The sight of two-thousand people in one room, all of whom I'm supposed to keep alive, speeds up my heart rate. None of my training prepared me for this.
They clump together, waiting for doom to strike. I ball my fists.
Hand me a big gun to trail a hovering Invader ship. No problem.
Put me in front of a room of people and watch me splatter.
Umpire and Grant flank me. In their dark ATACs, they appear like enormous tornadoes on my tail. I am a strike of lightning ushering them into the field.
I ascend the slim ladder to the platform. I wish Simon were here to bolster me. I even wish my biological parents were here. I wonder if my father would have been proud—I wonder if my mother would have believed it was in me all along. This is my time to be a leader. It's my moment to show the people of the URE that I care about their safety—we're here to guide them in what could be a heinous cluster of years.
Umpire's gruff "Fuck 'em where they sleep, Boss" crackles out in my earpiece. I look down. Grant gives me two thumbs up.
Each bar is cold in my hand. Anxiety builds. Fingers soak with sweat as I climb higher to reach the platform where I'll tell—
"Good evening, citizens of the URE."
The sonorous voice echoing throughout the hall causes my grasp to waver. My foot falls through the gap in the bars. I cling to the ladder to save myself from crashing to the ground.
Peering past my dangling boots, I catch Grant's worry and Umpire's twisted face, attempting to contain his laughter. His hands remain firmly on his rifle while he observes me from his peripherals. He's a dead man.
So is whoever the fuck is on my platform making my speech.
My jaw hangs open when I catch the bob of salt-and-pepper hair from the one person whom I never guessed would expose herself to the masses. Hayomo is a shadow. What is she doing in the limelight?
"I come before you as your servant and as your leader. You may not know me, but I know you. I have thought about you in my waking moments through each of my hardest trials. I've lived, breathed, and bled this operation for ten long years. The time has finally come to tell you that this is our moment. This is our time." She approaches the railing. She's as composed as every other time I've been in her presence—her arms behind her back, hand to wrist.
From the ladder, I study the reaction of the civs as she speaks.
"I see many faces marked with fear, with sadness, with loss, with regret, with confusion." Her gaze sweeps over the crowd. "But I observe something else." She approaches the railing and clutches it with both hands. "You are living testaments to humanity's hunger for survival. You have obeyed your government. Security was your prize."
Some civs shift their attention to my VIPERs at the two main entrances.
Leaning heavily on the rail, Hayomo whispers to the crowd. "But now, our age of safety has ended."
Stunned, the civs murmur questions.
"On NOHA, we will reunite with the other ARCs and rebuild." Her voice crescendos until she knocks us backward. "We will reconstruct bigger, stronger. This time, no one will take our planet from us again."
The crowd applauds.
My back contorts as I gaze out into the crowd to nod. I hope they recognize my overt faith in the woman on the platform. A united front. If anything, that's what's necessary now.
She points toward the masses. "Citizens of the URE, are you ready to brave the new frontier?"
A few shouts shatter her words.
"Are you ready to prove to the universe we will not be left silenced even in the carnage of our ravaged planet?"
More hurrahs ring out as a few fists punch the air.
"Will you show our enemies the valor we carry into the darkness?"
The resulting roar rattles the walls. My heart swells—we can do this. We can pull this off.
"We will live on. We are the people of the URE. I am Commander Pama Hayomo. I am here to take us home."
The civs shout, joyful over the hope they found.
"Good night, pioneers. Our bold endeavor begins tonight."
She exits through a door to the left of the platform.
The people shuffle around the room, mumbling their guesses for the next steps of the plan.
I jump from the ladder with grace. "Civilians! Head to your designated rack immediately."
The VIPERs and I hustle everyone out. The people comply. This is familiar. This is safe.
I initiate the ascent checklist. Tapping into the flip book on my PAHLM, I throw orders around like bullets. Everyone performs exactly as predicted—the initial stages of our journey sync perfectly. I stop mid-step.
In all my years of militia life while living in the unholy, despairing abyss that is the URE, nothing ever goes according to plan. I close the checklist and tap out a new message.
PROCEDURES TOO SMOOTH--FREAKING ME OUT--YOU?
The return chime is instant.
[Incoming Message: DFREYER]
SAME HERE--ITS WEIRD
I'm about to respond when another message beats me to the punch.
[Incoming Message: DFREYER]
EVERYTHING WILL BE OK
I hope he's right. I hope with the fluidity of perfectly executed orders, we'll punch our way out of the atmosphere, blast past the Invader scumbags, and merge onto our projected path without a hiccup. One short snort bursts forth before I shake off the doubts and trot through the passageway.
Breezing past my cabin brings me the sweet taste of what's to come in a matter of twelve hours. Blessed, blessed privacy. I can sit on a cot made into an actual bed. It's a small bed, but a bed within a tiny private cabin that is my own. For the first time in my life, no one will force me to share.
Under the bed is my greatest treasure.
Dean's trunk of books.
I smile at the closed door.
On my way to the main holding, I pass by a small room containing a ruthless reminder of the HHP. A gaudy orange table demands my attention as I pass. It's the same iconic monster dropping into my nightmares to haunt me on occasion.
Medic K rummages around in the back.
"Does no one else find it insufferably idiotic we have to wait here hours after closing doors? Why haven't we gone already?"
I slide into the room. "Sure, Medic K, I'll just inform the Xani and the other nine ARCs you're ready to go, and we'll be on our way."
He scoffs. "Medic. Such a stupid title. Medic. I didn't accrue six figures of debt to be called fucking Medic."
There's a long pause. I scrounge through what Simon said they used to call Medics in the Before Days.
"My name is Knuckles," he says. His eyes never leave his box of gadgets.
"So, Knuckles—" I hold a gizmo to the light. "What's this?"
He pulls his hands from the box, thrusting both fists deep in his white lab coat pockets. "Ah, well, nothing too useful anymore. The tossers on Level Two shoved my work in these crates and fucked everything. Do you hear me?" he yells into the hallway. "Fucked it all up. Can't even pack right. I swear to the Christ Child, the imbeciles of my profession become more moronic the longer they share oxygen underground."
"I can drink to that."
"Hopefully you've quit drinking by now."
I throw him a side glance.
"Have you checked the application yet?" He returns to one of his crates brimming with gizmos.
"I've been a little busy."
"You truly don't want it, do you?"
"No," I say, placing the gear on the table with the rest of the scraps from the box. "I don't."
"I wanted to allow you time to process, but if you're sure, there are options. Or at least there were once upon a time."
Options? A true delicacy. I'm never presented with options. The idea holds immense power. My mind spins in two conflicting thoughts.
Yes, remove the evidence.
No, wait, this was said to be impossible. What if it's my only chance to be a mother?
"I'll think about it."
"If you're curious, I have been checking in. Everything is fine."
"Can you tell what it is yet?"
"A human?"
I roll my eyes. "Never mind."
"I can't tell yet, you idiot. Those bits are in development. I won't be able to tell for a while."
For the first time in this new life on the ship, my smile is genuine. "I've disliked you from the first moment I heard your stupid accent." I lean against an opposing table.
"Ah, well, the feeling's mutual then, love." He unloads the crate beside him, splaying the pieces over the table.