Glitter in a blender. I’m in a blender.
The air tastes wrong now. Laced with copper. The scrubber’s either jammed or dying.
“Sloane,” I manage. “Find us a landing site.”
She's shaking. Eyes wide, lit red by the hazard strobes. "I'm trying, Elena." Her voice cracks halfway through my name. “It’s—hang on.”
Sloane doesn’t finish.
The panel flickers, there’s a shower of blue sparks, and then—miracle—it stabilizes, along with the maneuvering jets. We stop spinning.
One amber icon glows at the center of the screen. Everything else is dark.
M-class planet.XYTHEOS.Landing in 0:12:14.43.
No alternates. The AI chose only one planet. We’re already in its system, well on our way to landing.
“We’re only twelve minutes out. This ship is crazy fast,” I say. No wonder it's falling apart. It wasn't made for this kind of acceleration.
Sloane stares at the screen. "No. Not that one. It can't send us there."
“Ask for a course correction,” I say.
“Course correction denied. Destination locked,” Sloane says.
“Why would they put us on a ship with a bad AI?” Dana asks.
“It’s programmed to keep us alive,” says Quinn. “How it does that isn’t supposed to be our concern.”
My gut drops. “The ship is in rough shape. We don’t have time to tour the galaxy. Can anyone tell us about Xytheos?”
I look at Sloane, but she’s staring ahead. Mute.
Dana exhales through her teeth. "Typical warrior world. Genetically engineered males, few females, territorial as hell. They’ve been begging for unaltered women for decades. Guess we’re about to make somebody’s century.”
Someone mutters, “Better a failed colony than the void.”
Sloane whispers, “Debatable.”
I wait for Sloane to elaborate, but she’s silent. My mouth starts running, trying to make up for her sudden pessimism. I can’t let them stop fighting. “Maybe we can evade them,” I say too fast. Too hopeful. “Carve out our own spot before anyone finds us.”
As if in response, the large display screen flares to life with a white glow, then cuts to black.
When it blinks back, a new message fills the display:
INBOUND VESSEL IDENTIFIED.
DISTRESS SIGNAL RECEIVED.
BIOMETRIC SCAN CONFIRMS: TWENTY FEMALES, ZERO MALES.
PER ASTRA CONVENTUM, ARTICLE VII — CUSTODY OF STARFALLEN ISMANDATORY.
ALL STARFALLEN WILL BE REMANDED TO THE CONCORD COUNCIL OFXYTHEOS FOR PROTECTION, INTEGRATION, AND GENETICPRESERVATION.
HONOR IN SERVICE. PEACE THROUGH STRENGTH.
I snort. Because the other option is to puke. They’ve scanned us this far out, read our biometric data. They’re going to be more technologically advanced than New Terra. Our chances of evading them are dropping.
