14. Zeerah

I'm sweaty and gearing up for an argument with Falkion—we're in danger, I swear, you have to evacuate, please—and he just does it.

No argument needed.

The overhead lighting shifts to a green emergency tint. Low sirens echo down the hall. Officers outside stop and look up, then pivot and change direction.

"Attention," an automated voice drones. "Secure your stations. This is a controlled evacuation. Attention."

Falkion looks me right in the face, waiting for my next order. My heart squeezes in my chest. I feel this terrible urge to do something crazy, like kiss him or cry.

Somehow, in this vast universe, there is a man—an Arrisan—who simply believes.

I don't have to justify. I don't have to argue my side. The emergency light reflects off his gray skin and silver eyes, the four black spikes on his ears, and the oil-slick black skinsuit adhered to his hard body. He's been the image of my nightmares, my childhood terror, and his people almost completely destroyed mine when they pushed our planet. And yet, right at this exact moment in space and time, he looks, to me, like a hero.

The others sputter with disbelief.

Kollok leaps out of his console.

"What in the seven suns do you think you're doing?" He balls his fist and winds back.

Falkion squares up to his second-in-command. The silver edges of his blades gleam against his wrists. Everyone on the bridge stiffens.

Kollok changes direction and releases his fists, shaking his fingers. He almost sounds hurt. "But…why? Ruled by a fearful lesser… This is insanity."

"You don't have all the information." Falkion turns away, dismissing him.

And my heart swells again.

Because he thinks I do.

I mean, I know I do, but he thinks so too.

"Falkion!" High Commander Drin screams from the main viewscreen. "You have defied me for the last time!"

Falkion lowers his arms like he's about to go into combat.

"Betraying the empire on the word of a lesser? I ought to relieve you—"

All screens go black.

The evacuation sirens cut off.

The bridge drops into inky darkness.

My hood display shows outlines the bridge and crew.

The floor abruptly jumps away from my feet.

Oh, no.

Gravity!

My stomach lurches for my throat.

In the strobing light, we all rotate, weightless and scrambling, in a panic.

It's utterly silent except for the clatter of loose objects bouncing off walls and the ceiling.

Falkion grapples me and pulls me against him.

And then it's over. All the screens turn on again with huge flashing warnings. The proximity sirens wail. Gravity throws us to the ground with a hard thud.

Falkion cups my head to his chest. My hood display shows his vital signs. Steady heartbeat, good health.

I struggle to catch my breath. "The engines? They were pierced?"

"No." Falkion's hard gaze nails mine, reminding me that if the engines got breached, neither of us would be around to ask questions. We'd be atoms speeding toward opposite galaxies.

But gravity loss is always bad. "Then, the H-aliens have come…?"

"No." Navigator Werrin smacks his controls. He leans as though he's trying to make the ship veer in a certain direction with his minuscule weight. "We're rotating."

Rotating?

As in, we're not moving, but something is moving us?

Warnings shrill. Fire on the ship, and hullcrack. Two of the three worst things that can happen in space.

Honestly, I'm afraid the third worst thing is not far behind…

Falkion helps me up and moves to the navigation console. "What's our situation?"

"We've hit two support ships and one of the evacuation ships while it was exiting our engineering bay." Werrin grits his teeth, sweating. "We're about to hit the PeaceWrecker."

The proximity warnings get louder.

And then they remain at that steady volume.

Werrin's shoulders lower. "We stopped. Approximately one…arm's length from the PeaceWrecker."

There's a collective sigh.

Abruptly, ten screens light up at once.

"We have hullcrack and a fire in the main engineering bay," the integrity officer, Laris, calls.

"Captain, the PeaceWrecker is hailing us," Marip says urgently.

He ignores that. "Get me engineering."

Olasi appears on the main screen. Fire rages behind her. The orange and green of it fills me with existential dread.

"What in the seven suns do you think you're doing?" Olasi shrieks, grime smearing her face. "Moving the ship without warning, you—"

"We didn't." Falkion's authority cuts through the room. "Did the Harsi ship grow through our controls?"

"No, no. This was a clean rotation, like getting dragged, but…" Her eyes widen.

We all realize it at the same time.

Wedidn't move.

The H-alien ship did.

It's got its spines in us deep.

We're the biggest, most powerful ship in the empire.

And it effortlessly dragged us.

Olasi touches her ear. "Secure the comm lines and guns! Secure everything that's trailing! And get that fire out—" She cuts away.

We were moved by the H-alien ship.

It could move us again.

It could do anything.

And we can't stop it.

Falkion leans in the navigation console. "What direction are we pointing?"

"Us?" Coordinates jump underneath Werrin's fingers. "We're pointing back at the old moon. But the Harsi ship is now pointing dead center at the Averian sector."

Someone chokes. It's a strangled sound of panic.

Falkion is calm. "Get back High Commander Drin."

"I can't." Marip mirrors his taut calm. "The long-distance array is tangled. We only have nearspace communication."

"Put through the PeaceWrecker."

Lit by emergency lights, our bridge is somber as Falkion works out the next steps with the other captains.

Everyone was using our dreadnought for instant communication. Now, they have to send one of the support ships to match velocities with the nearest satellites to report what's happened.

I don't know how many clegs I spend on the bridge cleaning up this gravity-loss disaster and restocking tumbled supplies. The repetitive tasks wear away my panic. It suddenly hits me that my shift is long over. I'm exhausted and not thinking straight, which is a problem because my whole job is to think straight when nobody else is.

Navigator Werrin studies me as he picks at his lip.

I lower my voice. "In which battle did the H-aliens rotate a ship?"

He focuses on me. I guess he wasn't actually looking at me; his mind was elsewhere. "None."

"We're making history right now?" Fighting ghosts, it seems. "H-alien history."

"Why do you always say that? ‘H-aliens.' It makes people take you less seriously."

I cross my arms and look down on him. "Oh, that's what makes people take me less seriously?"

"It does. If you can't even say their name right, how can you face any part of them?"

Hm.

We don't say their name on Humana because of superstition. To say a thing is to summon it.

I'm not a hugely superstitious person, but I don't see any reason to spit in the face of fate either.

But if it makes a difference to Werrin, I guess I can change.

As soon as we evacuate, I'll…

Wait.

The lights are shifted to emergency lighting. The evacuation sirens are silent. There's no calm instruction to secure our stations.

I sidle up to Falkion, who's quietly working on some aspect of the disaster. "Are we still evacuating?"

"The main exit is blocked."

My stomach drops. "So we're all trapped?"

His eyes narrow a fraction.

Of course we're not trapped. There are plenty of exits from a dreadnought if you don't care about safety. Anyone can walk Outside in nothing but a skinsuit. You just have to hope you get picked up before you asphyxiate. And if spotting one lost escape pod is like picking out a grain of sand against the night sky, a single individual is like a fleck of a grain.

Still, emergencies are emergencies.

"I won't authorize an uncontrolled evacuation," he replies, hard as steel. "There's still hope to recover the ship."

"Is there?"

He frowns.

"We've lost control. This dreadnought is in the clutches of an alien species that intends to eat us."

"Ah." Marip raises a finger. "We still haven't seen any Harsi."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" I ask.

They all stare at me.

I press my palm to my heart. "You asked me to take this threat seriously. You convinced me the H…arsi could attack in the next cleg. I believe you! This isn't a false alarm. We should—"

"Why should we listen to you?" Kollok sneers. "You evacuated your puny lesser ship because of pathetic Eruvisans."

I take one step back and set my feet. "It's the same."

"Weak, desperate pirates—"

"Are exactly the same to me as the Harsi are to you," I insist. All the bridge is looking at me, plus, on our viewscreens, the captains of the other ships. "I was helpless against the Eruvisans. Your dreadnought is helpless against the Hars…Harsi."

"And? So? Where's it moving us?" Kollok demands.

"Who knows where?" I snap, like he thinks I'm a psychic medium. "Three meters to the left. Beyond the edges of known space. Or just to the Averian sector. Isn't that reason enough to get everyone off?"

Falkion studies dreadnought schematics on another screen. He compresses his lips. "An uncontrolled evacuation would be catastrophic."

I draw a sharp inhale.

"So how do we reduce casualties?" he asks his officers and captains.

Oh.

They lean over and begin brainstorming. I let out my breath slowly.

Falkion told me something once. It's not my job to invent a new strategy to defeat the Harsi.

It's also not my job to do his job.

He and his crew are the experts, and Falkion is more than willing to hear my side. All I need to do is tell him clearly. He listens, and then he'll make it a reality.

The green evacuation lights turn on, bathing us in sirens.

My heart clenches again.

"Attention," the voice intones. "Evacuate. Evacuate. Evacuate."

Falkion comes to stand beside me in the main open area of the bridge. All of us keep our hoods down. Protected, just in case.

Wearing our hoods makes it hard to kiss him, though.

Arrisans stream from the dreadnought like pierced veins bleeding into space. Support sleds from the other ships help, but scattered individuals are hit by debris, knocked out of line, and risk being lost forever in the inky blackness.

There aren't enough resources to save everyone.

I stare at those flecks of sand. They could be Arrisans I know. Soldiers I've worked with in the past. Junior officers. Maybe one of them is even Junior Cadet Supply Officer Koron with his regrown arm.

Kollok mutters to a junior officer about needless deaths. Perhaps he's right. I should've died over a Standard Year ago. Asphyxiated in my escape pod, lost in the debris of my patched-up Harvester. Falkion's dreadnought appeared out of endless space like a curse and unnaturally prolonged my life.

And yet, over a Standard Year ago, all my clients and I were saved.

We were all saved.

And, if we're really facing the Harsi, the one who's in most danger is Falkion.

I don't know how, but I will save him.

Falkion makes a small noise, his gaze tracking on another unlucky, potentially lost soul. "This route is too dangerous for you."

I guess our thoughts are moving in the same direction. "Maybe the engineers will clear the main bay soon."

"You're leaving in a ship."

I snort. "Better than deboned and thrown out an airlock."

He looks sad.

I touch his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to lighten the mood."

He enfolds me in his embrace and rubs my gloved hand as though seeking my skin. "Don't apologize. Not for my words. I spoke them, and I bear the responsibility."

"I wasn't trying to make you feel bad."

He pulls back and looks into my eyes like he's trying to memorize my features.

Just in case.

"I used to have this nightmare." He licks his lips, his voice unusually soft. "You were running from the Harsi, and no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't reach you in time."

"Oh? Well, it turns out I have a simple solution." I squeeze his hand. "Don't leave my side."

He considers me for a long moment, then he nods. "Of course."

But we both know he's telling a lie.

Falkion is never going to abandon this dreadnought. He's going to put me on one of the evacuation ships and wave goodbye. If I let him do it, then that wave is the last I'll ever see of him.

My mother couldn't save my father. He was determined to face his enemies head-on. And I'm just a human. The Harsi are more relentless than any other foe. They're his race's ancient enemy.

There are no easy answers for us.

My dreadnought is half evacuated.

At what cost?

The estimated casualties number clicks up as the barely controlled evacuation progresses.

I will not fling Zeerah into space.

Kollok's standing with the junior officers I least trust. I catch his eye. For a thousand reasons, I would like to remove him from the bridge, put him in chains, and stuff him as far from Zeerah as I can, but he's an experienced officer with the trust of my bridge. Now is when we need those traits the most.

And so I swallow down my private concerns. "Vice-captain, you have the bridge."

He straightens and throws his shoulders back. "Sir."

At this moment, he's a worthy Arrisan officer. He looks like a hero of the old era, his white hair spots proof of his cunning and endurance.

I take Zeerah's hand.

His silver eyes narrow.

Yes, he is dangerous, but only to her. To us, his fellow Arrisans, he is a good officer. Soon, Zeerah will be safely beyond his reach, and his personal biases will no longer matter.

I leave with her, and we fly through the empty grav tubes. Gravity is unsettled here. That's strange.

I wonder…

Ah.

A Harsi spike grows through the tube like a malignant tumor. I yank Zeerah to me. She makes an oof sound. We wobble out of control as we barely avoid hitting it and plummet past.

The main hall toward engineering is filled with evacuees. Anyone who reached the queue here during the controlled evacuation is supposed to remain until their turn. We push through the quiet, organized crowds and enter the bay proper.

It's a warzone.

Soot particles hang in the air, acrid and deadly, and blast marks scorch the walls and nearby crafts.

The fires are out, and the atmosphere veil has been repaired. Evacuees queue for their ships, shuffling silently as directed. Some have been reassigned to push aside wreckage. Others toss unfortunate casualties into bins.

We're lucky the number of casualties isn't higher.

Hovering over the middle of the main walking area is the thick, blunt terminus of the Harsi spike.

An attack spigot.

My blades move in my sheaths.

If there were Harsi on board the ship, this is where they would pour in.

Its shape is one I've only seen in historical diagrams. Seeing it in real life fills me with a terrible queasiness, as if I've inhaled a gas that turns my guts inside out.

I keep myself between it and Zeerah.

"Blue on the deck!" an engineer bellows.

Olasi stops abruptly and comes over to see us with shock. Black smears her face and has burned her hair. "Captain? What are you doing here?"

I tear my gaze from the attack spigot and focus on her. "I'm here to help."

"What? You think you're an engineer now?" She chokes. "Go back to the bridge. You have no tools."

"I have one tool." I release Zeerah's hand and eject my blades. They gleam as I cross them. "Can you use me?"

Desperation makes her recover quickly. "Actually, yeah. Tangled wires are blocking the…"

The lights flicker dangerously, and the evacuation siren goes off and then on again. All the thousands of evacuees fall silent and brace. I suck in my blades and pivot to Zeerah as the grating beneath my feet shudders ominously.

Gravity hiccups.

But it's only a brief flicker. We barely lift off a finger's width before it's over again. The bin and wreckage land on the grating with hard clangs. Another shudder shakes the ship, and then the danger seems to have passed.

"Captain." Werrin hails my implant, and I let the navigator through. "We're moving."