down, looping around us in two tight circles. It flies so close to me that I can feel its wake in the air on my face. Then the animal is in the sky again, beating its wings against the wind but looking back at us.
“Did I go completely insane in space or is that Chimæra beckoning for us to follow it?” Zophie asks.
“Possibly both,” I say.
“Her name is Olivia,” Crayton says. “She’s always been one of the brightest among them.” He turns to us. “I think we should follow her.”
Zophie and I exchange glances. She shrugs. “That direction looks as good as the others.”
Before we leave, I take a closer look at our ship. Or what’s left of it. Even without the gaping hole we’ve blown out of the back hull, the main propulsion units look like they were fried in our reentry. Without the necessary parts and materials, there’s no way the vessel is ever moving again.
“I think this ship’s seen its last flight,” I say, suddenly feeling very much stuck on this new planet.
“So do we just leave it, or what?” Crayton asks.
Zophie suggests we blow it up if we don’t want the humans to find it and suddenly come face-to-face with the realization that they’re not the only intelligent life in the universe. I can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but either way I argue that it’s a bad idea—I’m not exactly thrilled by the thought of destroying what might be one of the few remaining Loric computer systems in the universe. Besides, the ship is almost completely embedded in a sand dune anyway, obscured. After a few days, it will likely disappear beneath the sandcompletely. So we gather the few supplies we still have and distribute them among bags for equal carrying weight. There’s little food and only a handful of weapons—knives, concussion grenades and a few blasters. Raylan didn’t skimp on other resources, though. We split up the jewelry—rings, bangles, necklaces—and precious stones.
We walk. It is perhaps the first time that the enormity of our situation has dawned on me. We are now refugees. Four beings without a planet. We are a species on the brink of extinction. Trusting the guidance of an animal because we have no better plan or option. Even though Earth has been our intended destination for months, being on its sandy ground feels surreal. It feels so foreign.
It’s been so monotonous on the ship that I’ve let old fires grow cold, but now that we’re on Earth, I remember all the hatred I had for the way Lorien was run. And for how it fell. I silently curse the names of each and every Elder. It’s something I’ve done countless times, usually thinking of Zane. Or for the Loric who died in the Mog attack—even those who were a part of the system, whether they realized it or not. At this moment, though, with the child crying and our feet sinking into the sand, I curse the Elders for me and Zophie and Crayton and Ella. For everything they might have kept from us. For getting us into this situation.
For thinking that we weren’t worth saving.
We follow Olivia. The rest of the Chimærae trail behind us. Eventually, when our pace slows, a few of them transform into four-legged beasts and carry us and our supplies. We march on until they too begin to grow weary. And then we camp.
Night falls. Zophie guesses that it must not be summer or winter, otherwise the temperatures in this climate would be extreme. It’s chilly, but we make do. One of the Chimærae morphs into a large animal with long, soft fur, and after a little hesitation I give in to leaning on it. I fall asleep quickly, my mind drifting to other times. Zane and I playing games at our grandfather’s home. Our mutual excitement on his first morning at the academy. Perfect afternoons on Lorien.
It’s the middle of the next day before we spot structures in the distance. Tall, sand-colored triangles jutting out over the horizon. When Zophie sees them, she cries out, running forward a few steps.
“The Great
“Did I go completely insane in space or is that Chimæra beckoning for us to follow it?” Zophie asks.
“Possibly both,” I say.
“Her name is Olivia,” Crayton says. “She’s always been one of the brightest among them.” He turns to us. “I think we should follow her.”
Zophie and I exchange glances. She shrugs. “That direction looks as good as the others.”
Before we leave, I take a closer look at our ship. Or what’s left of it. Even without the gaping hole we’ve blown out of the back hull, the main propulsion units look like they were fried in our reentry. Without the necessary parts and materials, there’s no way the vessel is ever moving again.
“I think this ship’s seen its last flight,” I say, suddenly feeling very much stuck on this new planet.
“So do we just leave it, or what?” Crayton asks.
Zophie suggests we blow it up if we don’t want the humans to find it and suddenly come face-to-face with the realization that they’re not the only intelligent life in the universe. I can’t tell if she’s joking or not, but either way I argue that it’s a bad idea—I’m not exactly thrilled by the thought of destroying what might be one of the few remaining Loric computer systems in the universe. Besides, the ship is almost completely embedded in a sand dune anyway, obscured. After a few days, it will likely disappear beneath the sandcompletely. So we gather the few supplies we still have and distribute them among bags for equal carrying weight. There’s little food and only a handful of weapons—knives, concussion grenades and a few blasters. Raylan didn’t skimp on other resources, though. We split up the jewelry—rings, bangles, necklaces—and precious stones.
We walk. It is perhaps the first time that the enormity of our situation has dawned on me. We are now refugees. Four beings without a planet. We are a species on the brink of extinction. Trusting the guidance of an animal because we have no better plan or option. Even though Earth has been our intended destination for months, being on its sandy ground feels surreal. It feels so foreign.
It’s been so monotonous on the ship that I’ve let old fires grow cold, but now that we’re on Earth, I remember all the hatred I had for the way Lorien was run. And for how it fell. I silently curse the names of each and every Elder. It’s something I’ve done countless times, usually thinking of Zane. Or for the Loric who died in the Mog attack—even those who were a part of the system, whether they realized it or not. At this moment, though, with the child crying and our feet sinking into the sand, I curse the Elders for me and Zophie and Crayton and Ella. For everything they might have kept from us. For getting us into this situation.
For thinking that we weren’t worth saving.
We follow Olivia. The rest of the Chimærae trail behind us. Eventually, when our pace slows, a few of them transform into four-legged beasts and carry us and our supplies. We march on until they too begin to grow weary. And then we camp.
Night falls. Zophie guesses that it must not be summer or winter, otherwise the temperatures in this climate would be extreme. It’s chilly, but we make do. One of the Chimærae morphs into a large animal with long, soft fur, and after a little hesitation I give in to leaning on it. I fall asleep quickly, my mind drifting to other times. Zane and I playing games at our grandfather’s home. Our mutual excitement on his first morning at the academy. Perfect afternoons on Lorien.
It’s the middle of the next day before we spot structures in the distance. Tall, sand-colored triangles jutting out over the horizon. When Zophie sees them, she cries out, running forward a few steps.
“The Great
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