3THE NEWS HITS during a short break mid-training the next day. After running fitness drills for half the morning, we’re given ten to get a drink or hit the hygiene units. I come out of the units to find everyone crowded around Madison. He’s got his hand out, palm up, a news holo being projected from his chit.

“What’s going on?” I ask the nearest guardian.

“Shh! Watch,” Evans hisses with a nod to the holo.

Frowning, I turn my eyes to the program. My jaw goes slack as I read the caption at the bottom.

Everest Prime has gone down.

I can hardly believe it. Everest Prime—one of the largest, most central, most heavily guarded planets in the Celestial Expanse—has just been infiltrated by ghouls en masse.

I watch the footage with sinking horror. The closest areas to the infiltration have already been cordoned off, barricades trapping people within entire towns, even cities. Terrified mobs throw themselves up against the steel walls, crying to get out, only to be fended off by the Planetary Guard shooting stun guns and other nonlethal weapons to cover their retreat. Even outside the walls isn’t quiet, with those separated from loved ones wanting back in, only to be arrested and evacuated.

The scene changes as the station flips to footage of areas farther afield. There the population is being evacuated off-planet as quickly as possible. Naval transport carriers wait in orbit as ship after ship ferries up the newly created refugees, while soldiers on the ground usher people to the ships and do everything in their power to keep the peace.

In other parts of the planet, rioting has already broken out among the frightened populace. News of the infiltration has reached them, and they’re panicking, seeing ghouls where there are none and pointing the finger at anyone and everyone in their fear of the unseen. Martial law has been declared, and it’s all military personnel can do to keep the situation under control.

I shake my head as murmurs break out around me from the rest of the platoon.

“Holy slag, a whole 8-class planet gone. If Ev Prime can go down, what’ll be next?”

“You think they’re gonna send us in to help with the evac?”

“Don’t you know any spatial geography, dumb-bot?” someone else responds. “By the time we get there, it’ll be all over but the dying.”

“Oh my God! My family! My family is there!”

“Ice down, Guerrero. I’m sure they’ll get them off in time.”

I don’t say anything, too shocked by the news to speak. It’s been four and half years since we first encountered the Specs. That was when scouts from the Celestial Expanse and our chief rival, the Tellurian Alliance, discovered a new planet so earthlike everyone started calling it New Earth. Both powers immediately knew they wanted the planet. In fact, the TA and the CE went to war over it while New Earth sat green and empty, waiting for the eventual victor to come claim it. No one could figure out why such a paradise was completely uninhabited.

Turned out, it wasn’t.

While the CE and the TA were busy fighting it out for the right to colonize New Earth, Spectres snuck off the planet with a small scout team from the Tellurian Alliance. Little did those scientists know the horror they were bringing home with them inside their heads. With their presence yet unknown, the squatters settled down to do what they do best.

Breed.

And breed, and breed, and breed.

Though incorporeal and invisible, the Specs still need host bodies in order to reproduce, and humans turned out to be the perfect carriers. With most people unable to even sense the presence of a Spec inside them, the ghouls took hosts and bred without anyone the wiser, spreading through the Tellurian Alliance like a deadly plague. Only the psychics were able to sense their presence, but by the time they put all the pieces together and formed a resistance, it was too late. Too late for the Alliance, that is, but not for us. The last act of the Tellurian resistance was to warn us of the threat before it was too late. They blew up half a space station to do it.

Lia blew up half a space station to do it.

That was just over a year ago, and since then we’ve been fighting a losing battle against an enemy we can’t see, can’t hear, can’t touch. Though we’ve managed to expand on the Tellurians’ technology, we’ve made little headway in learning anything about our alien foe. No one can agree on what they are—spirits, a form of energy, some other material completely beyond our ken? Besides their desire for hosts, we have no idea what they want, any more than we can answer questions like: How do they live? How long do they survive? Are they even sentient? They’re remarkably impervious to our technology and are wily hunters. We have yet to create a human decoy that can fool them. In fact, their only weakness seems to be air—certain mixtures repulse them, and if given a choice, they avoid the vacuum, though as far as we can tell it doesn’t actually seem to harm them. The one thing we know for sure is that they’re relentless. Once they get a foothold into a new station or planet, they will sweep across the place until every last human being is theirs. Our only defense is to keep them out altogether, by quarantining squatters and preventing the enemy’s spread via commercial and military transports, and so far we’ve been mostly successful, with the ghouls only taking down space stations and small, 4-class colonies and below. But Everest Prime? That’s a game changer. If they can get there, they can get anywhere.

“All right, Guardians! Enough gawping!” I jump at Watch Sergeant Morgan’s roar. “As you’ve seen, the Specs can hit us any time, any place, which is why we’ve got to be ready. Shooting range, now! Anyone not there in two minutes gets extra laps. Move it out!”

Madison’s holo disappears, and everyone immediately hotfoots it out the door toward the shooting range. Whether your grandmother died or you just found out one of the biggest planets in the galaxy has fallen, when Sarge says move it, you move it.

Though it’s only training and we’re light-years away from Everest Prime, somehow knowing about it lights something inside of me, propelling me through the halls as though this were a real op and not just a training run. Even the usual slackers like Arlo and Reece seem to feel the same, keeping up with the pack instead of lagging behind. It’s amazing what you can do when the enemy is on your tail. Or in your head.

We cover the ground in a minute forty flat.

We spend the rest of the morning at the shooting range, practicing with various weaponry. Morgan gives us all a special reminder about why you have to avoid eye shots with your stun gun. Everyone knows why.

No one mentions Anders.

As the practice wears on, I start getting restless and twitchy. Again, I get that odd sense, like someone’s watching me. Which is completely deficient, because everyone’s focusing on their shooting. It’s probably just the news about Ev Prime, I decide, putting me on edge.

We take a break for lunch, and then afternoon finds me outside the Rose Room for my meeting with the company commander. I shift nervously from one foot to the other. Though I’m sure my little standoff with the released ghoul in the cargo bay—along with Anders’s subsequent infection—is the reason for my summons, I still feel uneasy. While the event was regrettable, it hardly seems worth the company commander’s time. Infection is a fact of war, and after all, it was Anders himself who fired the fatal shot, not me. Some might even say that what happened to him was poetic justice. Not me, though. That would require actually believing there is some sort of justice in this twisted universe.

My palms are sweating, and I wipe them quickly on my pants before rapping crisply on the door.

“Enter,” a voice bids.

My heart starts doing double-time as I stride into the room to find myself facing the company commander, Captain Jessup; my platoon leader, Lieutenant Penrose; and Watch Sergeant Morgan. I salute sharply, holding the position as my salute is returned, until at last the sergeant barks, “At ease, Guardian Sorenson.”

I drop into position, hands laced behind my back as I take in the place. The room is spare but elegant, the dark wood of the conference table polished to a high shine and the walls digitized to present paneled walls, a few pieces of framed art, and even a bank of windows.

Though I keep my gaze straight ahead, I can’t help observing the captain from the corner of my eye. Jessup looks strangely uneasy as he perches on a chair in the back corner of the room, hands laced together loosely across his lap. There’s a distracted air about him, almost as though his main attention is not on me but on something else altogether. My gut clenches. Something isn’t right. I have no idea what; all I know is that my gut is rarely wrong.

With a wave of his hand, the captain signals the platoon leader to begin.

“Guardian Sorenson,” Lieutenant Penrose says, “we’re here to review the events of yesterday during the evacuation of ScyLab 185g. Specifically, the events that occurred in the courtyard when your evac team engaged in a firefight with a group of squatters.”

Surprise fills me, followed by unease. With Tabs’s loss and Anders’s infection, it hadn’t even occurred to me that they’d be interested in the fight.

“I’m going to play back the footage,” LT continues, “while you walk us through the events as they occur.”

Penrose hits a control on the wall, and the middle section blanks out, to be replaced with a familiar scene. It’s the feed from my helmet, I realize. While I knew our helmets had an automatic recording function, it never occurred to me that anyone ever took the time to download the feeds or—vacuum forbid!—actually watch them.

The feed plays, hectic and shaky from the action, as it focuses on a couple of civilians. The archway looms up, and then the view swings around and suddenly I see myself. So it’s not my helmet feed at all, but someone else’s. Madison’s, I guess. Audio fills the room.

“Sorenson, Madison! Over there!”

“I see him, Tabs,” comes my voice. “If I lay down cover, can you reach him?”

Oh. Now I know what this is about. This is about my rescue maneuver in the courtyard yesterday. My very risky, unapproved, and very non-regulation maneuver.

Slag.

At LT’s urging, I narrate the events as they unfold on the wall. My decision to go after the man, my movements through the courtyard, and especially the maneuver itself. He stops the feed several times to ask me questions about how I came up with the idea, what made me think I could do it, and specifics about how I did it. When Tabs and I meet up at the fountain, Penrose shuts off the feed. He glances over at the captain.

Jessup slowly stands, eyes straying to the back corner of the room for a split second before coming up to stand before me.

“That was quite the maneuver,” he says. “In fact, some might even call it impressive.”

“Uh, thank you, sir.”

“Why did you go after that man?” he suddenly asks, eyes narrowing in on me with laser-like precision. “Not only was he way outside of your area and covered by a bunch of squatters, but you already had a shiver of ghouls on your tail. By going after one man, you could have lost everyone.”

I shift uncomfortably at the observation. I hadn’t really thought about it at the time, just acted. Finally, I shrug. “In our mission briefing, we were told that ScyLab 185g was a critical base filled with scientists working directly to combat the Spectre threat. Our orders were to evacuate as many inhabitants as possible.”

“And what if I told you the man you spent so much time and energy saving was a line cook from the cafeteria?”

I’d say: Good! We could use some decent grub around here.

The quip pops effortlessly into my mind, but I quash it before it can slip out. I meet the captain’s eyes. “Doesn’t everyone deserve a chance, sir?”

The captain raises an eyebrow but doesn’t answer my question, instead responding, “You lost a valuable team member yesterday, Guardian. The ghouls caught up with you, and Corporal Tabitha Loren had to stay behind to cover your escape. Did it occur to you that if you had just left the man, she might have come back safe?”

Understanding bursts through me. I freeze, barely able to breathe as I contemplate that one terrible idea. That if not for me, Tabs might have survived.

My chin dips briefly, and I start to answer, then stop. Jessup is watching me intently. Too intently. He’s testing me.

I word my answer carefully. “Chain of life, sir. The civilians are more important. They come first.”

“One final question, Guardian. If you had to do it all over again, now that you’ve had time to consider it, would you?”

I pause, keenly aware of the weight of three stares focused straight at me. Is the right answer yes? Is it no? I have no idea, so I finally go with the truth. “The only thing I would have changed about yesterday is that I would have stayed behind while Tabs left.”

Sarge and LT exchange a look.

“Do you have a death wish, Guardian Sorenson?” Penrose asks bluntly.

“I’m not purposely trying to get killed or infected, if that’s what you’re asking.” That’s true enough, at least.

His mouth quirks slightly. “It wasn’t, but I suppose the answer is close enough.”

Silence falls over the room. Neither the captain nor LT seems to have any more questions, but neither do they dismiss me. Jessup turns toward the wall behind him, shrugging his shoulder slightly in a questioning gesture.

It’s a one-way wall, I realize. Opaqued on our side to look like a perfectly ordinary wall, but completely transparent to whomever occupies the other side. The question is: Who’s been watching this little interview? Who does even the company commander defer to?

A door in the back corner of the room suddenly opens, and in walks Planetary Admiral Evayne Rosen, the commander of Gamma Fleet. It’s all I can do to keep my mouth from falling open.

Admiral Rosen nods at the commander. “Thank you, Captain Jessup. Lieutenant, Watch Sergeant, your services are greatly appreciated. I’ll take it from here.”

Clearly dismissed, the three salute and head for the door. But I catch the quick look that passes between them before they exit.

They have no more idea what’s going on than I do! My heart flips suddenly in my chest. Whatever it is, it must be seriously classified if the company commander is being kept in the dark.

I expect the admiral to start asking me questions now that the others are gone. Instead, she says, “He’s all yours, Doctor.”

Five seconds later, the white-haired man from the shuttle walks in.