She nods. “Yes. Then that’s what we are. Star-crossed.”
We stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. Hers are still lit up with sparkles of silver. Mine, I have no idea.
“Violet,” she says. “Your eyes,” she clarifies. “That’s how they knew you were the one. The violet inside you mixes with the silver inside me and makes… them. This baby, if it’s ever born, will have all the bad things inside us and none of the good. They’ve been breeding Akeelians for your violet eyes for thousands of years and you’re the first.”
“And Jimmy,” I say. “And Valor, and Luck, and Tray, and—oh, fuck. Serpint and Draden too. Mother of suns.” I never noticed we all had the same-colored eyes. But now that she just pointed that out… it’s true. I guess I just accepted violet as normal because we all looked alike. But I can’t recall a single other Akeelian with my color eyes.
Corla stays silent for a few moments. Just searching my face for understanding. “Do you believe me?” she finally asks.
“I’m not sure anyone could make this up, so… I guess I do.”
“Good,” she says, taking my hand. “Now listen carefully. Because we only have one shot to make this work and nothing can go wrong. Understand? Nothing can go wrong.”
So I listened.
And I did everything right.
But something did go wrong. Because twenty years later my little brother Serpint came home to Harem Station and instead of bringing Draden with him, he brought me the one woman I was never supposed to see again.
Princess Corla locked up inside a cryopod.
CHAPTER NINE
ALCOR said, “I’ll help you if you help me.”
Which didn’t really make much sense back then. Why did I need his help again? Because yeah, station life was boring as fuck. Especially after Tray got ALCOR connected to the galactic net and we could actually see what we were missing out on. But was I in danger? Nah. If there’s one thing I always felt on ALCOR’s station it was safe.
But that day ALCOR told us he was going to open the station up to the unwanted and discarded—that was the first time I really felt the fear that Corla was trying to convey to me back on Wayward that night we left.
If we let people in, especially the kind of people ALCOR was talking about, then would we be safe? How could we be safe?
What is safe, anyway?
Hiding away in some forgotten part of the galaxy? Living on a station so big it can hold several million people, yet right now it only holds eight? Nine, I guess, if you include ALCOR.
I remember walking out of the pod that day ALCOR told us this. Stepping out onto the grand concourse and walking over to the edge. Leaning over, then glancing up. Hundreds of levels all empty. The silence inside. The darkness. The stillness.
This was my reality but the whole thing was an illusion.
Because outside, beyond those gates there were trillions of people, and billions of planets, and millions of systems, and so… it’s not real. This quiet, still life is nothing more than an interlude.
It took a couple more years after ALCOR’s big speech to get everyone ready to leave the station. All of us had to become pilots, for one thing. We had to learn to fight, we had to learn to fix things. Like… everything. ALCOR made us learn how to maintain the life-support systems, and the docking bays, and the autocooks. He taught us how to build water generators, and bots, and electrical components.
And little by little he doled out his grand plan. His great mission.
We needed people. All kinds of people. But that wasn’t our job. He was going to do that via some galactic advertising campaign with Tray’s help.
What we specifically needed were Cygnian princesses. But when he said that all the flashing warning lights went off in my brain.
“Why?” was my first question.
And ALCOR answered, “You know why.”
“To breed with them and make… stars?”
He was in his humanoid holographic form when this conversation took place and he shook his head no. “You only have one true mate, Crux. You already know this. They’re just pretty, don’t you think? Special and off limits. We’re calling it Harem Station, are we not? So we need a harem. Not just any harem, one special enough that the bravest outlaws will believe our invitation is genuine and come first. Then word will get out that this is a real offer and more will come. They will come in droves to see our princesses, Crux. Millions of them will come and live here with us. And isn’t that what you boys want? A home? A city filled with people, and stores, and restaurants, and entertainment? To feel part of humanity again?”
“That’s it?” I asked, unable to fully buy into his sudden fatherly concern for our wants and needs. “That’s the only reason?”