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  “Move faster,” he snapped, before heading off again, turning deeper into the ship and away from the fresh air. She struggled to keep pace. Her ankle smarted with each step. He turned down another corridor but the floor slanted dramatically. Lucie balanced herself against the wall as she followed, uncertain that Halliday would lead her off the station. She recognized the medical wing, the corridor lines with rooms, some used for examination and others for research. Some corridors had power, the emergency lights embedded in the floor glowing faintly in the smoky air. Each turn and service ladder took them closer to the heart of the station, at least the heart of this branch of the station. The Concord had been shaped as a stylized lotus, with petal opening from a common center. Lucie only saw it once years ago, as her transport approached to dock.

  He stopped in front of the pharmacy. “Open it.”

  She couldn’t even open up doors in an emergency and Halliday wanted her to unlock the pharmacy. She could, in theory. Dr. Sobin had given her basic permissions to fetch and carry supplies. The pharmacy was one of the few places included in those permissions. “Use your security clearance,” she said.

  The shock-baton fell across her shoulders, knocking her to the ground. “I didn’t bring you here for your lip. Open it.”

  Eyes narrowed in anger but saying nothing, she pressed her palm to the pad and keyed in her code. He’d only dragged her out of the locked lab to use her to unlock the medications. Typical. At least one thing remained normal. Halliday was still a selfish jerk.

  Just enough power remained for the door to unlock and slide open, with protest. Halliday tossed a bag at her feet. “Load it up.”

  “Any particular requests?” She’d stuff the bag full of useless saline and aspirin. Useless to sell on the street. She assumed that’s what Halliday was after. Nothing like a little looting after a space prison plummeted through the sky and crashed back to Earth.

  “Yeah, don’t get lippy. You do this and we part ways. I say I never saw you.”

  A classic smash and grab. “And if we get caught?”

  A feral smile spread across his face. “Looters get shot, so hurry up before I have to shoot you and grab the good stuff.”

  Right. Hurry up before Search and Rescue show up. She scanned the shelves, looking for the good stuff: Pain pills. Narcotics. Hallucinogens. Psych meds. Anything with street value. Lucie knocked pill bottles into the bag, not being particularly careful. Halliday was so gross and sleazy. She might be the actual convicted criminal here, but she’d never consider looting a pharmacy in the confusion of a crash. Or getting an inmate to use their security code to open the door.

  A heavy feeling of dread sank in her stomach. Even if Halliday was true to his word and let her go, the authorities would eventually be able to figure out that she survived. They’d look for her. She might have a few days on the outside, but she’d never really be free. They’d find her. She wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind with a ton of connections that could hide her or get her a new identity.

  She had her brother, Mr. Squeaky Clean, and his two kids. She couldn’t go to him; wouldn’t put that burden on him. She might as well just stay put and wait to be sent to a new prison, hopefully one that didn’t fall from the sky.

  Her crime was so trivial compared to other inmates. She had faked data on a research study. Her boss pressured her to “tidy up” the research. Any glitch or side effect could send the product into a new round of testing and review and delay the much needed medicine for a year. People who needed the medicine were dying. Surely the possible risk was less than the good the drug would do for those who needed it.

  Except those side effects weren’t a minor headache or upset stomach. The drug had a nasty interaction with a popular cholesterol medication and caused heart attacks.

  People had died. Lots of people. When the media got hold of the story and the lawsuits started, Lucie was the company’s scapegoat. During the trial, the prosecution showed the faces of every victim, all sixteen, lingering on each smiling face holding their child before clicking over to the next victim, smiling in front of a Christmas tree. The slide show crawled at an agonizing pace, letting guilt twist in Lucie’s gut. She paled, she groaned, she averted her eyes. In short, she looked guilty and the jury took no time at all coming to that verdict.

  Never mind that she was following orders. Never mind that it was impossible for her boss to not know what happened to the research. Never mind that shareholders cared more about profits than releasing a new drug safely. Never mind that Lucie was only one person in a long line of culpability. It didn’t matter. She was the one who went to trial. She was the one found guilty of manslaughter, all because she was too spineless to tell her boss no.

  Just like now, stuffing a bag full of looted pills and too cowardly to tell Halliday to go get stuffed. Of course, if she had stood up to her boss five years ago, the worst that would’ve happened was she would have lost her job. Halliday would kill her, she had no doubt. The moment she wasn’t useful to him, he’d shoot her and walk away. She could even hear his mocking voice, That’s what happens to looters, Lucky.

  This was such a bad situation. There was no good way out. Do what Halliday wanted, get shot eventually. Don’t do what he wanted, get shot immediately.

  She’d take her chances with eventually.

  With the bag suitably heavy, Lucie returned to the guard. He checked the contents before nodding with approval. “Carry that,” he said, shouldering his own pack.

  Lucie bit back the smartass comment that she wasn’t a pack mule. She’d be anything he wanted as long as he had that shock stick. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

  “Do I look like a doctor, Lucky?”

  “I thought you’d want to know that I can’t run away with your good stuff.”

  That smartass comment earned her the back of his hand. She tasted the copper of blood on her dry lips. Tears formed in her eyes from the smoke in the air, not from pain and certainly not from anything this asshole did to her.

  “Let’s find a way out so I never have to see your ugly face again.”

  She refused to let him hurt her, be it with the back of his hand or with his words.

  They worked their way through the corridors, finding some passages blocked with wreckage and other filled with smoke. The fire still burned. The fire suppression system failed completely, not that is was ever expected to work. If a fire had broken out while the station was still in orbit, the prison staff would have vented an entire branch, letting the atmosphere be sucked out into the vacuum and killed the fire that way, along with all the prisoners. Better to sacrifice a few convicted criminals than have expensive property damaged.

  This place sucked. Even if she remained in custody, any place had to be better than the Concord.

  She heard voices, pleading for help. Unseen people banged on walls and pounded on doors for rescue. Halliday did not stop. Lucie made a mental map of every place she heard a cry for help. Maybe if Halliday released her and maybe if the fire hadn’t spread, she could free some people.

  They passed an opening to where solitary prison cells were kept, for the special inmates. She knew this was where Dr. Sobin stored Lydia, Quinn and all the other playthings. Maybe she could convince Halliday to unlock the cells? She mentally prepared herself to plead, beg and stroke Halliday’s ego.

  It didn’t matter. The corridor was simply gone, as if that part of the ship sheared away.

  Finally, they reached the end of the branch. Lucie recognized it as the section that opened into a large concourse at the central hub. It housed the exercise yard and the cafeteria. Instead of the multi-level concourse, there was a jagged hole open to the night sky. Their branch of the station had been torn away from the center body.

  The scale of the catastrophe sank it. The ship didn’t just crash. The ship broke apart in the atmosphere. Survivors would be scattered for hundreds for miles, if not more.

  Halliday climbed down. His thick soled boots making an easy pass
age over the torn metal. It looked to be a one story drop. Doable but not pleasant. Moonlight and the sulfurous glow of the emergency lights highlighted the twisted path down. Lucie had no gloves or special shoes, just thin-soled, prison-issued slippers, and scrubs that were practically paper. Sliding down, a jagged edge caught her thigh and tore her skin easily. Sucking in her breath, Lucie flipped to her stomach, thinking to lower herself down. The palms of her hands cut on the same jagged metal but she held until the blood made her grip slip.

  She fell to the ground with a hard thump, pain radiating from her ankle. It was definitely twisted now.

  She rolled onto her side before sitting up. Fresh, clean air chased away the smoke induced headache. Fresh air. The first fresh air she’d breathed in years. Tears welled up in her eyes again, this time washing away the smoke for good. She tilted her head up, ready to see the stars from the familiar vantage of Earth.

  She was home. Finally. She was never going off planet again. She didn’t care what they threatened her with. Space was a fool’s bet. Too many things could—and did—go wrong.

  Lucie sucked in her breath and stared uncomprehendingly at the two moons in the night sky.

  This wasn’t Earth.

  Ertale

  Sarsen was too cautious. As much as Ertale rebelled against the idea, he agreed with Asche. They needed to investigate that falling star. If the Creators had, in fact, returned after a thousand winters, it would not be good news, but it would be something, and something was better than the endless waiting.

  Sheenika left her Fire Valos with a set of instructions. After she installed their heartstones and hollowed them out of emotions and free will, it was impossible for the valos to defy her instructions. It was also impossible to feel emotions. The return of the Creators should have filled him with anger, rage, and dread, but Ertale felt none of those things.

  He needed to see. He needed to know if the Creators returned. The security of the City in the Caldera rested with him. He needed to know and evaluate all threats to the city his brothers built. The return of the cruel Creators fell into the threat category.

  Ertale slowly stood, his limbs stiff and cool. Crumbling bits of slag fell to the floor. Another few days and he might not have been able to move even if he wanted, his internal fires extinguished.

  “We wait,” Sarsen said, eyes following Ertale but not moving himself.

  Ertale grunted but said nothing. Sarsen was smart. He’d figure out that another protocol overrode their plan to sit in the Forge and let their fires extinguish. They had tried many times before but had yet to be successful. A protocol always prevented their deaths. The Forge was littered with the remains of his brothers and sisters who had managed to ignore Sheenika’s protocol to serve the Caldera and make it ready for her return. Ertale knew this was because his triad was given the responsibility to oversee the other valos. His triad had an extra layer of protocols to add to Sheenika’s suffocating control.

  A valo must obey their Creator, Sheenika. Her commands are binding.

  A valo must obey a Creator in all things but if there is a conflict, Sheenika’s commands take precedence.

  A valo’s purpose is to serve all Creators.

  A valo must never injure a Creator or by inaction, or allow injury to occur.

  A valo must return to the Forge when it is time to renew their fire.

  A valo’s priority is to complete the task assigned to them.

  Ertale was bound by these protocols, as were his brothers. Ensuring the safety and security of the Caldera was his task. He had no choice.

  “Why does he get to move?” Asche asked.

  “Protocols compel him,” Sarsen said.

  Ertale approached the edge of the Forge. Beyond the stone lip, molten ore bubbled, yellow and orange and steaming. This was the essence of life. He plunged his hand in. The fire swallowed his hand whole. For a moment there was familiar warmth, then uncomfortable heat, then fire coursed through his veins, infusing his very flesh. His body screamed in agony. It never got easier.

  Of course, Sheenika had never cared for the comfort or pain of her creations. They survived the process. That was all she cared about. Many died and the few that remained suffered, but emerged strong and ready to do her work.

  Ertale’s memories of the Before were hazy. The more seasons that passed, the easier it was to forget names and faces. He had a family once. A mother. A father. Brothers, not the brothers he was bound to in the triad, but brothers of the same parents. Ertale remembered the youngest would follow him on the hunt, stepping on every twig in the forest and driving away the game. That had never annoyed Ertale, memory told him. While he could not feel the emotion now, he logically knew he tolerated his youngest brother with warmth.

  Still, he could not remember his brother’s name.

  Ertale knew that Sarsen had had a mate once, in the Before. Possibly a child. They did not survive the fires. Of their once thriving village, only a handful survived to become the Creator’s servants and playthings.

  This should anger him, but a barrier existed between himself and his heart. He was hollow.

  Ertale had the suspicion that he had been a male quick to anger and used his large frame to intimidate others. His memories were like watching the actions of another. He had no idea what he felt or thought and he had not been entirely kind. Perhaps the hollowing out of his volatile emotions was for the best.

  Sufficiently renewed, Ertale stumbled away. His hand glowed red hot before cooling to its natural charcoal gray.

  “If the Creators are here, I have to prepare the Caldera.” Asche took a lurching step towards the Forge. Ertale guided his brother to the lip. Asche plunged his own hand in, hissing.

  Sarsen remained still. Ertale expected no less. As alpha of their triad, Sarsen was able to resist the pull of the protocols the longest. Each member of their group had a specific function. Ertale was assigned as a guardian and oversaw security, not just for the city but also each valo assigned to security. Asche oversaw the construction of the city and all the valos assigned for building.

  Sarsen had been assigned as a Soldier. He led all the Fire Valos Soldiers into battle and executed Sheenika’s vision of conquest. He had the closest thing resembling free will of all the valos but also the most extensive list of protocols.

  Asche left, heading towards the tall towers of the city. The Creators required many items the valos did not, such as food and water.

  “Do not be gone long.”

  Ertale paused in the door at Sarsen’s voice. He would not. The renewal only lasted a moon’s phase. He could not be gone for longer than that.

  Chapter Three

  Lucinda

  Two moons.

  So many competing thoughts hit Lucie at once. Gravity felt off but she’d been living with artificial gravity for three plus years, so her ability to judge normal gravity was skewed. She could breathe the atmosphere. Outside the ship with its rank odor of melting plastics and smoke, the air was crisp and clean. This wasn’t Earth, but she could breathe.

  Her knees turned wobbly and she sank to the ground. Real ground. Earth or not, it was solid and real and she was free.

  “We have to help the others,” she said. Those voices, the people trapped in cells, needed help. Search and Rescue wasn’t coming. No one was coming.

  “Get up, Lucky.” Halliday stalked over to her kneeling form, leaning over her.

  “They’ll die if we don’t get them out.”

  “Rescue teams will be here soon. You want to hang around for that? They’ll just lock you up again.”

  Lucie stared up at him, momentarily shocked. Did he really not know? “No one is coming.”

  Something in her voice made him pause. She pointed up, to the moon. Moons. His hands clenched, and he kicked at the ground. “Change of plans,” he said, turning back to her. He shrugged off the pack and took out what appeared to be an old fashioned satellite phone. Primitive and bulky, he extended an honest-to-goodness antenna and p
ressed a button to speak. “This is Halliday. Does anyone copy?”

  Only static answered back. He frowned and adjusted the dials.

  Lucie examined the wreckage. The names of the sixteen dead because of her rolled through her mind. There were people in there who needed help. She didn’t need to add any more names to her list, and she couldn’t wait for Halliday to decide to do the right thing.

  The gap in the hull was a good ten feet in the air. She grabbed at a potential handhold. In the half-light of the strange moons, she failed to notice the sharp edges and sliced her palms. She wouldn’t be able to climb up without assistance. Good luck getting Halliday to agree to altruistic heroism. That man wouldn’t piss on a fire unless there was something in it for him. So she needed to give him a reason to care.

  She moved to wipe her hands on her top, then thought better of it. She was filthy and covered in soot. Bleeding freely had to be better than rubbing debris into the cuts. Still, she didn’t want the blood to attract animals…

  The thought chilled her. They had no information about where they crashed, the environment, the season or the wildlife. The last thing she needed was something with lots of teeth to decide that she’d make a tasty snack.

  Lucie ripped off the hem of her pants, having judged them the least filthy and tore the fabric into strips. She wrapped her bleeding palms; better than nothing and better than becoming a monster appetizer.

  “Is anyone out there?” Halliday shook the satellite phone and for a moment Lucie expected him to hurl it to the ground. “Stupid piece of junk isn’t working.”

  “Maybe someone on the ship can get it to work. I think Amber is good with electronics.” Lucie moved towards the ship and for a moment Halliday looked as if he would follow.

  “No. There’s too much interference here. Yeah, the ship has all these safety protocols and signals. We need to put some distance between us and the distress signals. Maybe find higher ground.”

  “But the survivors—”