I’ve always liked how Xyla counts herself as one of us. How she always uses the word ‘we’ and almost never uses the word ‘I.’ And right now, I appreciate that more than she will ever know.
“If we could get Nyleena back to Harem,” ALCOR says, “we could keep her safe. We could keep Lyra safe too. There is a reason I have that defense system. We just need to get through this one mission, boys. We just need to get her back and we’ll be OK. I promise.”
Boys.
He almost never calls us boys anymore. He used to back when we first found him. It was always, “Boys, come here.” Or, “Boys, I need your help.” Or, “Boys, we can do better.” It makes me sad to think back on our history together because it hits me in this moment, just what ALCOR is to us.
It has taken me twenty years to realize he is our father.
“We’re about to enter the last gate,” Xyla says, walking back towards the cockpit. “Helmets on, suits pressurized. Now.”
Standard procedure, I tell myself. Just normal precautions when you go into unknown territory expecting resistance.
We all suit up and strap in. I hate not being pilot. I hate not being in Booty. I hate not being in control when there’s so much at stake.
But Valor catches my eye from across the room and nods his head. I watch a glint of cobalt blue blaze across his violet eyes, a reflection of the electromagnetic glow that surrounds the gate like spider-like tendrils, and nod back as we go in.
And most times you come out the other end of the gate just fine. Suit unnecessary. Empty space for a million miles in every direction.
But that’s not how we come out of this gate.
We come out of this gate blinded by a flash of light, an explosion of the brightest magnitude, and the sense that we just made a very big mistake.
Because everything goes black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX – LYRA
We come out of the last gate in silence. I expect alarms, and warnings, and Booty’s disembodied voice barking orders.
None of that happens. I count to ten in my head, letting my body adjust to the new stillness, then open my eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking around. I unsnap myself from the harness, then shakily get to my feet. Prince is still snapped into the bot station, safe and snug. But he’s not moving or making any sound.
He looks dead.
“Booty?” I say, expecting an immediate response. “What’s going on?”
I know she’s not dead. The bot isn’t dead either. These can’t die unless you blow their memory components into bits. They just go out of service for a while.
But Booty is not out of service. I know this because in this silence there are lights flashing on panels, and images on screens, and data flowing in code everywhere I look.
“Booty!” I say. “Answer me.”
I step forward towards the cockpit. The space where Serpint and his brother Draden probably spent a lot of time together. Talking, and joking, and laughing. Probably got angry and fought in this space too.
I look up at the large, main screen. Not a window in the traditional sense, but a live feed outside the ship.
My eyes squint together, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. “What the hell is that?”
Something is floating towards us. Spinning in the vacuum of space. Toppling end over end as it gets closer and grows bigger.
The screen is tracking the unknown object. Calculating its velocity and collision time—because that’s what’s going to happen if she doesn’t move.
“Booty, move out of the way!” I say. “Booty!”
But she doesn’t move. Just hovers in space. Waiting for—
The object smacks into us. Not enough impact to make the hull shudder or move us off course, but the vibration carries through the hull of the ship as a dull hum that rings for a second or two.
“What the hell am I looking at?” I say, walking forward to peer at the screen. Because I now see that there’s more of these spinning objects.
Lots more.
“A debris field,” Booty says. “That’s what we’re looking at. Bull Station is gone. And that thing that just hit us, and those things still spinning towards us… are bodies.”
“Bodies,” I repeat. Like saying it out loud will force it to make sense. “Nyleena.”
“She must’ve exploded,” Booty says. “And taken the whole station with her.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, that’s not what happened.”
“Lyra,” Booty says, using one of those calm, patient voices people use when someone is being unreasonable. “The station is gone.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I say. “We were connected. If she detonates, I go with her. If she blew up, we wouldn’t be here. She has to be here somewhere.”
“Then what caused this—”
She stops talking, her data screens scrolling—scrolling—scrolling. Searching for answers.