My father turned left. And I could swear he did it a fraction of a second before the Krell did.
“M-Bot,” I said. “Time my father’s turns in relation to the Krell ship’s turns. Is he somehow reacting before they do?”
“That would be impossib—Huh.”
“What?” I asked.
“I believe the correct term is SCUD. Spensa, your father is moving before the Krell do. It’s only a fraction of a second different, but it is happening. My recording must be desynced somehow. I find it highly implausible that a human would be able to guess these movements so accurately.”
I narrowed my eyes, then hit overburn and threw myself back into the chase. I moved until I was inside the outline of my father’s ship, the glow of the hologram surrounding me. I focused not on him, but only on the Krell ship, trying to stay with it as it went into another sequence of dodges.
Left. Right. Spin. Altitude . . .
I couldn’t do it. My father cut and turned at precisely the right time, then IMPed the enemy ship. They spun around each other in a twisting, intertwined loop, like two braiding ropes. I lost pace completely, falling out of the complex maneuver as my father—somehow—cut his booster at just the right moment to drop behind the enemy.
The Krell died in a flash of light.
My father pulled out of his dive as Cobb whooped over the line. Young Cobb was certainly enthusiastic.
“Chaser,” he said. “They’re pulling back. Have we . . . have we won?”
“No,” my father said. “They’re just regrouping. Let’s return to the others.”
I hovered my ship, watching Cobb and my father join the lineup. “That was some mighty fine flying,” Ironsides said over the channel. “But Chaser, watch yourself. You keep losing your wingmate.”
“Blah blah blah blah blah,” Cobb said. “Chaser, stop blowing everything up; you make me look bad. Sincerely, Ironsides.”
“We are fighting for the survival of all humankind, Mongrel,” Ironsides said. “I would hope to hear some maturity out of you for once.”
I smiled. “She sounds like Jorgen, talking to us.” Then I turned, looking toward the Krell regrouping in the distance. Nearby, the DDF fighters formed into flights again.
I knew what was coming next.
“Would you look at that hole in the debris up there?” Cobb said. “You don’t often see such a great alignment of the . . . Chaser?”
I looked upward, but the simulation didn’t extend so far as to show me the hole in the debris they were talking about.
“Chaser, what’s wrong?” Cobb asked.
“Is it the defect?” Ironsides asked.
“I can control the defect,” my father said. “But . . .” What was that? I hadn’t heard that part before.
He was silent for a moment. “I can hear the stars. I can see them too, Cobb,” my father said. “Like I saw them earlier today. A hole in the debris field. I can get through.”
“Chaser!” Ironsides said. “Stay in ranks.”
This part, I had heard last time. I dreaded hearing it again, but I couldn’t force myself to make M-Bot turn it off.
“I can get through, Judy. I’ve got to try. I’ve got to see. I can hear the stars.”
“Go,” I whispered along with Ironsides. “I trust you.”
She’d trusted him. He hadn’t disobeyed orders; he’d gone with her permission. That seemed a tiny distinction to me, considering what would happen next.
My father’s ship rotated, acclivity ring hinging to point downward. His nose toward the sky, he engaged his booster.
I watched him go, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t watch this. Not again. Please. Father . . .
I reached toward him. With my hand, foolish though the gesture was, and . . . and with . . .
With something else.
I heard something then, up above. A sound like a thousand musical notes intertwining. I imagined myself, as Gran-Gran had always taught, soaring upward. Reaching for the stars . . .
My cockpit went black, plunging me into complete darkness. And then, around me, a million pinpricks of light appeared.
Then those pinpricks opened. A million white eyes, like stars, all turning directly on me. Focusing on me. Seeing me.
“Turn it off!” I screamed.
The darkness vanished. The eyes disappeared.
I was back in the cockpit.
I gasped for breath, in and out, hyperventilating. “What was that!” I demanded, frantic. “What did you show me? What were those eyes!”
“I’m confused,” M-Bot said. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why didn’t you play that earlier part of the conversation last time? Why were you hiding it from me?”
“I didn’t know where to start!” M-Bot said. “I thought the part about the stars was what you wanted!”
“And that talk of a defect? Did you know about this?”
“Humans have lots of defects!” he said, his voice whimpering. “I don’t understand. I can process at a thousand times the speed of your brain, but I still can’t follow you. I’m sorry. I don’t know!”
I put my hands to my head, my hair damp with sweat. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing in and out.
“I’m sorry,” M-Bot said again, his voice softer. “This was supposed to have excited you, but I have failed. I should have anticipated that your frail human psyche would be impacted by the—”
“SHUT UP.”
The ship went silent. I huddled in the cockpit, trying to claw at my own sanity. What had happened to my confidence? Where was that child who’d been so sure she could take on the entire Krell fleet by herself?
Left behind, like all childhoods . . .
I couldn’t say how long I sat there, hands running through my sweaty hair, rocking back and forth. A severe headache struck me, a piercing pain behind my eyes, like someone had begun screwing my eyeballs to my skull.
The pain gave me a focus. It helped me pull back, until finally I became aware of the fact that I was still hovering there. Alone above an empty field, in the blackness of night.
Just get back. I told myself. Just get some sleep.
That suddenly seemed like the only thing I wanted in the entire world. Slowly at first, I settled into the controls and turned us toward the coordinates of our hole.
“I’m afraid of death now,” M-Bot said softly as we flew.
“What?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“I wrote a subroutine,” he said. “To simulate the feeling of fearing death. I wanted to know.”
“That was stupid.”
“I know. But I can’t turn if off, because I’m more afraid of that. If I don’t fear death, isn’t that worse?”
I steered us to our hole, then positioned us above it.
“I’m glad I was able to fly with you,” M-Bot said. “One last time.”
“That . . . feels final,” I said, something inside me quivering with trepidation.
“I have something I need to tell you,” he said. “But I’m worried about causing you further emotional distress.”
“Spit it out.”
“But—”