inland, up the river, where the Butler settlement was founded. Where I was supposed to be.
“I don’t want to rain on your parade,” says Magellan, sounding completely cheerful about doing exactly that, “but there’s never been a settlement on any planet in this system. It’s under interdiction.”
“… What’s interdiction?”
“It’s a total ban on system entry. Interdicted systems represent a risk to at least twenty-five sentient species, and are marked with a planetary warning beacon. The penalties for entering an interdicted zone are zero fun.”
“But Octavia was fine,” I protest.
“Nope,” Magellan contradicts me. “The planet was deemed unsuitable for habitation by carbon-based life, and no colony was ever established. Can I interest you in more information on Lei Gong’s imports and exports, or festival season?”
My gut clenches, but I make myself ask the question anyway.
“Can you search the colonial records for me? I want to know what happened to a Zhang Ji. Born twenty-one twenty-five. He was my father.”
The wait stretches forever, but in a way, it’s far, far too soon when Magellan beeps, like he’s clearing his throat before he gives an answer.
“There is no record of that name in any Terran colonial database.”
My throat’s tight, and my breath’s coming quick again.
Maybe this is just a mix-up?
But before I can press any further, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it opens to admit the Betraskan woman, Battle Leader de Stoy. She’s in a blue-gray uniform related to Ty’s, though hers is far more formal.
“Good morning, Aurora,” she says, closing the door. Her gaze flicks up to the camera but settles on me as she joins me on the bed. “I’m glad you’re up and dressed. I see you’ve acquired a uniglass.”
Magellan is smart enough to keep his sass to himself, and I set him aside on my pillow. “I did,” I say, trying to marshal my most reasonable tone. If I let her hear my grief, let her think I’m not holding it together, she’ll start treating me like a child. I don’t want decisions made for me right now. I need to understand what’s happening.
“And how are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I manage.
“It’s not unusual to feel side effects from prolonged exposure to the Fold.” When our eyes lock, I find that blank gray stare totally unnerving. “The effects can be serious, even on young minds. Your mood and memories may take time to settle.”
Do I tell her about the nosebleed? That a chunk of my hair wasn’t white before? About the hallucinations?
Why aren’t I telling her?
I decide to start with a question instead. Feel out her willingness to be straight with me. “I was just trying to look up what …” My voice wavers, and I let it. “I was trying to look up what happened to my father. But our colony records seem to have been changed. And all records of my dad have been … lost.”
Such a small word, for such a big thing.
The silence before she replies is just a beat too long. “Is that so?”
“That’s so,” I agree. “Which is kind of upsetting, because I’d like to know how things turned out for the people I care about.”
“Of course,” she says. “We’ll have someone look into it.”
Total brush-off.
“When will someone look into it?” I press. “It isn’t like these are old paper records you somehow lost. This stuff should be stored somewhere, right?”
“I expect so,” she agrees. “In the meantime, I have good news. The Terran government is sending a ship for you. Top priority, direct from the Global Intelligence Agency. Once their operatives arrive, they’ll escort you home. It will be perfectly safe.”
Safe? That’s a weird reassurance to offer.
Why wouldn’t it be safe?
And where is home, anyway? My house will be long gone—nobody I know is back on Earth. I don’t know what home means anymore.
And that’s when I realize she’s twisted to sit with her back completely to the red camera light in the corner. And as she speaks, she’s shaking her head—very slowly, almost imperceptibly.
As if she’s contradicting her own words.
“R-right,” I stammer, frustration fading away as a shiver goes through me. “So I should go with them?”
“Absolutely,” she says, reaching for my hand. “The GIA operatives will be here soon. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable on your birth planet.”
When she withdraws her hand, there’s a tiny slip of paper in the palm of mine. I make a fist around it.
“Got it,” I say, my heart beating a mile a minute. She’s warning me, that much I know. But