Chapter 1

Jetta

The one thing I could be certain of was that we wouldn’t run out of coffee. Every member of our six-person research team had packed extra bags with their things. They hadn’t brought crap coffee, either. They had the best synthetic blends produced by Earth’s nutrient manufacturers. With luck and some rationing, we wouldn’t have to dip into the company-issued supply of “coffee” that was essentially bitter, caffeinated water. I’d know—I’d been on another Earth Explorations, Inc., mission before, eight years ago. On that one, I’d met my now ex-husband.

The coffee had been horrible. Little did I know at the time, but the company had been too.

This time, however, women comprised the whole team and they seemed to be competent women. That, paired with the coffee situation, gave me confidence that our team was strong. Gender affiliation and a hot beverage were inaccurate metrics to base confidence on, but hey, we all cared about the quality of our caffeine. It was enough to make me hope that we’d be on the same page with other things.

One of my personal goals on this mission to Clarion-4 was to trust my instincts a little more, and let myself go with it. You know—to trust my gut, whatever that felt like. I was starting with the notion that these women would make a great team. After relying on IQ level, numbers of degrees, and job status to choose my husband, instead of my own instincts, I could say that true character wasn’t revealed in diplomas you could frame and hang on the wall. It was revealed in other things. I was going to find out what they were.

I sat in our common room with my five other team members. The Axion-9 research vessel would be perfect for our needs. There was nothing fancy about it. It consisted of a central room to meet and dine in, with private staterooms leading off of it. Each of our quarters consisted of the basics—a small bed, closet, desk, and a simple washroom. The furnishings were stark and practical. Everything was white or shades of gray in case anyone got the idea that this was a vacation. My five colleagues and I would be spending a year on Clarion-4, studying, analyzing, and evaluating the planet to determine if it was an appropriate location for a human outpost and trade base.

One year . One year to leave my past behind and start fresh. I didn’t think I was the only one, either. Looking around at the others, I got the sense that everyone was leaving something behind. Maybe, like me, those somethings had left a scar.

Initial scans by remote drones revealed that Clarion-4 had an atmosphere similar to Earth’s, but without sentient life. Eighty-six percent of the planet’s surface was covered in water, and what little land there was endured near-constant rainfall. So, that part would be fun.

The Clarion quadrant had no history of hostile life forms. One woman would serve on security detail. Our ship was fortified and well-armed. I wasn’t worried about that .

I took a sip of wine and glanced at my five colleagues, wondering if they were also hearing the loud laughter in the crew’s quarters down the hall. It was hard to miss. I shared a raised eyebrow with Rayna, a buttoned-up geologist who spoke in precise, measured tones, and saw some nervous side-eye from Wyn, our team’s medical doctor. The team’s leader, and the oldest of us, was an environmental engineer named Sibyl. She resolutely ignored the rowdy laughter and carried on with the planned meeting.

This part of the meeting didn’t concern me, but I dutifully took notes even as my mind drifted to the crew’s laxness. It had been apparent that the captain saw this as a glorified airtrain trip, with navigation mostly in the digital hands of automated computer controls. I knew from past space trips that there was a lot that went into these journeys, especially when traveling through darkspace channels.

The door to our quarters slid open and a welcome face appeared. Tarla Mazar, the third—and only competent—copilot, leaned against the frame as if it was the only thing holding her up. Shadows rimmed her tired eyes.

“Hey there, Tarla,” said Lexi, pulling back her long brown hair. She collected degrees like shoes, with doctorates in psychology, sociology, linguistics, and something else I couldn’t recall. Her role was to, well, observe and interview us and report the type of living conditions that would be most conducive to a balanced base. In other words, how to build a base that wouldn’t cause the human beings living there to die or suffer mental breakdowns. “Come join us.” She lifted a narrow cylindrical glass filled with peach-colored liquid. “We’re having a planning session with a bit of wine.”

I rolled my eyes. “ She’s having a bit. The rest of us are having a normal glass, as is appropriate for planning sessions.” Appropriate for these planning meetings, anyway. We were sitting here in our pajamas. I wore soft, loose pants with a white tank top and slipper socks. They were more like getting to know you sessions. And what I said wasn’t exactly true—Rayna was only drinking water.

Tarla smiled. “I wish I could, but I have to get one of my colleagues to take over the next shift.”

I knew Wyn would be all over that. Our medical doctor had been complaining about Tarla’s ridiculously long hours since it became apparent that she was virtually the only one watching the controls with any vigilance.

Sure enough: “Tarla, you look very pale. How long have you been up?” Wyn’s perfectly arched brows raised in concern.

Also not surprising was Tarla’s response. “I’m fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “We’re about to enter the darkspace channel. Total time to your destination should be a little over fourteen hours. So, you all need to get some rest. We’ll be at Clarion-4 soon enough.”

“Will do, Captain,” said Lexi, and the rest of us nodded. As far as we were concerned, Tarla was in charge of the ship. She was certainly the only one not laughing drunkenly down the hall.

Tarla smiled again, this time sadly and with more weariness. “See you later, ladies.” She moved off and the door slid shut behind her. There was quiet for a moment.

Bryn, the plain-speaking security expert let out a loud huff. “If not for Tarla, we’d be floating space junk right now.” It was what we all were thinking. The actual “captain” and two of his copilots were content to let the ship autopilot its way to the Clarion quadrant.

Tarla always seemed to be on duty, while Captain Cunningham’s primary skill appeared limited to swaggering around the deck in pants a size too small. Two copilots followed him around and didn’t help Tarla at all.

“You heard her,” said Sibyl. She wore a pair of thin, rectangular glasses, which were rarely ever used anymore, perched on the end of her slender nose. Everyone had enhanced eyesight these days. Why she hadn’t gone for the very simple procedure was a mystery. “Let’s get some rest. We’re as prepared as we can be.” She sighed and leaned back in the cushions, knocking back the last sip of her wine like it was whiskey. “I’ll miss this when we arrive.”

The wine was just for the trip. Sibyl had brought a few bottles to share after dinners as we got to know each other. Tonight’s glasses represented the last of it. Once the mission began in earnest, our only vice would be the coffee we had stowed with our things.

I set aside my tablet. Others packed up notebooks. The large digital board that Sibyl had loaded with agendas and objectives went black at a flick of her fingertip. All six of us let out a sigh.

“Who’s hungry?” asked Bryn. No one knew exactly what her background was, but the tall, powerful blonde, who looked like a fucking Valkyrie, studied us and the plans we were making with eagle-eyed interest. She got up and went to the dining area, where a screen featuring a grid of different food options stretched from floor to ceiling. It was called a digimat and I’d never seen anyone more enthralled by a piece of machinery than she. She placed her palm against one of the glowing squares and moments later a sandwich came out of a slot beneath the picture. “Glorious,” she murmured before turning to the rest of us. “Anyone else?”

“I would like a bagel. Plain. No topping,” said Rayna. “And a cup of tea. Green, please.”

“How can you eat a bagel with no cream cheese or butter?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Her eyes narrowed on me as she seemed to be assessing whether I was mocking her food choices. “Dairy and I are not the best of friends.”

“Really?” Like eyesight, common food intolerances were easily dealt with. “Have you thought of getting a gut reboot? It totally cured my cousin of her peanut allergy.”

“I did,” said Rayna, accepting her plain, un-schmeared bagel and tea with a polite thanks to Bryn. “It didn’t quite work.”

“What happened?” I asked, running my hand idly through my jaw-length mop of brown hair that was so untamable, I swore it was its own sentient being. “Are you okay?”

Rayna took a tiny bite of bagel and a sip of tea. “Let’s just say, there are consequences when I ingest too much dairy.”

I was dying to know what they were. Admittedly, I was nosy, sometimes forgot when to stop asking questions, and had to train myself over the years to hold back when strolling into delicate territory with someone. This was one of those times when I was going to ask, because she’d set it up like a cliffhanger. As I opened my mouth and the question began to tumble out, the twinkle in her eye told me she was enjoying this. “What are the consequ—”

Suddenly, the cabin lights turned red and an alarm blared.

Rayna placed her tea on the table. I dropped my wineglass on the floor as a yelp came out of me. Bryn stood there with her sandwich. “Stay calm,” she ordered, managing to sound authoritative despite a mouthful of food. “Stay seated.”

“Is this a drill?” asked Lexi, who swiftly sat down. “Or—or a button someone hit by mistake?”

Bryn put her food on the table and whipped a small, handheld screen from the back of her sleek black pants. “Possibly.” Her gaze was sharp. “Our trajectory has shifted.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but suddenly, the alarm stopped. “What do we do?” I asked.

“We wait for information or instructions,” Bryn replied, as if reading from an operations manual. Her steely gaze moved over each of us. “And we remain calm.”

Maybe she was expecting hysterics, but no one so much as whimpered.

Our door slid open. The sight before us was so scary, we all surged to our feet and none of us—not even Bryn—was calm.

Tarla—our friend and the one crew member we trusted on this vessel—had gotten close enough to activate our door. After it’d opened, she’d hooked her elbows around the doorframe and there she was, holding on with all her strength as her other two copilots tried to drag her off.

“ The fuck , Tarla,” I shouted, shocked beyond words. I was a biologist, but my fists tightened. I was prepared to fight these two guys if they didn’t let her go. “Do you—”

Tarla shook her head furiously. Her eyes were wide and urgent. “Get to your pods,” she gasped out. “Prepare for imp—”

She was cut off as the men succeeded in yanking her off the doorframe, but the rest of her word was there, resounding in all our heads. Impact .

The door whistled shut, leaving us in stunned silence.

Sibyl’s nostrils flared. “You heard her. Get to your pods. Bring your headgear.” Her gaze whipped to each of us, including Bryn, who began herding us toward our staterooms. “Tarla taught us the emergency protocols,” she hollered. “We follow them.”

We each spun toward our staterooms. Inside, I rushed to the wardrobe, where I had stored my stuff, including the headgear that we didn’t plan on using until we arrived at Clarion-4. They were analysis and communication sets that were packed up in a small metal container. Since receiving instruction on them back on Earth, I hadn’t touched them.

Now, I tossed the container into the bed—which was also my escape pod—as well as my daypack, which was a small backpack that contained notebooks, my E.E. Inc., ID badge, a candy bar, and random shit, like lip balm. Why I felt compelled to bring it, I didn’t know. Just panic. I shoved the headgear box into the daypack and climbed into the bed.

I shook from head to toe. A list of questions poured through my head. Was there time to go to the bathroom? What were we going to make impact with? Why didn’t those men want her to tell us we were in trouble?

I decided that there was no time to go to the bathroom. It didn’t matter what we were going to hit, and those men were blooming idiots whose motivations couldn’t possibly be measured.

I settled onto my back in the bed, which would soon become an escape pod. It was a long oval with a foot-high rim all around, making it very pod-shaped. I sank into the soft padded mattress, pillow, and blanket. This bed had felt welcoming and comfortable just this past morning. Now, it was a terrifying prison.

Beside my pillow was a compartment for “emergencies.” With shaking hands, I slid open the cover to reveal a screen. I pressed a trembling finger to the controls to activate the pod. The ceiling revealed a hidden door and the domed lid of the pod lowered from it. I bit back a sob as it closed over me and sealed with a hiss.

Escape pods were a nice thing to supply. It made the people who sent other people into space feel better about it. They didn’t die on our ship. Nope. They floated around in the vacuum until they ran out of air. So much better.

I’d been thinking that maybe I had had enough time to pee when the ship gave a mighty rock. I couldn’t imagine what was going wrong out there. Was it our incompetent Captain Cunningham, or an attack, or some other force?

The shaking and trembling that followed were the first physical indications that we were in real trouble. I closed my eyes as straps closed over my body in one-foot increments from head to foot. My daypack was wedged between my thigh and the side of the pod. I gripped it as if my life depended on it. Oh god, this was happening.

A year away. A fresh start .

Fuck. I wasn’t ready to die.