is on fire. Flames burning in black and white.
TDF fighter ships swarm through the dark, explosions lighting the night around me. The wreck of a Syldrathi Banshee hangs off the Kusanagi’s bow, lifeless and black. Another one is drifting, leaking fuel vapor and thin wisps of fire, spinning away in a slow spiral from the ongoing battle.
But the other two Banshees are cutting the Kusanagi to bits.
The tactics nerd in me is totally enthralled by the battle, but honestly, I’ve got bigger things to worry about than the free-for-all going on around me. Bigger things, even, than the war probably raging around Earth right now.
Problem is, these TDF escape pods are basically missiles, made to fly away from the ship you just ejected from as fast as their little engines will boost them. The Fold around me is full of debris—junked fighters, massive tumbling chunks of Banshee, arcs of burning plasma. And while this pod might look like a fish and move like a fish, it steers a lot like a cow.
I wrestle the controls, speaking into comms as I blast farther away from the slaughter.
“Saedii, this is Tyler, over?”
Finian
I grab wildly at the handrail, nearly falling down the companionway in my rush to reach the engines. Everything’s built just fractionally too big for me—those tall Syldrathi bastards.
I yelp as my foot slips off the step, and Scarlett grabs me from behind, somehow holding me by one arm until I regain my balance. I don’t waste breath on thanks—we make a barely controlled descent to the hallway and break into a run.
A part of me is aware I’m running to try and get my own death back on track, and that’s not something I ever saw coming.
But Scarlett hasn’t let go of my hand now that we’re on level ground. And that’s not nothing.
The engine room door is sealed, and I stretch out one hand for the touch panel—then yank it back at the last second, horrified at what I nearly did.
The warning light beside the panel is flashing red.
I lift up on my toes (tall bastards) and take a look through the viewport.
Oh.
“What’s happening in there?” Scarlett demands.
When I don’t answer, she shoulders me aside. And even though she’s not our strongest mechanical talent, Scar knows what stole my words away the second she sees it. Inside the engine room, gas and fluids are venting into space.
There’s a gaping hole in the side of this piece-of-chakk ship. Its ragged edges are bent inward, and I can see the battle still under way outside. I can see the stars. Whatever hit us punched straight through.
Our engines are in pieces.
I can’t fix this.
Zila
The Weapon ahead of us brightens, swirling with color, a thousand rainbows refracted back and forth.
Slowly, I take my hands off the controls. I let my mind rest. My thoughts quiet.
There are no further calculations required of me.
It is strangely peaceful.
I lean into my mic to speak to my squadmates.
“Finian, Scarlett. It has been a privilege to serve in Squad 312 alongside you.”
I am not feeling nothing.
Tyler
A Syldrathi Banshee streaks past me, silent as death, black and crescent-shaped. My proximity alarms are shrieking, my palms damp with sweat as I weave past the shattered hulk of a TDF fighter, barely missing a spinning chunk of Banshee hull.
“Unbroken vessels, this is Tyler Jones, do you read me, over?”
I stab at comms again. Wondering if something happened to Saedii. Wondering if her crew managed to scoop her up. Wondering if …
… if she’s decided to leave me here to die.
She wouldn’t do that, would she?
“Saedii, do you copy?”
“WE COPY YOU, TYLER.”
The reply rings down my emergency channel, making my pounding heart fall still. It’s iron cold. Edged with static. But even still, I know that voice.
I’ve known it since we were five years old.
“… Cat.”
Scarlett
I hope Tyler’s still alive out there somewhere.
I know he’ll understand I didn’t want to leave him.
I never imagined I’d go out heroically. More at the age of one hundred and fifty-seven, while scandalously making love to the pool boy, you know?
But … this is okay too.
I meet Fin’s eyes. They’re black all over, and the contacts should make it impossible to read his expression. But I’ve never found it hard.
I realize we’re still holding hands.
So I turn toward him and take his other hand in mine too.
Aurora
I stagger to my feet, every muscle screaming, my mind straining to hold back the Starslayer’s assaults. The Waywalkers’ psychic energy pours into him in a torrent now, and he’s