They were standing in a beam of light, in a circle of stairs much like the one that led out of the rain catch, but not so high. The bright sun outside made it lighter on the outside than in, and Noa had a perfect view of the city. In the distance, she saw smoke rising. For the first time since the skirmish outside the Ark, she thought of the protests Manuel had promised. Her hands turned to fists at her side. The uprising, the ‘civil disobedience’ that was distracting the bulk of the Guard forces, had turned violent. She had no doubt that the protesters would lose … and also, that they were probably responsible for the relative ease with which Noa and her people had made their way onto this ship. “Make this work,” Noa told herself. “For all of them out there.” She must have said the words aloud, because Chavez turned to her sharply.

“It will work,” said James, and then he added in Japanese, “and if it doesn’t, it is better than the alternative.”

Noa thought of Ashley and the scars where her prosthetics had been pulled off, of little Oliver somewhere down the decks, and the man standing beside her whose mind would be picked apart. She felt herself turn to liquid steel. She shifted her gaze back to the bridge. At the top of the short stairs were six chairs tilted backward. Two for the pilot and co-pilot, two for passengers on either side of those, and two for the gunners manning the cannons.

Eliza poked her head around the seat next to the pilot chair. “Hurry! The engines are almost ready to go.”

Gunny poked his head out from the chair for one of the cannons. “Guns are still charging.” His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was completely red from fire retardant, except for where it had been washed away with tears.

“To the other cannon, Ensign,” Noa commanded, striding up to the captain’s chair. She didn’t bother asking Gunny if he could see well enough to fire—he was the only one on the ship that had any experience firing a cannon. Granted, that had been with ground cannons that were far more maneuverable, and he’d never had to allow for changes in gravity or firing at near light speeds … She pushed those thoughts to the side as she snapped herself into her chair. James snapped himself in beside her in the co-pilot chair. Manuel and Ghost both had experience that would have made them better co-pilots—but they were needed in engineering. As soon as he was secured in his seat, James started swiping at buttons. Screens in the instrument panel in front of Noa sprang to life with grainy images from outside of the Ark.

“It doesn’t have a data port link,” Chavez said, as though she didn’t quite believe the holos she’d practiced at Ghost’s place had been real.

“The red button fires,” said Eliza. “You can practice maneuvering the guns if you press the little blue button next to the screen.”

“Screen?” said Chavez. “Oh, right, no neural interface … the screen is so tiny.”

There was a control wheel directly in front of Noa. Ignoring it, Noa focused on the buttons and dials laid out on the dash. She pressed a button. As soon as she did, the sound of hissing pipes and Manuel’s shouts of, “Make sure that coolant pipe isn’t leaking,” filled the bridge.

“Engineering, are we ready to go?” Noa asked, as though they had a choice.

“Hold on, Commander,” Manuel said. And then she heard him call out, “Timefield generator array?” and someone else respond, “All units online and operational.”

Manuel continued down his checklist. “CO2 filtration system?”

Another voice responded, “I … uh … think … yes, the light is green.”

Gunny whispered what sounded like a prayer under his breath; Noa bowed her head and silently echoed it.

“Manuel …” Noa said.

“We’re ready as we’ll ever be, Commander,” the engineer responded.

“Ghost?” Noa asked.

“Still working,” Ghost grunted back.

“We have to go now,” said James. “They have … I think those are ground cannons?”

Noa looked at the screen he was pointing at. “They wouldn’t fire on a national monument, would they?” Noa asked, staring at the blurry image and at the same time diverting the engine power to the antigravs and main thrusters.

A whine sounded from below.

“That doesn’t sound right,” said Chavez.

Not answering, Noa gritted her teeth. She wasn’t precisely sure if the Ark had ever been tested since it had been refitted at the Republic’s order. “No time like the present,” she muttered to herself, and then louder said, “Belt in, everyone!”

Manuel’s voice filled the bridge. “All in.”

Kara’s voice cracked over the speaker. “Oliver and I are belted in in sick bay.”

“Let’s go, then,” said Noa. Grabbing hold of the steering bars and one hand on the throttle, she said a prayer, the same one she’d used in the Asteroid War in System 6.

Interrupting her concentration, 6T9 said, “Shouldn’t we be alerting the authorities to the dangerous rebels taking control of the museum?” Noa’s heart caught in her chest. Of course, 6T9 didn’t think that the Guard had fired on them. If he had thought he was with the real rebels, he probably would have turned himself in.

“Dangerous rebels?” said Gunny.

“They shot at a child!” said 6T9.

“So that’s how he’s rationalizing it,” Gunny said, as though to himself.

“How can you rationalize shooting at a child?” 6T9 cried.

“Shut down,” said Eliza.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the ‘bot, and slumped forward in his seat.

Noa pulled back on the throttle. There was a shearing noise. Nothing happened. She swore she heard the entire ship collectively taking a breath.

And then an earsplitting roar filled the bridge, and before Noa could even glance down, her back was slamming into the seat and they were hurtling toward the clouds.

The force of the Ark’s acceleration pushed James’s body into his seat. His eyes watered, and his skin felt tight, his hands reflexively grabbed the arm rest. The pressure on his lungs was too intense to breathe. He wondered if something had gone wrong. Sixty seconds into the sky, the G forces suddenly lessened. The dome of the sky above their heads was still unblemished, perfect—but he knew the armada was up there, waiting.

“Fire cannons, now!” Noa said.

The ship rocked in rapid succession four times as plasma fire ripped out of the vessel. As the beams sped away, they fanned out.

“That should clear our path,” Gunny said. “Plasma will play havoc with the external sensors of anything that isn’t outright destroyed … We’re in the clear.”

From the intercom there were cheers, and James wanted to smile, too. The ships in their immediate trajectory would be incapacitated, unable to fire or move, and they’d be in the way of any other vessels that might fire on the Ark. The Ark would fly right through the “donut hole” left by the cannons, and jump to light speed.

“Now all we have to do is blast out of the atmosphere and hit light speed,” someone said.

Unfortunately, the timefield bands couldn’t counteract substantial gravitational forces and shoot them through space at the speed of light.

“We’re ready for it!” Manuel shouted. There was another cheer.

James craned his head to look at Noa. He wanted to congratulate her. To tell her she’d been right and he had never been so happy to be wrong.

But he found her frowning. “Do you hear that?” she said.

James opened his mouth, about to say no, when from below he heard a loud shearing noise.

“Oh, dear,” said Eliza.

“What happened?” said Gunny.

Ignoring him, Noa said, “Manuel, that was the timefield generator array, get it back online!”

James’s hands tightened on the armrest. Without the timefield bands, they’d never make it out of the atmosphere.

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Manuel said.

“Going to do a gravitational turn, hold on,” Noa said. “Performing calculations.”

“A what?” said Eliza.

Noa just growled, so James answered for her drawing data from his historical records of early space flight. “We may be able to get out of orbit if she uses Luddeccea’s spin as a slingshot … if she gets the angle right.” But they’d miss the donut hole created by the cannons.

“Oh, I remember, the ship has an onboard computer that can—”

“I have a computer onboard my shoulders,” Noa said. And of course she did. She was a pilot in the Fleet of the Galactic Republic; such apps would be standard. James saw the instant Noa’s own navigational app finished the calculation. Her head snapped back, her eyes widened, and then she depressed the control wheel. The Ark leveled off at a more horizontal angle, and the chairs they were on all pivoted so that everyone in the bridge was right side up.

“I’m not a damn bat!” Ghost’s voice cracked from the radio. Apparently, not all the seats on the Ark could remain orientated to Luddeccea’s gravitational pull.

“We’re not going to have a clear path,” Gunny said, his voice hushed. “And the cannon needs to recharge … ”

“I could divert some power from the timefield generators,” Manuel’s voice cracked over the line.

“No,” said Noa. “If we don’t hit light speed, this is all over!” Her chin was dipped low, her nostrils were flared, and James could see the muscles and tendons in her arms.

Ghost’s voice cracked over the radio. “The armada is using older, non-ethernet dependent communications. I can’t take the ships down that way … but I can try to scramble their detection and ranging instruments on the surface. It could create confusion.”

“You do that!” Noa ordered. She gave her head a tiny shake and muttered, “The heavy cruisers won’t be able to turn around that quickly.”

Noa nodded. James could see the steering bars in her hands vibrating to the same rhythm beneath his feet. He looked out at their trajectory. As the atmosphere became thinner, the ambient noise within the bridge dropped a few decibels—they were leaving the friction of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon-dioxide molecules behind. After the roar of takeoff, he felt as though the cabin had grown hushed. The sky was rapidly changing from crystalline blue to the velvet black of space. He’d never experienced a takeoff that was as beautiful, and he wondered if it was because he suspected it might be his last.

“What do you see in the scopes, co-pilot?” Noa said.

James looked down at the screen showing the view directly above Prime, behind and above them. Six giant cruisers were clustered around Time Gate 8. He tilted his head. Of course they would be grouped around the station. It was controlled by aliens … or demons, or djinn, in the estimation of the Luddeccean authorities, anyway. His head ticked to the side.

Time Gate 8 had its own defenses. It was evenly matched with the cruisers and their small squadrons. His head ticked again. Four of the cruisers were dark … the station was dark, too. Time Gate 8’s ring should have been lit from within. So aliens didn’t need light? Had they been routed? Motion on the screen caught his eye. “Eight small fighters heading this way.” They looked like delicately gliding snowflakes at this distance.

“We should be able to take a few hits from a small fighter,” Gunny said.

Noa’s eyes dipped to the screen and then up to the window. “Five seconds until they’re in range,” she ground out.

James could do nothing but watch helplessly as the snowflakes approached. His grip tightened on the armrests.

“Four seconds,” Noa said, although she needn’t have, the countdown was playing out in his mind now in giant numbers.

“Three seconds,” Noa said. Her voice was steady and calm, as though the situation was under control. His voice would be that way too … it always was that way … even times like now, when he wanted to shout, to scream, to frown, or to cry. The armrest snapped beneath his fingers.

“Two seconds,” said Noa. On the screen, the snowflakes lit up.

“And—”

Noa’s voice was cut off by the sound of explosions topside and rear of the ship.

“We’re hit!” Manuel cried. Though he need not have.

“Damage report?” Noa said.

The Ark’s path changed, and it veered up sharply. James stared at the rapidly changing screens in front of them. His chair spun around, righting him so that the planet was below again. The ship was performing a huge arc. In a few minutes, the loop would be complete and they’d be plunging headfirst into Luddeccea’s atmosphere.

“Engine One is damaged,” Manuel’s voice cracked. “And the thruster at one o’clock.”

“I copy! Cutting Engine Three and thruster!” Noa said.

The Ark’s flight stabilized, but with just Engine Two on the starboard side and Engine Four on the port side, they could only move left or right.

James looked up through the dome of glass. He didn’t need to look at the dashboard to see the enemy. The Ark was heading straight toward the armada and the dark time gate.

Noa felt sweat prickling on her brow. The fighters that had fired on them split up to avoid the Ark hurtling in their direction, but others were dropping out of one of the heavy cruisers, just ahead and above them.

“Manuel! How is it coming?” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

“We can fix it! It was just a short.”

“How long?” Noa asked.

He didn’t answer, but over the intercom she heard him yell, “Duct tape! I need more duct tape for this circuit!”

“The fighters are regrouping,” James said.

Noa’s eyes slid up. The fighters were beginning to glow at stern and starboard. She took a deep breath and hit the starboard hard, veering the huge ship left. Plasma fire ripped past them. Some of the screens in front of them went dark.

The small fighters flew off in every direction.

“The large ships … ” James whispered. “The patterns of those lights … ”

Noa’s eyes went to the large fighter-ships. Their cannons were arming, which was why the small fighters were getting out of the way. Noa’s hands were damp, and she clutched the control wheel tighter to keep her palms from slipping. “Manuel!” she said. “I need timefield generators and I need light speed, now.”

His voice cracked over the intercom. “Working on it!”

She saw the light of the cannons on the big ships of the armada grow brighter as the fighters flew off, almost leisurely. Of course, the Guard wasn’t in any hurry. The Ark was dead in the water. Noa thought of giving power to Engine Three, and plunging the Ark into Prime; she could take out the Central Authority in one brilliant flash. Thousands would die. Order on the planet would break down; the people in the camps would be able to free themselves.

Her fingers twitched on the throttle. She swallowed. No, the people in the camps wouldn’t go free. They’d die faster as the small shipments of food would never arrive. They were in no condition to fight off their guards. They were in the middle of nowhere, they wouldn’t get aid …

“The time gate!” Eliza whispered.

“It’s lighting up,” James said.

Noa looked up and her jaw dropped. Time Gate 8 was lighting up at very specific intervals. “Those are the station’s cannons!” she said.

The cannons on the huge fighter-carriers appeared to dim—in reality, Noa knew they’d just spun around to face off against the gate’s defenses. Fighters dropped out of the large ships’ hulls like rain and swirled in a swarm toward Time Gate 8.

“What …?” said Gunny.

Noa’s mouth gaped as she watched bolts of plasma shoot from the gate’s cannons, directly at the large carriers. Smaller bolts knocked into the small fighters. One of the large freighters managed a direct shot to one of the gate’s cannons. Noa braced herself for the explosion … but instead, as the plasma fire hit, it appeared to disperse around the cannon in a glowing sphere that reminded Noa of nothing so much as a soap bubble. Then the glow appeared to be drawn into the cannon … and suddenly it was fired back out, directly at the carrier that had shot the initial blast.

“Some sort of energy transfer?” James said.

Noa had seen it before—but only in a demo holo. “That is only theoretical.”

“Not anymore,” James whispered.

But Noa couldn’t respond; bits of shattered carrier and fighter were spinning in their direction. Gritting her teeth, she tried to steer the Ark around the debris as best she could.

“Who’s onboard the station?” Gunny asked, “and are they on our side?”

“Trying to open a channel,” James said. In the periphery of her vision, Noa saw his pale hands flying across his dash. She kept swerving left and right—but debris was everywhere.

A sight hurtling before her made her eyes widen. “Manuel! I’ve got a big ol’ chunk of freighter coming this way! I need that engine!”

“I’m trying to give it to you!” Manuel cried.

“We need something! Anything! Thrusters won’t be enough!” Noa said as the huge chunk sped toward them. She readjusted the Ark’s course as much as she could, but they needed just a few degrees more … her internal apps were buzzing, warning her they were on course to lose a wing—and a large hunk of the hull with it.

“We’re going to get pulverized,” James said, voice as usual without inflection, and in that instant she hated him for it.

“There’s always hope,” she muttered. “Manuel!”

The Ark suddenly veered away from the debris.

“What was that?” Manuel’s voice cracked over the intercom.

Ghost’s voice buzzed, breathlessly. “I discharged all the material from the toilets on the bottom of the ship.”

Beside her, James said, “Well, isn’t that the shi—”

His voice and her laugh—that wasn’t a real laugh, but relief and adrenaline caught in a gust of breath—were both cut off as a chunk of debris tore against the bottom of the wing. The vibration echoed through the ship, making the hair on the back of Noa’s neck stand on end. It was so loud, it hurt. Gunny screamed, and so did Chavez—maybe she did, too. The noise died down. Her gauges told her the wing was still there, and there was no hole in the hull; Ghost’s ploy had been just enough. Shaking, ears ringing, she tried to say something, anything to James—a triumphant, “See, hope?” but as the scream of shearing metal quieted, she realized that the bridge was filled with another sound, a buzzing hum from the dash in front of James.

“Is it on our side?” Gunny shouted again as a carrier exploded in front of them, and Noa gaped. Carriers and fighters were scattering. The Ark was on a path to fly directly into the ring of Time Gate 8.

“Not yet determined,” James might have said. It was hard to hear over the stream of unintelligible buzz coming from his dash.

A light flashed from one of Time Gate 8’s cannons. Noa didn’t need her furiously calculating apps to know that they were about to be hit. The beam of plasma fire streaked through space in an instant that felt long but was too short for her to respond.

She blinked as the ship shook. For a moment she was in shock. They were still in one piece. She had expected to be free falling through space.

“That was a light blast,” Gunny said.

“A warning shot of some kind?” Noa asked.

The chatter from James’s dash grew louder. Noa turned to James just in time to see his dash light up with electricity that danced up his hands. He slumped in his seat, and the cabin was silent except for Noa’s shout and the continued sound of static.

He fell.

He heard Noa call out his name. “James.”

James. A jumble of syllables that meant nothing, and everything. Him. His universe tied up in a word. His name, who he had been.

The hero never died in stories. But this wasn’t a story.

His feet moved beneath him, and it took a moment to realize he wasn’t dead. He was walking through darkness, and he knew where he was. He was in the unmanned portions of Time Gate 8, the parts of the station that had “grown” almost organically since its construction above Luddeccea. And he knew where he was going—a shuttle that would take him to the surface of the planet. Somewhere he heard an explosion. And a signal struck his mind. There were no words, but he understood: he would face resistance. He continued to walk undeterred, and as the scene played out in hyper detail, it occurred to him that he was dreaming.

Maybe he was dead. To sleep, perchance to dream, wasn’t that what Shakespeare had said? He’d never actually read Shakespeare, he knew it from twentieth-century movies. The movies he had been obsessed about, but now only cared about because they gave him frame of reference. No, that was not all. They tied him tighter to Noa every time they watched one together. Thinking about her, he saw the first image of her, in her Fleet grays, the wide smile on her face, her eyes averted. Because he couldn’t do anything else, he continued to walk, getting closer to the sound of explosions, but the image of her hovered before him like a will-o’-the-wisp. He reached the end of the unmanned portion of the station and a door opened before him with a whoosh of air that, according to his senses, was too laden with CO2 to be breathable by humans. He stepped into a secondary hallway, off the main boardwalk that continued around the whole ring. There was a dead human male at his feet in Luddeccean Green. The human had a pistol in one hand, and another was stretched out in front of him. James looked up the wall in the direction of the stray hand. There was an access panel with wires yanked out. Had the dead man been trying to open the door James had just stepped through? He looked back at the doorway—the door frame was pockmarked with bullet holes and darkened by flame. He looked around the space. There were more dead humans spread out on the floor. Most wore Luddeccean Green, but there was a woman and a child collapsed in a corner. Part of his mind screamed, “Go to them, Noa would want you to go to them,” but his dream self walked on unburdened by the scene. He had a shuttle to catch. He walked to another airlock and it opened before him into the main promenade, where the sound of explosions was very loud.

Something alighted on his forearm, light as a bird. But he couldn’t look to see what it was. The weight tightened, but not painfully. He heard Noa’s voice. “Hang in there, James. I’ll get you to sickbay as soon as I can.” Her voice was a whisper, but it rang in his mind louder than the other voices.

“The Archangel Project will continue.” It was the buzz from his dash, but now it was comprehensible.

Beyond his closed eyelids, he heard Gunny say softly, “Cannons are charged.”

“Hold your fire!” said Noa.

The buzzing conversation in the strange language went on. “The Archangel Project will continue.” The phrase was repeated, nine times in different voices. Were they voices? Or just different frequencies of signals? Another voice said, “They attacked us.”

One of the first voices said, “We cannot lose this opportunity.”

“Data is still being collected,” said another voice.

“Time Gate 8,” Noa said. “Do you require evacuation?”

“The Heretic,” said one of the nine.

“Cannot provide assistance,” said the same one that had said, “they attacked us.”

A blur of buzzing opinions followed.

“More data is required.”

“Continue the Archangel Project.”

“Gate 8, do you require assistance?” Noa’s voice hitched slightly. James could hear the tension in it, the note of fear, but he knew she would not waver in her offer.

Ghost’s voice cracked over the intercom. “The ground defenses are back online. Commander, we have to get out of here!” James’s eyes were still closed, but he could hear the man’s lip trembling, imagine the sweat beading on his brow.

“Forget ground forces, I’m worried about who … whatever … is in Time Gate 8, Commander,” Gunny whispered. “I think the Green Coats were right, something’s aboard that thing … something dangerous.”

Noa did not reply.

“Engines are operational!” Manuel declared. “We can go.”

“Time Gate 8, do you copy?” Noa asked again. The pressure on James’s forearm increased. No … not pressure singular, but pressures plural, three tiny pressures from Noa’s left hand. The recognition sent an electric pulse through his body at the same time his mind was churning.

The ground defenses were arming … but she wouldn’t leap to light speed until she was certain there was no one aboard Time Gate 8 who needed assistance. But no one was there. He knew that, just as he had known he could lift 6T9, he had known how high he could leap, and he had known that the wound in his side was not dangerous. At least, no one human was aboard. He struggled to open his eyes, to pull himself out of his fog, and warn her. At the same time, his mind screamed to the voices he’d heard in his head, “Answer her!”

And then he heard the reply, “The Archangel speaks.”

“The Heretic still supports us,” said another.

“Answer,” one voice said. Eight more repeated the phrase.

James’s eyes bolted open and his head jerked backward with such force, his vision faltered. When it returned, he found Noa’s eyes on him, her arm stretched across the space between them. Her lips were parted, and James answered her unspoken question. “I’m fine,” he lied. He swore he felt something snap in the back of his mind.

Giving a tiny nod, Noa slipped her hand back to the steering bars. Her eyes went heavenward toward the massive form of Time Gate 8’s ring. The Ark was minutes away from coasting through the ring. The voices over the intercom were once again an indiscernible blur. Had he been hallucinating? Dreaming?

Noa began to speak again. “Time Gate 8—”

The voices coming through James’s dash coalesced and merged and this time spoke in Basic. “We hear you.” The words sounded like they were spoken by a choir.

Noa began to speak again. “Can we assist—”

“You cannot assist,” the strange choir continued.

“We have room for—”

“We are not your kind,” the choir sang. James heard a collective intake of breath on the bridge. Noa’s hands, up until this point tightly gripping the control wheel, went briefly slack.

The choir continued, “The ground forces prepare to attack.”

Noa squared her shoulders. “With your defenses, we still might have time—”

“Assist us by continuing,” the choir sang. “Go!”

“Commander, their cannons are targeting.”

Noa’s order cut through the bridge, “Light speed, now.”

Nothing happened.

“I thought it was fixed,” Manuel said. “I thought it was—”

“Hit it with a hammer!” Eliza screamed.

“They’ve fired, Commander!” shouted Ghost.

James felt a chill rush over h