,” Macnelia said grimly. “You both better change. Wear the heaviest clothes you have. Meet back here in three minutes and bring your badges.”

Jyra went to her room and pulled out a pair of trousers she used to wear to work. They were covered in patches where sparks from welding had damaged them. She slipped them on and fastened the button, realizing her hands were shaking. In the bottom of the duffel, Jyra found a gray button-up shirt and suddenly remembered it used to be Dario’s. She crumpled it briefly in her fists and felt the fearful tremors subside. The buttons on the shirt didn’t challenge her fingers at all. The badge lay on the floor beside her duffel. Jyra stepped into her boots, retied them, and grabbed the badge before leaving her quarters.

“Excellent,” Macnelia said, smiling when Jyra returned to the cargo bay. Macnelia was nervous, too; the smile showed signs of strain around the edges. Macnelia knelt by the topcoats and pulled one out that looked to be the correct size. Jyra threw it over her shoulders. It was much lighter than the fur coat she wore in the mountains. She noticed Craig had left, presumably to prepare like the others.

“More for disguise than anything,” Macnelia said, admiring the way the coat hung on Jyra. She took the badge and used a couple pins to fix it near Jyra’s lapel. “All you need now is a weapon and the route you’ll take.” She spoke as though Jyra were heading off for another day of work at the garage.

Jyra selected the same handgun she had worn on the missions from the mountains. She strapped the holster around her hip and turned toward the door from the main passage as voices heralded the return of the others. Shandra appeared first, clad in black shoes, the same kind of dungarees Macnelia wore, and a dark blue shirt. Half a dozen grenades hung from a bandolier slung over one shoulder that attached to her belt. A gun also glinted from its holster at her hip.

Craig appeared next, dressed in overalls he often wore to the garage. His boots were more worn that Jyra’s. His face looked whiter than usual. Berk came next, but Jyra didn’t see any change in his appearance. He still wore his heavy coat. Neeka and Leonick entered last. Leonick untangled the wires of five earpieces and distributed them as the newcomers picked up their topcoats and allowed Macnelia to affix their badges. She also gave the rescue team members two small metallic strips.

“I’ve made some progress,” Neeka told Macnelia. “I’ve isolated some frequencies I’m certain are transmissions from the battle. The sooner I can get back to hacking, the better.”

“This shouldn’t take too long,” Macnelia said and then she raised her voice to address the whole group. “This is it, people. We’ve got this last mission to complete before we can fulfill our ultimate purpose for being here. Although we know TF has detention facilities in its complex, we don’t know which one Derek is in. Chances are low he’s in confinement offsite.

“Craig has plans of the complex he obtained from Derek recently. Based on discussions between the two of them, Craig has mapped out likely locations to scout once we’re inside.”

Craig gathered the plans on the floor and placed them on top of a crate. Everyone clustered around as he described the areas of focus in the complex.

“We’re going to enter from the west. The door nearest to us is on that side and, according to Derek, usually has minimal security. It is hard to monitor because nearby machinery reduces visibility. Once we’re inside, we’ll break off and each person is responsible for checking a designated location.”

Macnelia began speaking again. “The earpieces give us an advantage because we can update each other as well as Leonick back here on the ship. Someone gets into trouble, call for help and listen for instructions. The earpieces also beam your position to Leonick so he can coordinate assistance efforts. This goes without saying, but once you find Derek, let everyone know. Any detention door locks will likely be broken with these—” she held up her metallic strips—“Be aware of what’s going on around you. At this point, TF must be distracted with the Nilcyn attack. Ideally, we’ll head in, grab our guy, and get out of here before they realize we’re even inside.”

She stopped talking and everyone seemed to avoid looking at each other. The magnitude of situation fell on Jyra’s shoulders. She felt her body stiffen under the weight, as though a massive hammer struck her from above and she tried to resist the blow. For the first time, Jyra faced the idea that she might meet a fate similar to her brother’s. The foreboding energy in the room suggested others were thinking along the same lines.

“Earpieces in,” Macnelia said, speaking as she drew a deep breath. “Neeka and Leonick, return to the cockpit and give us the word when it’s safe to exit.”

“Good luck,” Neeka said stiffly, fighting to keep a confident expression. Leonick gave a small bow toward the group and headed for the cockpit. Neeka threw her arms around Macnelia and shuddered as she took a gulp of air.

“See you soon,” Macnelia said, giving a small smile of encouragement. She brushed one of Neeka’s tears aside before turning toward the group. Neeka rushed from the cargo bay.

Shandra picked up a grappling hook and lashed the rope coil to her belt. Berk imitated her. Jyra and Craig fitted their earpieces in place, clipping the devices over their ears beneath the hairline.

The five moved out into the passage that led to the small door out of the ship. They waited in the semidarkness, listening to their own breathing, but hearing no sound from those next to them.

“Clear,” Leonick’s voice said into their heads.

Berk pressed the door button and jumped out into the dust of Tyrorken, followed by the rest of the group.

*

Everyone began coughing. Their first breaths sucked the smog into their lungs. Despite spending her life on the planet, Jyra had never struggled to breathe as she did now.

“This is their defense,” Berk wheezed over the coughs of others. “No one can get close to do any damage without suffocating.”

They staggered around the fuel storage tank and moved into the open. The TF complex towered before them, constructed at the top of a gentle slope. Over the noise of the wind, they heard muted explosions overhead as TF and Nilcyn vessels clashed. Jyra pulled the topcoat collar around her face. She was able to take a few improved breaths, but the buildup of dust on the fabric soon made it impractical.

She looked back and saw they had traveled farther than she thought, but the complex didn’t appear to be any closer. Berk led the group, a hulking figure lurching up the slope. Macnelia or Shandra were the next two, then Craig, and Jyra brought up the rear. The coat flapped against Jyra’s legs, reminding her of the way the breeze tugged at the long garments people wore to Dario’s funeral. She had picked clothes for the ceremony that were the least vulnerable to the wind because it was one of the few natural forces on Tyrorken she and Dario could appreciate. They would fly kites and chase the sporadic vortexes of dust. After Dario’s death, the wind became a testament to his memory and Jyra’s joy of the breeze died with her brother.

Jyra nearly walked into Craig, who had slowed his pace. They had reached the corner of the complex. Berk surveyed ahead and then proceeded out of sight.

“Come forward,” his voice crackled in the earpieces. Once they moved onto the west wall, the wind and choking dust subsided. A network of pipes and compressors were clustered about ten feet from the building. The group moved in single file, creeping against the smooth glass.

“I can see the door,” Berk reported. “It’s just—”

Neeka’s voice suddenly cut across Berk’s transmission.

“Rescue team, alert, alert! Inbound missile, targeting two thousand feet north from your present position! Retreat! Inbound missile! Retreat!”

“Back!” Berk roared and Jyra heard him even without the earpiece. They all scampered back to the southwest corner and clustered on the south wall. Jyra looked up and saw the silver glimmer, leaving a white contrail.

“Now, we’ll see how accurate the complex defenses are,” Macnelia said with a scratchy voice.

The missile dropped suddenly, bearing down on TF. Jyra thought she heard a high-pitched whistling noise.

“Estimated one minute until impact,” Neeka said. There was no missing the despair in her voice.

Unseen batteries activated and rounds of laser bullets streaked skyward toward the missile. Most of them traveled through the wake of the explosive.

“Miss,” Berk said.

A second barrage tracked the missile with greater accuracy and just when a bullet nearly made contact, the explosive rolled sideways, dodged another bullet, and recalibrated to its target.

“I think we’re actually going to witness the superiority of Nilcyn weaponry this time,” Berk said. “Laser bullets won’t bring it down.”

A third attack failed to destroy the missile.

“Everyone get back!” Berk said. They felt the building shudder before the sound of the impact reached their ears. A rumbling note, so deep it seemed as though it cracked the earth open, rolled over the TF complex and out into the plains. From their end, the building appeared unharmed. None of the glass panels above them shattered. Moments after they felt the sound of the explosion, debris from the north came to them. Shards of glass fell like confetti. They all recognized the danger at once.

“Inside!” Berk said. “And keep an eye above you!”

They charged ahead, trying to watch where they were going as well as the air above them, which now contained thousands of pieces of tumbling wreckage. Twisted steel beams crashed onto the compressor machinery. Airborne wall panels broke on the edge of the roof over them. Berk reached the door first and discovered it was locked.

“Keep an eye above you!” he repeated. Then he took a step back and charged at the metal door. He brought his boot against it, just above the latch. The image of the dented panel in the cockpit surfaced in Jyra’s mind and she knew what would happen. The door burst open from the force of Berk’s kick. As Jyra watched his performance, she didn’t heed his warning and a sheet of glass plunged noiselessly toward her. A jagged edge grazed her left arm above the elbow and tore through the skin like a razor blade.

She felt the cool air swirling around the wound and the flow of warm blood before she realized what had happened.

“Come on!” Craig shouted at her. Jyra looked up and saw him gesturing ahead of her. Everyone else had run through the door.

She jogged forward, jumping as another chunk of wall crashed onto the ground to her left. Jyra reached the door and noticed the whole jamb had been warped by Berk’s strength. She ducked in after Craig as scorched steel beams rained onto the earth.

“What happened?” Shandra said, pointing at Jyra’s arm.

“Little scratch,” Jyra said wearily, tugging the sleeve back. The cut was about three inches long.

“That’s deep,” Berk said. “That needs to be cleaned and bandaged,” he added with a smile.

“It’s not funny,” Macnelia said. “Something falling from that height like glass wouldn’t need to be very big to take off your arm, let alone kill you.”

“Are you all right?” Craig said.

“I think so,” Jyra said. “In fact—” she raised her wounded arm to point at the wall—“I’ll be fine thanks to the TF commitment to safety.” Everyone followed the direction of her gesture and saw an aid box on the wall.

While Macnelia wrapped Jyra’s arm, the others checked the nearby passages. The floors were white and the walls and ceiling were painted gray. Their surroundings were so sterile, it looked as though no one had ever walked in these corridors.

“General rule,” Berk said, addressing the group. “Don’t shoot unless you have to. First, the noise might attract reinforcements. Second, anyone you encounter might have useful information and they’ll likely give it if they’re staring into your gun’s eye. That said, if we get another inbound missile, shoot whatever you need to get out of the building as soon as you can. Understood?”

The group gave affirmative murmurs and moved farther into the complex. They could hear the faint noise of debris from the explosion still hitting the roof.

“All right,” Craig said once they reached an intersection where their corridor widened. “Time to divide and locate. Macnelia, you’ve got the lowest detention facility. Shandra, you’ve got the northwest one two floors up, I think. Berk yours is the southeast. Jyra, you’ve got the lower northeast one and I’ve got the one straight up from here at the top, the executive detention facility.”

“If only that was really where top TF officials had to stay,” Shandra said.

She and Jyra set off as the group scattered without another word. They walked in silence, making an effort to mute the sound of their footsteps. Shandra pulled her gun free and held it at her side. Jyra stopped, noticing the sign next to a door to their right. Beyond it, they found a staircase. Shandra gave a reassuring nod and then began running up the stairs, two at a time.

Jyra sighed and began her descent. At each turn of the winding flights of stairs, she heard the sconce lights buzzing. Despite her best efforts, her boots still thudded on the treads and echoed above and below. Her nerves prevented any cohesive thought and her mind began inventing horrific ideas. What if she found Derek, but he had been killed and left in a cell? What if he wasn’t conscious? Why were they even looking for him? Why risk nearly the entire resistance for one life? Jyra knew that Derek was the reason she managed to be part of the resistance in the first place and they needed to make every effort to save him.

“Nerves,” she muttered to herself. If everyone’s path wound up being as clear as hers, they shouldn’t have a problem. Jyra remembered what Macnelia had said about TF letting people go as the company became more secretive. Hopefully, they had cut back on the number of guards, too. Most of the TF security forces were likely up in space fighting the Nilcyns.

Jyra passed white doors at each landing. She squinted at each gray information plate she encountered, but saw nothing about a detention facility. As Jyra rounded another corner, her gun hit the railing and the clanging note filled her ears. Her fingers fumbled with the holster. She pulled the firearm free and disengaged the safety. It seemed like a good idea to be on her guard, but the moment Jyra held the gun before her, she began sweating and quivering. She returned it to the holster and, when she looked up, saw the next door was the one to open.

The hallway beyond was just as eerie and silent as the rest of them. Unlike the passages above, more pipes and ducts had been routed against the ceiling and upon the walls. They gleamed in the lights, which seemed dimmer here. Jyra crept forward, unaware she was holding her breath. She expected guards to leap out from behind some of the wider ducts.

A warm trickling sensation glided down her arm under her topcoat sleeve. It took Jyra a moment to realize the blood from her wound had soaked through the bandage. She proceeded down the hallway and saw a large reinforced door ahead. Jyra broke into a delicate trot and reached the entrance to the detention area. She peered through the thick window mounted in the door. An empty desk sat in the left part of the room. A few scattered chairs occupied the right side. The cellblock extended deep into the wall opposite the door. She tried the button nearby, but the door didn’t open.

Jyra wondered if one of the lock crackers might work. Before she could check, the door leading out of the stairwell creaked. Jyra leapt behind a nearby duct as two enormous guards entered the hallway. They marched down the passage, absorbed in a murmured conversation. The guards paused in front of the door, which opened after one of them swiped a fob in front of a reader. Each guard wore a dull green uniform, a similar colored cap, and black combat boots. Jyra noticed the attire after staring at the size of the rifles each guard had slung over their back.

They entered the room and made straight for the cellblock. Seeing an opportunity, Jyra crept across the hallway. She passed through the doorway in a crouch and crawled behind the desk. Once she was in place, the door glided shut. Jyra removed her gun from her hip again and set it on the floor. Some of her blood dripped onto the linoleum beside her. The crash of metal on metal from the cellblock startled her.

“Attention!” one of the guards shouted. “Traitors are ordered to rise!”

Jyra realized the use of the plural, but her mind went blank as she heard the voice that replied.

“How dare you call me a traitor?” Sherlia said. “I’ve devoted my life to this company!”

Jyra felt another stab of fear and panic as her father spoke.

“Don’t,” he said. “You’ll make things worse.”

“It’s as worse as it’s going to get,” the guard said. “Transmitting classified data to a known enemy carries a severe penalty.”

Jyra heard her mother’s voice break.

“I’ve devoted my life to TF,” Sherlia said. “And it’s brought me nothing but woe. No enemy can be worse than this company. I’d have willingly given as much information as was necessary to see TF ruined by any means.”

“I stand with my wife,” Tadwin said. “Meanwhile you stand there, aiming guns at those who tried to free you and this planet from an oppressive corporation. TF killed our son and forced our daughter to flee. I doubt you’d have done different if you’d faced our circumstances.”

Jyra tried to stand, but her legs quaked under her weight. Her heart pounded as her parents’ words filled her ears.

The guard chuckled.

“Not if I knew this was coming,” he said.

The rifles cracked and Jyra felt something inside her break. Tears burned her eyelids as she heard the thuds of bodies hitting the floor.

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.

“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.”

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.”