The door to the sleep center slides open as I approach, and I step inside.
The Prairie’s insulated deep-sleep center is another long, elliptical tunnel. According to the schematic, it wraps all the way around the ship and spirals inward, filling most of the enormous craft. Row after row of transparent insulated sleep crates are strapped to the curved walls. Each crate contains a single person in a medically induced coma, floating in the opalescent goo that kept them from getting fried by radiation when the ship went superluminal.
“Joanna!”
My grandfather’s voice rushes ahead of him as he hurries around the curve of the sleep center. I race up the tunnel and throw myself into his arms.
He’s tall and broad, but too thin. I can feel the sinews and bones of his arms and gently bowed chest, even through his uniform.
“Grandpa,” I whisper.
He sets me away from him so he can take me in. “Hello, Little Moth. How are your wings?”
The old nickname takes my breath away. I thought I’d never hear his voice again. Or feel his arms around me. I’m so glad he’s here. Which is just . . . horrifying. How can I be glad? My grandfather is only here because Earth is dead.
“I . . . I think I’m . . .” I can’t even finish the sentence. There are too many thoughts and emotions stuck in my head, trying to get out.
“I see them there,” he says, skimming a hand over my head and shoulders. “Still beating.”
Tears roll down my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry.” I sob. “I should have—”
Grandpa clucks his tongue, cutting off my apology. “Nonsense, Little Moth. Besides, it makes an old man feel useful, being able to take care of his family.”
“Commanding the ship carrying the last remnants of humanity isn’t enough, Dad?”
I look up to see Mom emerging around the spiral of the sleep center. She’s glaring at Grandpa. If she were looking at me that way, I’d apologize. Even if I didn’t know what was wrong. But Grandpa smiles at her fondly, like he thinks it’s sweet. “Still nice to get my hands dirty, every once in a while.”
“In other words, your delegation skills are poor at best,” a tall woman in fatigues with a long blond braid says. I didn’t notice her before. She’s leaning against the wall by the door, reading something on her unfolded flex. There’s a pistol holstered on her belt. The sight of it makes my stomach clench.
Grandpa chuckles. “Everyone has a weakness.”
“We aren’t done here, Dad.” Mom grinds the words out between her teeth.
She’s furious. What happened between them?
“I realize that, dear heart,” Grandpa says, turning away from me to face her. “But until you can present me with a reasonable alternative—”
“Anything!” Mom almost shouts back. “Literally any other plan would make more sense than this.”
“Hyperbole isn’t helpful, Alice,” he says mildly.
For a second, I think Mom is actually going to punch him.
“Jo, Lieutenant, can you two excuse us for a moment?”
“Sure thing, Commander,” the blond woman, who is evidently a lieutenant, says. “C’mon, Junior.”
She strides through the door without waiting to see if I’m following.
“Mom—”
“Please, Joanna,” Mom says. She sounds vaguely frantic, which makes my stomach twist with nausea. “Just . . . go. Okay? I need to talk to Grandpa.”
Eight hours ago, she said she needed me by her side. But eight hours ago, we both thought I was something I’m not.
“Okay.”
I follow the lieutenant out into the hall.
The door slides closed behind us. The lieutenant resumes leaning against the wall and texting on her flex. The raised voices that immediately hammer at the closed door don’t seem to concern her.
I can’t hear the words, but Mom sounds angry. And afraid.
“Chill, Junior,” the lieutenant says without looking up. “I can feel you stressin’ from here.”
“Forgive me if I don’t find the circumstances relaxing,” I snap, more indignant than I mean to be. “And my name is Joanna. Not Junior.”
“I know that, kid,” she says mildly. “But mocking the admiral’s nepotistic tendencies amuses me.”
And I’m being a jerk to this complete stranger for no good reason. It isn’t her fault I’m freaking terrified.
I take a deep breath and try again.
“Admiral,” I say. “That sounds so strange to me. He’s supposed to be retired.”
“Nobody’s retired anymore,” she says. “End of the world, remember?”
A sob catches in my throat, even though I’m not crying anymore.
“I can’t believe Earth is gone.”
“Eh, you’ll get used to it,” she says.
I doubt that. How can anyone get used to the idea that ten billion people are dead and our planet is ruined?
“What’s going on?” I say, gesturing to the door. “Why is Mom so . . .”
“Royally pissed off?” the lieutenant supplies.
I nod.
“Deep-sleep system is screwed,” she says. “Apparently forcing the solar power back online fried a circuit somewhere. Now the sleep center is sucking in way more juice than it’s meant to. We have about eighty-two days, give or take, to get everyone outside before the excess power draw fries the engines and the ship becomes purely decorative.”
“That’s only twelve weeks!” I cry. “We can’t bring ten thousand people down to Tau in twelve weeks!”
“Since the other option is extinction, I’m pretty sure we’ll figure it out,” the lieutenant drawls.
Ten thousand survivors in twelve weeks. That would be nearly impossible even if we didn’t have to deal with the Sorrow. Or the phytoraptors. We still don’t know what triggers their hunting instinct. How many of those ten thousand humans will get eaten before we figure it out?
The lieutenant flashes a sharp grin. “And now you know why your mama’s so pissed.” She shakes her head. “Commander’s got a point. Dropping a gang of civvies on a hostile planet with no training and minimal shelter really shouldn’t be plan B.”
“Tau isn’t hostile.” The words pop out reflexively. “It’s just—”
“It’s just home to two different sentient species, one of which is a dangerous predatory race, the other of which are manipulative bastards with freaky superpowers they’ve used to turn said scary-ass predators on your people not once, but twice? Killing, what, eighty-three people?”
“Eighty-six,” I say. I don’t know if it’s embarrassment or lingering terror at her summary that’s making my heart pound all over again. “And they did it three times. The Sorrow manipulated the phytoraptors into killing the original scout team, too.”
“And eating them,” she adds.
“And eating them,” I acknowledge, sick despair twisting in my guts.
She smirks again. “Sounds pretty hostile to me.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, but I know she isn’t. I’ve spent all this time worrying that we’ll be a disaster for Tau, but Tau has been just as much of a disaster for us.