Oh, right. “Isn’t that the place with the giant carnivorous spiders?” Another one of the Overseer’s science experiments. The modified arachnids had been supposed to help aggressively control the growing pest population on one of the galaxy’s more productive crop planets. If I remembered correctly, it had worked for about a dozen years. Then the spiders had begun to breed into something bigger, scarier. Now natural selection was at work, and the humans on that planet weren’t coming out on top.
“Oh, yeah.” Fiona grimaced. “Forget Nickleback.”
A bright electrical snap from my console sent me jumping back so fast I slammed into Big Guy’s solid frame. My controls went utterly black for the first time ever. Every whir, bump, and groan that was the constant music under my fingertips went silent, and my throat tightened so abruptly it closed.
Holding my breath, I looked over at Jaxon’s control panel. It was still functioning, thank the Sky Mother.
I exhaled slowly. I needed to get the Endeavor docked and resting fast, or she was going to die on us. And if she died, we all died, too. There wasn’t enough light from the distant stars to impact our solar panels, and the ship’s energy core would eventually drain completely. We’d end up floating. The air-renewal apparatus would shut down along with all the other systems. Without any power, we’d suffocate. I’d seen ghost ships like that, and I’d rather blow up than have a gradual, helpless death be my fate.
I cleared my throat. “Jax, you’ve got control.”
He nodded, and my brain started storming for answers again about where we could go—in a radius we could actually reach.
“Air. Water. Sunlight. Supplies. New parts,” I muttered. What had everything we needed to get us rolling again?
“Albion 5,” Big Guy said.
I tilted my head back to look at him. The colossus was still right next to me, all big and bushy and weirdly reassuring.
Albion 5… I closed my eyes, trying to picture a map of Sector 2 in my head. One system stood out from the rest as having at least two planets the right distance from their sun to sustain life. The smaller rock had required terraforming and was still a work in progress. The larger one had been inhabited practically since the first Earth exoduses had begun. It would have everything we needed, including anonymity.
I opened my eyes again. “It could work.” I looked at my crew for their opinions. “What do you think?”
“I think we can get there.” Miko immediately searched for and then started typing in the coordinates. Once they were actually set, though, she winced. “It’s going to be close.”
That was what I’d feared.
“I’ll redirect all power to the engines,” Jax said, his big hands moving rapidly over his console.
A moment later, the bridge went dark except for the main control panels that were still functioning. Even the low hum of the air recycling system stopped, and Jax’s console beeped out an oxygen-levels warning.
“Even if we don’t make it all the way,” Jax said, “we should still get close enough to Albion 5’s sun to recharge.”
Fiona huffed a little sourly. “Let’s hope so,” she said under her breath.
I was hoping for better than that. For the first time in five years, I was desperate to land, get off my ship, and breathe air that hadn’t been filtered and recycled a thousand times over. And then I wanted to get the Endeavor repaired while I figured out what the hell to do next.
My father thought the battle was over. For all intents and purposes, he’d imposed his science and his law across the 18 Sectors, but there were still insurgencies to crush all over the Dark. The human spirit was not so easily controlled. For many, the conflict was ongoing and would be until they either won or died. What could those rebels do if I gave them the serum? Turn the tide of war?
But there were already places hovering on the edge of survival, where extinction was a word to fear. Could I live with myself, knowing I might be launching the galaxy into a whole new generation of rampant bloodshed? Knowing I could be changing people’s bodies? Knowing they could evolve into something else, like those giant carnivorous spiders had?
For all the sterile labs, careful experimentation, and strict controls, science was still just a big guessing game. Sometimes, you guessed wrong. And I only knew one thing about those false vaccines: if they were based on my blood, then they were built around whatever was genetically wrong with me. And the more people who found out I was an anomaly, the more hunted I’d be.
“Tess?” Jax questioned.
His voice brought me out of my brooding thoughts. I may have been eleven years his junior and a few inches shorter, but I was the captain, and he waited for my orders.
“Brace yourselves for hyperspace.” I sat in my locked chair and gripped the armrests. Big Guy, who now knew half my secrets, stood next to me. When everyone else looked stable, I nodded to Jaxon. “And go.”
Chapter 4
Our crazy luck held a little longer, and we made it to Albion 5’s exosphere with half a power bar to spare. Jax turned all our solar panels in the right direction the second we came out of warp speed. We still might fall apart, but at least we were recharging.
After a rattling and frankly terrifying descent toward the capital city on the planet’s surface, we called in and were offered a docking port in exchange for a small fortune on the bizarrely named Squirrel Tree. I doubted there was a squirrel within a hundred-mile radius of Albion City—if there were any at all on this overpopulated rock.
We landed on our designated platform on the immense docking tower and then powered down, all of us drooping a little in relief. It had been a hell of a day. After a moment, though, the quiet became almost as nerve-racking as listening to the Endeavor whine and groan about the holes in her walls. Tension snapped through me. I hated being confined when we weren’t moving.
I popped out of my chair and left the bridge. The second I could slap my palm down on the interior lock, I opened what was left of the starboard doors and breathed. A few deep inhales and long exhales helped settle my nerves. Seeing my mangled air lock nearly undid the good the fresh air was doing me, though. The outer door was utterly destroyed.
Despite the obvious and extensive damage, it was surprisingly easy to refocus. I’d worry about repairs—and how much they were going to cost us—soon. Right now, I was just happy to be alive. Once again, and against all odds, the five of us had somehow made it through.
I leaned out of the ship and looked around. The view from the high-up platform was spectacular—if you liked glass and metal and rock. Sprawling, spire-filled cityscapes were fine with me; I wasn’t much for green. Flora and fauna were about a million miles out of my comfort zone. I did like healthy, breathable atmospheres, though, and the sky here was clear and blue, with hints of pink and purple hazing the horizon. Three visible moons hung over the city, and a small planet hovered in the distance—the one that was undergoing terraforming, I presumed.
I sniffed a few times, savoring the mix of freshness and warmth as faint sounds from street level drifted up to blend with the low hum of crafts and transports flying around and above the maze of docks. The sunny, midday air seemed free of heavy smog and gritty particles. They must have been doing something right in Sector 2, if the lack of pollution was any indication. Not all early colonists had been concerned with sustainable development, thinking there were infinite planets out there to appropriate. There weren’t, but some people hadn’t figured that out before driving their new homes into the ground.
The crew and Big Guy came up behind me, taking their turn at relishing having an open door—inhaling, testing out the atmosphere on their senses, taking in the view, and squinting against the brightness reflected off Albion City’s countless windows.
Fiona sucked down air until her chest lifted and expanded so much that even Jax had to look. “Well, that does a body good,” she announced.
I nodded. The air on Albion 5 didn’t smell bad at all. Not as good as anywhere in Sector 12. Better than on Hourglass Mile. About like Starway 8, thanks to the orphanage’s first-rate ventilation system.
Behind us, the Endeavor belched out the recycled air we’d been breathing for months. My lungs felt different already, expanded. It was time to renew. Rebuild. Figure out life. I rolled my shoulders to relieve some of the tension. Maybe I’d even understand myself one of these days.