Days cascade away. Birgar becomes background noise as he takes up his position in the Nest, commandeering Hayomo's job in an instant. With Hayomo never really doing much in the first place, it seems more like he's stolen Coodi's work than anything. She struggles to stand by while he plants his feet and watches the people with one skeptical eye on the marketplace at all times.
With Birgar on my right and Coodi on my left, I try to be their buffer. I've never seen two people get along so poorly from the gate as these two.
There's a low hum of activity as SCOPE operators give directions to different parts of the ship — a few repairs needed in Quad 1, a prayer service in the chapel in Quad 3 that needs surveillance, a dispute settlement in the racks, and bland bartering among the booths of the marketplace.
Everything is so normal.
Earth night descends. I don't know what to call it anymore as it has become more apparent than ever that our hours are meaningless. When returning to the ship and ascending to space, it was bright, beautiful dawn on the planet we launched from. As I wandered the ship, I realized it was nearly midnight. My whole body has been thrown by the light. The artificial brightness of the marketplace dims as the operator in control of the panel lowers the sun simulator. The people pack their booths and prepare for another night aboard ARC10.
Accepting the descent into darkness, I bid Coodi and Birgar goodnight and head for my cabin.
Each night I settle back into my bed and John is not nestled in the crate in the corner, my loneliness widens. I miss him. I miss Dean. I miss Knuckles. Hell. I even miss Moyra.
Brave New World rises and falls with my breathing. It's a rhythm I'm oddly aware of now that I think about how my breath circulates for the two of us.
"I wish you could read it to me," I say to the bump. "Or at least read it first and give me the highlights. I don't know how much more of this I can take."
I drift in and out of snoozing, lightly reclining in the leftovers of my happy reunion with Dean.
The door to my cabin whirs. I sit up, perplexed. I haven't heard that sound since being in the URE, fighting our broken door to our pod. The sound brings me nostalgic peace.
Until I remember I'm on ARC10 and my door works just fine.
I shoot up. The whirring increases. The door jostles, shaking on its sliding track.
Someone is trying to break in.
Jumping from my bed, I drop as low as my body will let me, fists up, knees bent, coiled to fight. I scan the room. My weapon was checked for the night. There's nothing here for my defense but my own two hands. I level them with my head.
The whirring crescendos. I don't know what I'll meet. Did we pick up stowaways while we were docked? Is this the stray Xani coming to avenge John? I'm clueless. I sway on my toes, ready to meet whatever is out there.
Jiggling doors waver wider and wider until the door clunks into its socket.
Six civilians crowd the entrance. They're each holding the strangest weapons I've ever seen.
This was not what I was expecting.
I can't fight my people.
One woman, a small thing, holds up a jerry-rigged rifle, pointing it directly at my head.
"Lorn," one of the men at her side says, "it's time to go."
The four behind these two lift their weapons and point them at me as well.
Cornered between my bed and the wall of my cabin, I have very few choices. They are six prepared, angry civilians against one unarmed, Reaper-trained pregnant soldier.
I need to get past them. I need my VIPERs. I discreetly activate my comms from my PAHLM. SCOPE operators shout directions over each other. I'm not the only one.
The woman enters my cabin slowly, rifle pointed at my head.
Big mistake.
I grab the barrel and rip it from her grasp, swing it around, and bash her against the face with the heavy stock. I swivel it around my elbow and set my sights on the others in the doorway. I fire once, hitting one civilian in the shoulder.
He drops. The others step over his body to enter the room. I try to reload, but I don't know how. I don't understand this weapon. It's nothing I've used before. My second of confusion is my downfall.
The end of a barrel presses hard against my belly.
"Drop it," another woman sneers.
She must have snuck in during my quick distraction. She shoves the cold metal harder against my skin.
My body seizes in terror. Not my son. The weapon clatters at my feet. I raise my hands in surrender.
I need time to think. To understand the situation.
Pointing at the battle dress pants slung over the side of my bed, I raise an eyebrow at them, trying to let them know I'm cooperating. "I'll go quietly. But, may I?"
Someone picks up my dropped weapon. The woman aiming her rifle at me scans me up and down, my belly stretching through my thin gray shirt, my underwear most likely invisible under my protruding stomach.
Another man with a rifle enters my room, grabs my pants, checks the pockets, then throws them at my face.
I shove them on, one leg at a time, alarms blaring in my head.
Mutiny. This is a mutiny.
Stuffing my swollen feet into my boots, I curse myself for scoffing at Birgar's assessment of the people.
They were calm because they had a plan. Mutiny.
I should have listened, but I was too high on my own bliss-cloud to realize how the rest of my ship was sinking in its misery.
Once my boots are on, one of the women pulls my arms behind me, ties my hands together, then elbows me in the shoulder to move me forward. The other girl rises from the ground, gingerly tapping her busted cheek.
I don't say a word. Eyes forward, lips tight, chin up. This is how I will proceed. I need to think. I need to get a better assessment of the situation.
No John in sight.
I'm on my own.
We take the passageways slowly, all weapons on my back. I can feel them targeting the fleshy part at the base of my skull.
There's a faint smell of something familiar in the air—a smell I've hated since the day it first consumed the Kitchen Sink and changed it irreparably for the worst. It's the smell of my brightest nightmares.
Something is burning.
***A/N***
AAAAAND we're back to the dark side of the journey.
But, if you don't hate me for torturing poor Janika again, I have a SPECIAL REQUEST:
This week is my PITCHWARS PARTY!!! On Twitter, I'll be celebrating ARC10, hoping to swoosh its pretty, new, heavily revised tailfeathers around to attract all the sci-fi agents. I'm not ready for it.
I NEED HELP
Day one (FRIDAY!) asks me to shout out one fun fact about ARC10. Is there anything you all would want to know about it? I feel like I've already told everyone all my little secrets.
Day two (SATURDAY!) asks me to share my favorite aesthetics about ARC10. Here is what I have. I hate it. Is there anything you would add or change?
Day three (SUNDAY) asks me to share my favorite quote. 💀 WHY ARE THEY MAKING THIS SO HARD? 😫 Do you have any favorite quotes? If you find one, tweet it at me!
Day four (MONDAY) is a shoutout day. This is for the people who helped me revise. They don't know yet. It's a secret. 😏
Day five (TUESDAY) IS THE DAY BEFORE THE SHOWCASE AND I'M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND. This is it. I've torn ARC10 apart, put it back together again, and am finally presenting it, along with 50 other adult manuscripts, to an audience of 117 agents. If an agent requests the manuscript after seeing my showcase, THIS COULD BE IT! This could be ARC10's chance to blast off to the shelves. I'm reeeeeling you guys.
Anyway, if you can, your input would be so valuable. I know this is short notice, but I've been working on this manuscript day and night and haven't had a chance to visit HMS VAL in a while. Whew, once PW is over though, WATCH OUT. It's about to get nuts over here.
With all kinds of love and squish,
❤️L