Starling walked corridor after corridor. Then another. Then another. She no longer knew where she was going—only that she was moving.
“The captain wants me calming the passengers,” she’d told Carlos minutes earlier. Then, despite his attempts to stop her, she’d fled the lounge like a coward.
Captain Myron had issued that order, yes—but to every attendant on the ship. Starling’s assigned service sector was already gone, torn apart by the blast. No one needed her now.
The rescue fleet couldn’t take everyone. And as a bio-human, Starling wouldn’t be on any priority list.
Whether the rescue ships arrived or not, her ending had been written.
Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?
The ship kept shuddering in uneven pulses. Janiel’s commands kept echoing through the intercom. Crew members rushed everywhere. The whole Sunflower was in motion—except her.
She passed a mirror and stopped.
Starling stared at her reflection and felt an absurd urge to cry. But bio-humans didn’t have tears. She had been built to serve humans—and humans wouldn’t want a “robot” that cried.
Low as I am… what right do I have to stand beside them? Even innocent children turn pale when they hear my name.
In the mirror, Starling still managed to smile. She ignored the cut on her face where glass had opened her skin and kept walking.
She didn’t look like someone wandering a ship about to die. She looked like she was strolling through a park on a lazy, sunlit afternoon.
At last she drifted into a circular hall—lavish décor, instruments lining the walls. The Sunflower’s music salon.
In the center sat an ornate grand piano.
***
The passenger decks were close to losing all order. People were at the edge of collapse—some praying, some cursing, some clinging together and sobbing, some screaming at the attendants who kept trying to soothe them.
No matter how ugly the words got, no matter how rough the hands, the attendants endured it with fearful faces and forced smiles. “I’m sorry” had been said so many times it became meaningless—as if the disaster were somehow their fault.
The pointless shouting swallowed every gentle attempt at comfort.
Then the ceiling speakers crackled.
The sound wasn’t loud, but the deck fell silent anyway. Everyone ached for news—any news.
After a brief pause, what came through wasn’t an update at all.
It was piano music.
A slow nocturne titled “Fireflies Under the Stars.”
***
The same piano piece reached the bridge as well—though the gunfire inside the command hall drowned most of it out.
The savage assault craft that had rammed into the bridge had killed nearly half the bridge crew and Avengers on impact. The survivors bolted for the second-level island platform—only to be cut down by Exilers spilling out of the craft.
Avenger gunfire answered, destroying two Exilers the moment they hit the deck. But more Exilers immediately redirected their fire, and more poured through the breach in a steady stream.
Harangan yanked Captain Myron down behind cover. He and his three remaining soldiers opened up from different angles, raking the Exilers with relentless fire.
Julian’s message appeared in text across the displays at the same time his voice spoke: “Move. The bridge can’t be held.”
The Exilers sparked under the impacts. Working with the Avengers, Harangan’s squad dropped several more.
Isidor was closest. He saw a gap and charged, roaring, and washed the enemy line with flame from his flamethrower.
Fire and smoke swallowed the Exilers—and half the forward bridge. Isidor kept spraying as he shouted, “Go! Get out of the bridge!”
From the island platform above, Harangan hurled two grenades down into the flames and bellowed, “Up here! Move! I’ll cover you!”
The next second—Isidor screamed. A round had taken his thigh.
Fast lunged out to grab him. The instant Fast caught Isidor’s arm, Isidor—and his exosuit—blew apart. Blood and meat sprayed across Fast’s armor.
Fast froze for half a beat. Then he turned and ran for the stairs—
A crescent arc of light flashed through his body at a speed the eye couldn’t track. Fast’s legs took two more steps. His upper body remained behind.
“Move!” Harangan hauled Myron up by the collar.
Janiel had already opened the door behind the island. Harangan shoved Myron through it. Tyson Stone covered the retreat with a grenade launcher, hammering the lower deck and the stairwell until the last bridge crew member cleared the doorway—then he sprinted after them.
He hadn’t gone far when another crescent arc of light snapped in.
Julian instantly forced a nearby Avenger to step behind Tyson as a shield. The Avenger was cut clean in half. Tyson survived by pure luck.
Julian ordered the remaining Avengers to converge on the island and cover the retreat. The group spilled out of the bridge.
Tyson slammed the door and choked out, furious, “Since when can an Exiler’s lightsaber reach that far?”
“That wasn’t a lightsaber,” Harangan said, face grim. “That was Phantom Forge showing us something new.”
He didn’t slow. He drove them down the corridor at a punishing pace. Myron tried to stop to speak, and Harangan shoved him forward hard enough to stagger him.
“To hell with your honor,” Harangan snarled. “Move. Docking bay.”
They hadn’t gone far when Janiel shouted, “Stop! The docking bay ahead was just overrun. The enemy’s inside the ship and moving this way.”
Janiel’s headset was tied into the Sunflower’s systems; she could see the ship’s condition in real time.
A bridge crew member’s voice trembled. “They’re in front of us and behind us. What do we do?”
Myron turned, went back a few steps, and shoved open the lounge door. “This way. There’s another exit through the lounge—into a different corridor.”
Everyone surged inside.
Janiel hurried across the room and opened the far door. As the last of them was about to spill out—
A small side door slid open by itself.
A voice called from inside. “Wait! Captain Myron—can you take us with you?”
***
A few minutes earlier…
Gunfire and explosions thudded in from every direction. Linneya’s face was white. She shook as she curled into Carlos’s arms.
Run, or hide? Carlos couldn’t decide.
Run—where? The ship was full of enemies. He had his daughter and a pistol that was almost out of bullets.
Hide—until when? If the bridge fell, what did hiding even mean?
He found a tiny changing room and tried to tuck Linneya inside while he checked the corridor. Linneya refused. She clung to his leg with desperate strength.
Carlos sighed and stayed with her, crouched in the cramped room.
He knew it was a terrible plan.
Then he saw Captain Myron’s group pass the lounge entrance. Carlos rushed out and begged for help.
Myron glanced at them and answered without hesitation. “Of course. Come with us.”
Carlos stammered his thanks and joined the group, Linneya’s hand locked tight in his.
They had barely stepped out of the lounge when Julian said, “Run. The Avengers have been wiped out.”
Janiel’s expression cracked. “That fast?”
“There’s an Exiler among them,” Julian said, voice low, “one that has remained cloaked the entire time. It’s extremely strong—”
He didn’t finish.
Bang—
A door splintered behind them.