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  “Bad idea,” whispered Ryal in Mog’s ear. “What if those are only frigates or scouts? If we keep the fleet together, we can destroy them. Splitting our forces could mean losing the entire system.”

  “And if they’re not just frigates?” said Mog under his breath.

  “We could get the Talurians to help. Pay them anything they want.”

  “Subcommander Ryal,” said Ruba. “We have been trying to contact the Talurians since this whole thing started. The Ta’Krell are jamming the hyperspace relays between here and Taluria. There is no way to get a message out, and even if we could convince them, there is simply not enough time.”

  “How did he hear that?” said Ryal.

  Mog waved a hand at Ryal, silencing him. “We will do as the King commands,” said Mog.

  “Thank you, Fleet Commander,” said Ruba. “Begin making the necessary preparations. May Ramas’ face shine upon you.”

  As soon as the viewscreen was off, the bridge erupted with shouting. Mog needed some time to compose his thoughts. As they argued, he descended the command platform. He stood before the blank viewscreen, his back towards the crew. After a minute, he whirled around with a roar, drowning out all other voices.

  “I understand your anger,” he said, as the clamor subsided. “I feel it too. If there was an alternative, I would take it. But Ruba’s right. We could lose everyone if we stay here. We have to save the race.” He paused, teeth bared. “Now, what I am about to say does not leave this ship’s hull.”

  “We’re going to stay and fight, aren’t we?” said Nali. “We’ll have our revenge!”

  Mog locked eyes with Ryal, who was watching him intently. “I agree with Ruba about the evacuation. The Narma Kull will escort the civilians out of the system. However, once we clear the asteroid belt, we’ll send the convoy on its way without an escort. Our warships will power down and wait. If the approaching ships are a Ta’Krell force that our combined fleet can take, then we turn back around and fight. If they are an overwhelming force, then we follow the escorts and don’t look back.”

  “We should fight no matter what,” said one of the new cadets.

  There were grumblings of agreement and dissent. Ryal cleared his throat, and the bridge quieted. “It’s a fair plan,” he said. “We won’t be abandoning the king to certain doom, and we can still catch up to the convoy if there’s nothing we can do here.”

  “It makes sense,” said Meela.

  “Yes,” said Nali. “Thank you sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” said Mog. “For all we know, those are three dreadnaughts and we’ll have a front row seat to our own annihilation.”

  “Or they could be something else entirely,” said Meela. “Not Ta’Krell.”

  Mog tipped an ear. “Perhaps.” But, he doubted it. Why would they be running with stealth systems engaged if they weren’t hostile?

  “That’s enough conjecture,” said Ryal. “Attend to your stations.”

  Mog caught Ryal’s eye and thanked him with a nod. He strode back up to the command platform and slumped down in his chair. He hated waiting. It would be good to have something else to do.

  “Get Nali’s new assistant up here,” he said to Ryal. “We’ll need him to run some tests on the new targeting sensors. I’m going to go find Kremp and help him get those fancy new guns wired.”

  “I thought I was going to wire the cannons,” said Ryal.

  Mog grinned. “Ok, we’ll both go wire them together.”

  Chapter 15

  Morgan kicked a dislocated chunk of pavement. It skittered along the edge of the road before plunking into a storm drain. He had parked near the entrance of Liz’s road, his car pointing away from the neighborhood to facilitate a quick escape if needed.

  Liz was still grounded for racing without her father’s permission. The plan was for her to sneak out on the pretense of getting the mail. By the time her father realized she hadn’t come back in, it would be too late.

  Morgan checked his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. What’s taking her so long? He wiped his sweaty brow and pulled out his phone. How had he ever worked up the nerve to call her? I can’t believe she said yes! Don’t screw this up!

  He put his phone back in his pocket.

  A minute later, Liz opened the door and came down the driveway. It’s actually happening!

  She was looking down at her feet, but she had the trace of a playful bounce in her step. Morgan leaned against the car door, one leg crossed over the other, trying to look casual while observing her out of the corner of his eye. She was dressed in blue jeans and a faded orange tee-shirt. She had ditched the ponytail, and her hair fell about her shoulders, radiant in the morning light.

  Close your gaping mouth, quick!

  “Hey,” she said, walking up to him. She gestured at the car. “I see you didn’t wash it.”

  The Scorpion was still covered in dirt and dust. He had forgotten all about that. “I didn’t get a chance.”

  “Good, it looks better this way. So, we going or what?” She looked nervously back over her shoulder at her house.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Here you go.” He scampered around the Scorpion and opened the passenger door.

  Liz giggled. “You don’t need to do that, it’s not like we’re on a date.”

  “Huh?”

  She flashed him a look. “Come on, let’s go before my dad misses me.” She pulled her door closed.

  Morgan kicked the scorpion’s tire. “Idiot,” he cursed through clenched teeth. He got in the car, his mind replaying her words over and over as they drove off.

  It’s not a date. You fool!

  He’d allowed himself to be caught up in a childish fantasy. Now it all made sense. The laws of the universe had returned to normal. She’s not your girlfriend. They were just two kids hanging out. She might as well be Greg, his childhood friend that had moved away.

  But she wasn’t Greg. If this wasn’t a date, what was it? Can you just be friends with a girl?

  “It’s so strange that everyone used to drive cars like these,” said Liz, as they turned east onto Route 86. She was peering down at the floor, which was currently set to transparent. She watched as the tires rolled over cracks in the road.

  “What’s hard to believe is that people stopped driving them,” said Morgan. “Especially for off-road racing; you need one of these if you’re going to race on dirt.”

  “But what about drag racing? You’d never beat a floater in a drag race.”

  “Drag racing isn’t real racing.”

  “You’re just afraid you’d lose.”

  “No I’m not.”

  She smirked at him.

  “Fine,” he said. “You want to drag race? How about you borrow your dad’s POD and we have a go at it.”

  “You’re on,” she said.

  Somehow, Morgan managed a smile. At least she’s a friend. You can be happy with that, can’t you?

  Ground traffic was light, since it was Saturday and they were still twenty miles out from the sprawl. Their conversation shifted to driving in the desert, the moral implications of ignoring speed limits when there wasn’t anyone around to see you speeding, and the best places to eat this side of Tucson. Now that the pressure was off, conversation came easy.

  It was almost nine thirty when they pulled into the bus terminal. He had no trouble finding a vacant spot next to the single boarding platform. The dilapidated shuttle bus, known to the locals as the Hopper, was hovering alongside the platform with its doors open. The ancient LED screen above the doors read “Next Stop: Tucson.”

  The message might as well have been painted on the bus’s side, as Tucson was the only place one could go to via the Hopper nowadays. It was essentially a puddle jumper that let you skip over the sprawling suburbs and get straight to the heart of the old city, saving an hour or more of driving. Once at the air and space hub, you could go to anywhere in the Commonwealth.

  “We’ve gotta move,” said Liz, throwing open her doo
r. “Mac takes off at nine thirty.”

  Morgan killed the engine. He grabbed his backpack, which his mom had packed with snacks for two, and got out. Liz was already climbing up to the platform, weaving her way through a tightly packed group of camera toting tourists that was coming down the stairs. Morgan followed.

  Blairsford was a common landing spot for the few tourists seeking to visit what was left of Saguaro National Park, which wasn’t much after the Protected Lands Act of 2100 had been repealed in the name of affordable suburban housing. It was easier to get to the park from here than to try to land in Tucson and charter transportation out of the congested city.

  The Hopper had seen better days. The deck was crooked, and sagged even more to one side when they boarded. In front of him, Liz waved her hand across Mac’s sensor array, and something chirped in acknowledgement. Mac was the robot who functioned as the interface between the Hopper’s computer and the human passengers.

  Morgan pulled out his phone. “What’s up Mac,” he said, waving his phone in front of Mac. The slit in the metal man’s face lit up with a green flash.

  “Hello Morgan Greenfield,” it said. “It has been four months, twelve days, and six point seven hours since you last boarded.”

  “If you say so,” said Morgan, looking around. “Sorry that nobody’s given you a tune-up since then.”

  “This unit is not in need of repair.”

  Morgan pocketed his phone. “Whatever you say.” He turned and followed Liz down the aisle.

  “Enjoy your ride,” said Mac.

  The bus was less than half full, and they found seats easily enough. Morgan looked around. Zombies everywhere. With few exceptions, the other passengers were all staring off into space, their eyes aglow as they did their online shopping, played games, and who knows what else.

  The doors clanged shut, and the bottom of the bus seemed to drop out from under them as the repulsors cycled from park to drive.

  “I hate this thing,” said Liz. “My dad and I made a few trips back and forth on it when we were looking for houses in Blairsford.”

  “It is pretty sketchy,” agreed Morgan. Weird, she never mentions her mom. Lutstone said something bad happened. I wonder if her parents got divorced.

  It wasn’t the sort of thing he felt comfortable asking her. He opened his backpack and pulled out a granola bar. “Want anything?”

  She shook her head. “I ate a big breakfast. I might grab a snack in Tucson.”

  A deep humming reverberated up through the Hopper as the stabilizer wings extended. A moment later, the seat pressed into his back and the bus shot upward. Then, with a slight lurch, the repulsors disengaged and the thrust pods fired.

  As they tore through the sky towards Tucson’s space port, with the city spread out far below them, a silly thought came to Morgan. Just what would his parents do if he didn’t return? What if he found a job on the station? He could hide away up there, leaving Greenfield Grain and that humdrum future far below. He could even take Captain Batson up on his offer, assuming he could transfer the money for flight school admission from his account before his parents figured out what was going on.

  You’ll never do it, whispered the voice in his head. Mom would cry for days, and dad would look like a kicked puppy. They’re counting on you to take over the business. Maybe the space force had part-time positions. He could run the family business by day and intercept Martian pirates by night. He imagined the ruckus it would cause, landing a Firefly behind his parents’ house at 5 AM.

  “What’s gotten into you?” said Liz.

  Morgan jumped. He realized he’d been chuckling. “Nothing,” he said.

  Liz eyed him suspiciously. “You are loving this, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t try to deny it. You’re trying to pass this off like it’s nothing.” She deepened her voice, “Hey I was thinking, instead of racing on Saturday maybe I’d go up to Starlight to see this space show thing they’ve got going on. I’ve got two tickets, and I figure I might as well use them. You know, it might be interesting, if you had nothing going on.”

  “Did I really say it that way?” He needn’t have asked, for the words were hauntingly familiar.

  She nodded and tapped her ear. “I’ve got the whole thing recorded. You made it sound like you were going to the grocery store.” Her face lit up. “Drop the act already. We’re going to space!”

  A few passengers turned to look at them. Morgan blushed. “Ok, you got me. It is pretty cool.”

  “Say it with some conviction,” said Liz. “Space here we come!”

  “Here we come!”

  He smiled. It felt good, whatever this was. So what if it’s not a date.

  Chapter 16

  Since the last watch, two Navy bulk transports had launched, carrying forty thousand people into orbit. The first ship held individuals that were essential to ensuring the continuation of the Maurian race. There were scientists from every field, doctors, engineers, philosophers, and theologians. Handpicked by the king and his advisors, these lucky ones had been allowed to take their families and closest friends.

  The second transport contained a broader sampling of the general population, including the surviving refugees from Mauria, Sledgim’s historic families, and any remaining relatives of Navy officers and crewmen. Mog had reviewed this last group and had found that Kremp and a number of the crewmen had relatives on that transport. The rest of the Narma Kull’s crew had lost their families when Mauria burned.

  He remembered the last thing his little brother had sent him. A simple communiqué, just after the war had started.

  I’m going to join the Navy. I’ve already filled out my application. Mom and Dad weren’t pleased, but this is important. We haven’t faced something like this before, and I’m not going to sit it out. Besides, I can’t let you get all the glory. Do you have room for another cadet on that ship of yours?

  In all seriousness, it’s been ages. When are you coming home to visit? The word is the aliens call themselves the Ta’Krell. That’s got to be some sort of joke, right? Anyway, you probably can’t tell me what’s going on, but it would be great to hear from you.

  Love you always,

  -Nam

  Mog had dug that letter out and read it over and over, until the words were engrained in his mind. Why didn’t I respond? I was too busy. We were on deployment. Excuses, lame excuses.

  He wiped his eyes and pushed the thoughts away. He didn’t have time to dwell on his own sorrows when there were still six half-empty transports on the planet. The unidentified ships were seven hours away. There were riots in the streets as the people rushed the spaceports where the military maintained a tenuous guard, admitting individuals based on a hasty lottery system that had been devised. By now, everyone knew that if the three approaching ships were Ta’Krell heavy cruisers, then Sledgim’s three hundred thousand inhabitants were doomed.

  Tension was high on the bridge of the Narma Kull as the officers worked to coordinate the hundreds of hodgepodge civilian craft that had scrambled through the skies and into space. Anything with a working rocket engine had been launched. Some of these ships, which hadn’t been flown in years, hadn’t made it far off the ground.

  The ones that attained escape velocity were dangerously overloaded with miners, scientists, the old, the young, and the recently impoverished heads of households. The ship captains had found themselves in the unique position of being able to command outrageous prices for passage. Those that could pay it gladly did so, depleting family fortunes for the chance to get off of Sledgim.

  There still wasn’t confirmation that the incoming ships were Ta’Krell, but no one doubted it. Mog’s limited fleet had their hands full as panicking civilian pilots risked orbital collisions as they jostled for position under the protection of the escort fleet.

  After helping Ryal and Kremp run a few superconducting power conduits, Mog had retired to his cabin at the end of the shift. He had returned early and re
lieved Subcommander Uir, the night watch’s shift leader. Now, Mog paced back and forth across the upper level. The crew was attending to their work as best they could, but they were on edge. Ruba would soon give the order for the convoy to leave. If the three approaching ships were Ta’Krell dreadnaughts or heavy cruisers, then the defense fleet would be obliterated and the Maurian population would be all but wiped out.

  “Another transport’s coming up,” said Ja’tar. “We’ll be able to see them in ten seconds.”

  On the viewscreen, a gray pinprick rose through the gray-blue planet’s atmosphere. A minute later, the transport’s twinkling windows were visible.

  “They’re joining our formation,” said Ja’tar. The transport, easily two hundred times the size of the Narma Kull, slid across the viewscreen.

  The Narma Kull, being the most powerful vessel in the evacuation fleet, was at the rear of the formation. The three transports, represented by detailed miniatures on the command platform’s displays, were at the front, each guarded by a heavy tri-hulled Makura-class frigate. The various other transports, supply ships, and civilian vessels had no dedicated military escort. These ships were covered by a roving watch of fighters—five squadrons with ten ships each.

  Mog pulled up a tactical analysis, but found the details difficult to sort through. The command platform’s consoles were not optimized for displaying detailed information. He swiveled around to face the upper level workstations at the back of the bridge.

  “Nali, do any of the civilian ships have tactical capabilities?” he said.

  Nali tapped the sensor controls, and a top-down tactical plot appeared before her.

  “Most of them are unshielded, with only cutting lasers or other tooling apparatus. But, I’ve identified heavy weapons signatures and shield generators on a few of the craft.” She adjusted the controls, and four bulky vessels were highlighted and expanded in three-dimensions. “These all have above a class three armament. According to their registries, three of them are deep space explorers and the fourth is an asteroid miner. Sir, I doubt their captains have the permits for the amount of weaponry I’m detecting. Not that that matters anymore.”