Seven days, twenty-six hours, and twelve minutes until Net Failure
53We started the war with thirty-five. We’ll end it with nineteen.
It’s a small group that gathers around me the following morning to hear the plan for what will be our final offensive. The others listen intently, faces creasing in surprise, then alarm, and even outright amazement as I lay out my strategy. Not that I blame them. Under ordinary circumstances, my idea would be ambitious enough. With less than seven days and only nineteen people to pull it off, it seems almost impossible. Almost . . . and yet, from the very beginning, what have we done but the impossible?
In the months since the invasion, we’ve escaped ghouls and squatters, survived an alien Rainforest, and battled an enemy that’s superior to us in every conceivable way. Though we’ve been dealt losses, we’ve also triumphed in ways far beyond anything we had a right to hope for, and now everything we’ve done, everything we’ve suffered, has brought us here, to the cusp of a battle that could literally turn the tide of the war for years to come.
The preparations begin immediately. I send teams out through the Rainforest in every direction, stealing weaponry, modifying SkyLifts, and scavenging the parts that Hegit and her people will need for their part in all this. Plans are written, rewritten, and then written again as we scour the terrain surrounding the town, searching for the perfect points of entry from which to mount our attack. Those who aren’t actively working on one part of the offensive or another drill ceaselessly for the upcoming assault.
But we’re not the only ones preparing for what’s to come. Five days before the net is set to fail, lights go on across the spaceport’s landing pad. Not just any lights, but the lights surrounding the docking ports where the ships lock into the platform. They’ve opened the hatches from the bunker into the ships.
They’re loading the bioweapons.
It’s a three-way race now between us, the enemy, and the net. As long as the net continues to hold while we finish our preparations, we’ll stand a chance, but should it fall early . . .
The enemy will be gone before we can so much as step foot on the platform.
Though I don’t tell anyone else my fears, they seem to sense them anyway, redoubling their efforts and working late into the night on their assigned projects. No one is under any illusions that what we’re preparing for is any mere raid. They know this will be our final showdown—a fight to the finish, winner take all. All attempts at humor vanish, and joking is put aside, replaced by a grim determination that only deepens with every day that passes. As our preparations come nearer and nearer to fruition, I wait for someone to balk, to break under the strain of what’s to come or at least object in some way, but no one does. Somewhere along the way, each and every one of them signed on for the duration, and come what may, they’re in it until the end.
I’ve never been prouder of them.
After five long days of working from dawn till dusk, our preparations are finally at an end. Kieran’s team has finished modifying the SkyLifts we’ll need to enter the spaceport, while Vida and her people have supplied us with all the weapons, armor, and ammo they could get their hands on. Hegit’s team has done the impossible, cannibalizing parts from several fallen weather equalizers in order to fix a single one. It was touch and go for a while, but she and her team finally managed to get the equalizer up into the air for a shaky test run. Cheers accompanied the short flight, as well as several deep sighs of relief. Now all we have left is one short briefing before we take up our positions in the forest for our final strike.
As Avelaine begins her descent toward the horizon, I call everyone together for one last meeting. It’s a small group now with so many gone, but a few of my most faithful still remain: Trey and Xylla; Hegit, Kieran, and Megumi; Mercury, who has mercifully recovered enough to fight our final fight with us; and Vida. Always Vida.
My gaze touches upon each one in turn. They’re a far cry from the naïve students of six months ago, roused from their beds in the dead of night and forced to flee an invasion that was never supposed to happen. Suffering limns their faces and sorrow surrounds them like a shroud, injury and sickness dog them at every turn, but despite all the hardships, I see strength there too. Strength and courage and a steady faith, burning like a candle on a clear summer night. Vida’s words suddenly echo in my mind:
You know we’re with you, right? All of us, to the bitter end.
I swallow hard, momentarily unable to speak around the sudden lump in my throat. Even my rampant strategizing, which goes on without end these days, is for once still, retreating to a distant corner of my mind and leaving only silence in its place. When I finally speak, I keep my words short and sweet.
“Tomorrow is our final mission. In less than two days’ time, the planetary net will drop for good, and if the enemy is still standing at that time, they will leave with enough Sinesensu to bring down the rest of the Expanse. There is no one else left but us. If we cannot stop them, no one can. We may be few in number, but we’re strong, and I have nothing but the utmost faith in each and every one of you. If you pray, now is the time. One way or another, it will all be over soon. Stars be with you all.”
With a final nod, I send them off, watching as Vida, Kieran, and Trey’s teams gather up their weapons and packs. Hugs are exchanged, tears and whispered words passing from one to the next as they say what could be their final goodbyes. At last, they leave, heading for positions to the north and west of the settlements. My team will stay here in the forest at the south end of town until it’s time.
Divya stands by my side as we watch them go. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” she asks tremulously as they disappear from sight.
I merely shake my head; I have no more answers to give her than she has to give me.
It’s a small group that remains—just Gavin, Hegit, Divya, Ri, and me. Together we sit and watch as the suns slowly go down. With half-light fading, we eat a handful of ration paks, then settle for our final sleep before our mission—except for me. There’s one more thing I have to do before we plunge into the fire.
I have to see him. I have to see Zane one last time.
Zane’s asleep when I arrive, curled up on the bunk against the opposite wall as I materialize inside the bunker for the last time. In sleep, the hostility he usually harbors for me is gone, and for a time I simply hover there in the darkness, watching him. Compared to the never-ending turmoil of war, there’s something so peaceful about his slumber—about the relaxed planes of his face and the simple rise and fall of his chest—that I find myself loathe to wake him. Only after several minutes have passed do I reluctantly call his name.
“Zane.”
Though my voice is quiet, he wakes instantly. Blinking several times, he sweeps his gaze around the bunker twice before finally noticing me. Slowly, he pushes up into a sitting position.
Perhaps he senses something in my grave demeanor, or maybe it’s just that he’s still caught within the hazy tendrils of sleep, but his usual antagonism is missing, held at bay by a resigned sorrow that seems to pierce me to the very core. I swallow, suddenly unable to speak, to tell him the news I know will break his heart, but it turns out I don’t have to.
“You’re striking the spaceport, aren’t you?”
His voice echoes hollowly through the empty bunker, the matter-of-fact words somehow more of a condemnation than any accusation he could ever throw at me, and though I tell myself his approval is not important, my stomach still lurches at the tacit denunciation. Swallowing again, I ask, “How did you know?”
“The food drop this morning.”
I nod in understanding. Due to our coming offensive, I pushed the food drop up by two days and had Xylla put in three times as many rations as usual. I should’ve known Zane would notice the change and put two and two together.
Silence falls, only our eyes speaking as we stare across the divide, then all at once—
“I just came to—”
“Please don’t go.”
I stop, unable to finish in the face of his naked plea. I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to resist this final opportunity to try and talk me around, no matter how hopeless his cause. Exasperation at his sheer pigheadedness wars with an unwitting sympathy for his genuine concern, and I can’t help letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Zane, I—”
“Please! It’s not too late to stop this,” he begs, rising to his feet and taking a step toward my image. “You can still change your mind, call off the attack—”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Yes you can! It’s not too late. Don’t you see? The enemy is closing their net around us, and soon there won’t be any escape for anyone. They’ve done it before, and they’re doing it again. They infiltrated Tiersten, they bombed Nguyen, and now it’s Iolanthe poised on the chopping block!” He desperately paces the confines of his cell. “If you can’t bear to sit by and do nothing, then just leave. When the net drops, just take a ship and go! Leave me here if you must, but do what you originally set out to do and get the others off this planet.”
Anger sparks in me at his stubborn refusal to listen. From the outset of the war, it’s been I who’s stepped up. I’ve created the plans, I’ve led the raids, I’ve made the hard decisions! Everything I’ve done has been to lead us to this moment, to this chance to take the down the enemy once and for all, and he wants me to run?
“We can’t leave now,” I object heatedly, “not after everything that’s happened. The bioweapons—”
“Forget the bioweapons! Steal a ship—go to the auxiliary port if you have to—and when the Spectres lower the net, use the opportunity to follow them out. Even if you can’t make it home, you can still call for help once you’re out of the atmosphere.”
“None of us can fly—”
“Engage the automatic pilot! You’re smart. Fifteen minutes with an instruction manual, and you’ll figure it out.”
“Zane, no—”
“Please, I’m begging you. It’s your only hope.”
“What you’re asking is impossible,” I grind out through gritted teeth. “Even if I wanted to call off the attack, I couldn’t. The preparations are already complete, and the others—”
“Tell them you reconsidered! Tell them you ran the numbers again, tell them you made a mistake—”
“It’s not a mistake!” I yell as my temper finally gets the better of me. “I’m doing what needs to be done, and I’m not retreating into the woods, or calling off the attack, or fleeing the planet like a coward—not for you or anyone! Don’t you see? This is my task. My responsibility, and it always has been, ever since that day on New Sol when I let Lia get off that train. I let her go Nova and die even as my brother screamed her name again and again! I sacrificed her for the rest of the universe, and nothing I could ever do—no strike, no attack, no offensive—can ever make it right! All I can do is fight the enemy who made her sacrifice necessary, fight them until I can’t fight anymore, and if I die in the process—if everyone on this planet dies in the process—then so be it!”
Zane’s jaw drops. Pure silence echoes through the link, so complete you could hear a chit drop. The strangest look comes over his face. Then in a small voice he whispers, “You knew Lia?”