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Prologue
Zach Croft: 2053
Zach’s lungs were on fire.
As he sprinted down the cracked cement sidewalk, the soles of his feet throbbed with each brutal impact. He looked over his shoulder, praying that his pursuer was no longer behind him.
But she was.
To make matters worse, the woman was gaining on him quickly. Her strides covered far more ground than his own, and her arms pumped with a precision that put Zach’s movements to shame. Zach’s body screamed at him to stop, to collapse on the ground and succumb to whatever came next, but his mind wouldn’t let him give up. It was as if autopilot had kicked in and refused to relinquish control.
Zach veered suddenly as the sidewalk forked in three directions, hoping to lose his pursuer and give himself a fighting chance. He considered taking a shortcut through the grass but knew it wouldn’t make a difference. She was too fast.
Zach glanced over his shoulder again. The woman’s intense blue eyes locked onto him, and she began to run even faster.
Eight feet.
His legs lost all feeling. His hips swung like broken hinges, and his throat felt as though it was full of volcanic ash. He just wanted it to stop.
Six feet.
Four feet.
The woman reached for Zach, clawing for his shoulder. Dodging her hand, he swerved to the side and nearly tripped over his feet, barely remaining upright.
Then, just as the woman was about to grab Zach’s shirt, he passed a sprawling oak tree and skidded to a stop. He slammed his palm down on his stopwatch.
5:46, ten seconds better than last week.
As Zach dropped to the bench of a nearby picnic table, the woman steadied herself against the tree. “Water,” she said, making a claw with her hand. Zach tossed her his bottle and watched as she took a long sip. “I could have beaten you,” she said, then tossed the container back. “You got lucky this time.”
“Same excuse, different day,” Zach said. She had said that every day for months, maybe even years. He did admire her unwillingness to admit defeat, though—it was one of the many things that made Cora Keaton special.
Zach untied his maroon Harvard sweater from around his waist and set it on the bench. Despite graduating from the astronomy program nearly nine years prior, he still carried the beat-up old thing everywhere he went. It was sort of a good luck charm for him.
Cora laid her hand flat, flipping through pages on an unseen notepad. “January 23rd, 2053. I beat you by twenty-six seconds.”
“You threw a branch at me.”
Cora waved his comment off. “Ah, it fell on you.”
“From your hand.”
Cora gave a breathy smile and turned away. “Yeah, yeah. How much longer do we have?”
Zach checked his watch. “An hour, but we better leave time.” It was only eight in the morning, but the temperature had already soared into the eighties. Sweat streamed down their faces and soaked their clothes.
As much as Zach despised the sweltering Pasadena heat, coming to the park had been part of his routine for ages. Work at OSE started late, and Zach wasn’t one to sleep in. Frankly, he had enough trouble sleeping at all. That left two options: he could kill time getting breakfast—coffee, bagel, whatever—or try to burn off the pent-up energy through running.
“You ready for your meeting with Carver?” Cora asked with her hands on her hips.
Zach shrugged and glanced at the ground. “Honestly? I don’t know why he even keeps me around anymore.”
“Just make sure you get your point across.”
“It’s not even my meeting. It’s the MagRes team. He won’t be listening to me.”
“Then make him listen.”
Zach gave a frustrated smile. “It won’t be enough. It doesn’t matter what I tell him. His mind is made up.”
“Make him listen,” Cora repeated firmly.
“Fine, sure.” Zach grabbed his sweater and headed for his truck. “The meeting’s at the MagRes center. Don’t wait for me. It might be a while.”
You’re wrong. You’re all wrong. And we’re gonna fucking die because of it.
Zach couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The team was just telling Carver what he wanted to hear! Why couldn’t he see that? Zach loved Carver—the man had taught Zach everything he knew—but damn, did confirmation bias do a job on him.
“Despite the recent setbacks, MagRes is still the best chance we have to beat this thing,” one of the short, balding men at the front of the conference room said. Mumbles of agreement rippled through the room.
But Zach stayed silent.
They weren’t just “setbacks.” The program was a complete failure. OSE was wasting their time—anyone with a basic grasp of reality could see that. But reality didn’t fit the narrative OSE had bought into, so instead, they were pinning the planet’s future on faulty assumptions and convenient half-truths.
“We’ve revised our projections to account for the recent anomalies in the data,” the greasy man continued. “After eliminating the outliers, we can see that the magnetosphere’s strength is still trending upward, but not at the rate we’d like to see.”
Holding his chin between his index finger and thumb, Carver nodded. “So, what do you propose?”
“Exactly what we’ve been doing. Just on a larger scale.”
Carver tilted his head, not a single strand of his thick, black hair falling out of line. “This sounds… expensive.”
“Somewhat,” the man admitted. “If we can look at the next slide…” The man explained how they would need an additional fifteen percent funding over the next six months to achieve the levels of recovery in the magnetosphere they had originally predicted. Which was actually lower than their predictions from the previous year. They were going backward.
When the presentation was finished, Carver sat silently for a moment as he considered the proposal. Then he fanned his fingers out on the conference table. “Okay. You’ve got it. Anything you need. This is our home we’re talking about.”
Zach silently fumed. Yes, their home. A home that wouldn’t be there in a year. A home that’d be no more than a burnt hunk of space rock if OSE continued to twiddle its thumbs. Clearly, Zach’s title of Head Astronomer meant nothing to the Organization. He’d repeatedly told them that repairing the magnetosphere wasn’t working, but his words seemed to carry no weight.
“I’ll email you the details, Mr. Carver,” the balding man said with a nod. He checked his watch. “It’s about lunchtime. Anyone up for Chinese?”
A few men at the table grumbled in agreement as they stood, fixed their suits, and walked out. Carver stayed put, one arm resting against the side of his chair and the other on the table. Once everyone was gone, he gave a knowing look to Zach. “Lay it on me.”
“What?”
“I’m not blind, Zach,” Carver said. He rolled out from the table and wheeled his chair to Zach’s side. “There wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows in your eyes during that presentation.”
Zach adjusted in his chair, gritting his teeth. “This isn’t working, Nic. You know it.”
Carver sighed. “The team says it is.”
“That may have been true a few years ago. But the math has changed since then.”
“Your math has changed since then. Theirs is the same.”
“And they’re wrong.”
“Or maybe you made a mistake.”
Zach looked Carver dead in his bright green eyes. “We’re not too far gone, but we will be soon. If you allow me to allocate some funding to Exodus, I can—”
“There’s no room in the budget for that.”
“You just materialized an extra fifteen percent for them like that.” Zach snapped his fingers. “Why can’t you do it again for this?”
“MagRes needs the money more than ever.”
“And we need to get the hell off this planet.”
Carver scoffed and pushed himself up. “How do you suppose we do that, Zach? With no irogen. Are you suggesting we go back to Mars and mine some more?”
Zach got a sick feeling in his stomach at the mention of Mars. “If we have to.”
“So, you want to set up another mining colony? Another Prescott?” Carver waved his hands through the air as if parting the sea. “A new colony would cost billions. And a new space station to get there?”
“We have the Gateway.”
“A biohazard. We’d need a new one.” Carver clicked his tongue. “That’s a few dozen billion more down the drain. Then you’d need a facility to mine the fuel. A processing plant. Cargo runs back and forth. Supply ships. Oh, and a crew. After what happened in Prescott? Good luck finding a thousand people to sign up for that.”
Zach clenched his jaw. “We can make it work this time.”
“Oh! Right.” Carver wagged his finger as if remembering one more thing. “Time. We’d need time. Years, probably. Which, according to your excellent calculations, we don’t have. Am I right?” It wasn’t an honest question. It was condescending.
Zach bristled. “Right.”
“Great. So, we’re on the same page, then. It’s a non-starter.” Carver patted Zach on the shoulder as he passed. “Good try, though. Good try.”
“I told you not to wait for me,” Zach snapped as he stepped into the parking lot, blocking the sun from his eyes with his hand.
Cora pulled out a sun umbrella to cover both of them. Twenty years ago, it would have seemed stupid to be holding an open umbrella with no rain on the forecast that day. But with less and less protection from UV rays, sunburns did one hell of a job on people. “That good?” she asked.
“Yes, that good.” Why was this parking lot so damn long? Why did they park on the opposite side of it? Why did Zach do anything anymore? “A lot of people are going to die, Cora.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“What do you think? I’m gonna keep trying until it kills me. Or the solar flares do.”
“Sounds like a winning plan—”
A deafening boom silenced Cora, tearing through the hot morning air like a tank round through concrete. Zach and Cora threw their hands over their heads and ran beneath a nearby tree. A gust of wind blew through the parking lot, rustling the tree leaves and sending a crow perched in the branches into flight. Zach couldn’t help but wonder if another country had finally nuked America.
Through the fluttering leaves, flickers of orange confirmed the worst of Zach’s fears. The ball of fire torpedoed through the atmosphere, leaving behind trails of smoke and flame that made it look like some demonic jellyfish. Unable to move, Zach watched it burst through a cotton ball cloud. The fluffy white mass evaporated immediately.
As the flaming object drew closer to the ground, the fire began to peel away, revealing a metal shell in the orange haze. The back of the object coughed thick, black smog.
And at that moment, Zach realized it wasn’t a nuke. Or a meteor. Or a ballistic missile.
It was a dropship.
Zach’s truck pulled up in front of the Organization of Space Exploration’s complex and came to an abrupt stop. He threw open the door and jumped out, moving aside as several police cars rolled past him. A tower of thin smoke billowed skyward from the launch bay behind the building. Crowds poured out through the building’s main entrance and huddled in the far corner of the courtyard. Security guards holding yellow lightsticks stood on stone ledges bordering the mob, guiding the waves of employees away from the building and into the parking lot.
Zach took his identification badge from his waist and pinned it to his chest, right in view. Then, he dissolved into the crowd, weaving his way upstream toward the main building. As he approached the front door, a guard stepped in his way.
“It’s best if you follow the evac.” The officer glanced at his board member name tag. “Sir.”
“Can’t I go in?”
“Not until we figure out what the hell is going on.”
A figure traversing the lobby nearby caught Zach’s eye. “Jason!” Zach called. He raised his hand to wave. “Jason, come here.”
Jason maintained his purposeful stride. “I gotta go, Zach. Can’t talk.”
“Then I’ll walk with you.”
“Nope. Follow the evac.”
Zach groaned, realizing that Jason wouldn’t budge without good reason. “I’ll call Carver down here. He’ll give me the go-ahead.”
With that, Jason stopped. “No. Don’t bother him.” Jason looked at the ceiling in exasperation, his hand on his security badge, then shot a slight nod to the guard restricting Zach. “Let him in.”
The guard shrugged. “You’re the boss,” he said and allowed Zach in.
Jason placed a hand on Zach’s back, gesturing across the lobby. “By all means… walk with me.”
As they crossed the silver letters engraved in the lobby wall—spelling out THE ORGANIZATION OF SPACE EXPLORATION—Zach pressed Jason for answers. “What do we know so far?”
“Well…” Jason said earnestly. “There are no research flights scheduled for today. StarSet doesn’t have any, either, so that’s a dead-end. By the looks of it, the ship is from the Gateway.”
The Gateway? That didn’t make any sense. “How is that possible?”
“We don’t know. Its dropships have autopilot, so it could have theoretically flown here on its own. But I have no clue how it might have launched. There’s nobody on the station.”
Zach nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Nobody? he thought. Yes, nobody… Nobody.
As if reading his mind, Jason continued. “I mean, there shouldn’t be anyone on the station. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t.”
Zach’s stomach turned over slowly as he considered the implications of what Jason said. “Who?”
“Another country, maybe? They could have docked to it and deployed their own crew, which would be a major problem for us. Or, maybe the Gateway just malfunctioned and launched the ship by itself. Either way, it’s not good.”
A minute later, they reached the doors to the launch bay. A row of guards with assault rifles formed an impenetrable wall across the entrance, suggesting nobody was getting in.
Or out.
Jason took a left and headed up a staircase to the Observation Deck. Zach followed.
“What happens if there’s someone on the ship?” Zach asked.
“If there is? They’re going to jail.” Jason’s hand glided along the railing as he climbed the steps two at a time.
They reached the top of the stairs and entered the sprawling sun-lit Observation Deck. Against one wall, lines of monitors showed data feeds and security cameras. The other comprised a slanted window looking a hundred feet down into the launch bay. Through it, Zach saw the massive dropship on one of the eight landing pads.
It was the shape of a simple cylinder, with dark rectangular plates making up the outer layer. On the nose, the heat shield panels formed a honeycomb pattern. The fire of re-entry had completely blackened the surface.
“Unknown dropship, please identify yourself,” one of the communications workers droned into a headset.
“Any response?” Jason asked.
“None yet, sir,” the man responded. “The antenna looks damaged, so our messages might not be getting through.”
“Keep trying.” Jason hiked up the flaps of his jacket and hooked his thumbs on the edge of his pockets. “Can you find out when reinforcements are coming?”
“How about now?” another worker said, motioning out the window as she crossed to the printer. Down in the launch bay, a group of fully armored SWAT officers fanned out in formation, their assault rifles trained on the ship.
The SWAT captain’s voice burst through the radio. “Tell them to come out with their hands up.”
The comms technician relayed the message to the dropship, despite making it clear that whoever was inside was not listening. Along the edges of the launch bay, other guards secured any exits the passenger—or passengers—could use to escape, essentially turning the facility into one big containment unit.
After a few moments of tense silence, the front airlock of the ship let off a hiss of steam. The bottom edge separated, and a gap opened between the blast door and the ground.
“Identify yourself!” the SWAT captain called out.
The airlock drew open, and the steam settled. As it faded away, a backlit figure morphed into view. Zach could just make out the man’s dazed expression, the way his jaw fell slack when he saw the barrels pointed at him.
With his eyes trained on the man, Zach’s face went pale, as if he had seen a ghost.
Because he had.
Chapter 1
Zach Croft: 2029
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Ryker said as he peered over the edge of the jagged cliff.
Surrounded by tall pines on all sides, the glistening lake seemed to be cut right out of the middle of the forest.
Zach pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and scraped his foot across the loose sediment. “Come on, man. It’ll be fine!”
They had gone to the waterpark for Ryker’s ninth birthday only a few months ago. How was this any different? Did Ryker think his skinny frame would shatter when it hit the water? Zach was skinny too, and he was going to do it.
Still, Ryker trembled, brushing his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes. “It’s a really far drop.”
“Maybe Ryker’s right,” said Cora, pushing her black hair over her shoulder. She squinted against the sunlight as she looked at Zach with concern. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“You really think we’ll get hurt?” Zach motioned over the cliff. “It’s water, not concrete.” He picked up a pebble and tossed it over the edge. It plunked into the water, sending a series of perfect rings rippling across the sparkling surface.
“What if we get caught?” Jason Greene asked while looking down at the rest of the children. He was at least half a foot taller than any of them, so tall that his proportions seemed off. His joints were like the knobs in tree branches, and his legs looked like pool noodles. As his dark skin glistened with drops of water, he shivered.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them!” With that, Zach turned and leaped off the stone ledge.
“Zach!” Ryker and Cora called after him.
As Zach fell, he swung his arms in circles and pulled his legs close to his chest. “Woooohhh!” He crashed into the water with a giant splash. A few seconds later, he popped back up and gasped for air. “I’m fine! You guys can come down now!” He didn’t know why they were so afraid in the first place. It was just a little water.
Jason barreled off the cliff next, pinching his nostrils tight. He plummeted into the lake and swam over to Zach, who was crawling onto the sandy shore.
Cora jumped third. Although Zach applauded her for it, he could tell she just wanted to warm herself up. At this altitude, even the sunniest of days would be considered winter in Pasadena. Zach didn’t mind. The pine trees. The clean air. The lack of towering skyscrapers. It was a nice change of scenery.
Once Cora climbed out of the water, Zach high-fived her and mentioned that he should have brought towels. Whatever. It was only a ten-minute walk back to camp. They would live.
“You coming, Ryker?” Zach shielded his eyes from the bright summer sun.
Ryker shivered as a gust of wind blew past him. “I— I think I’m okay.”
“We all did it, man. It’s fine!” Zach started toward the forest, where a path led up to the cliff. “Hang on. I’ll come up there with you!”
“No, no. It’s okay. I can do it.”
“All right. Then you leave me no choice.” Zach stopped and went back to the small shore, shooting a look at the others. He began to chant. “Ry-ker! Ry-ker!”
Jason joined in. “Ry-ker! Ry-ker!”
Cora followed soon after. “Ry-ker! Ry-ker!”
“Okay, I’m going!” Ryker bounced up and down a few times.
Then, he shut his eyes and jumped.
Nicolas Carver: 2029
“Boom.”
Carver thrust his pool cue into the white billiard ball and watched as it collided with the rest. He slicked back his uniform charcoal hair, ensuring not a single strand was out of line. Everything about him was like that: his hair, his pointed nose, his piercing emerald eyes. All were symmetrical and perfect in every way. Even though he was a few years into his thirties, he still got carded at bars.
“I see you’ve been practicing…” Victor Keaton took a sip of golden beer, then wiped the foam off his lip with the back of his hand. The light above him cast shadows beneath his prominent cheekbones and made his salt-and-pepper hair look even grayer than it already was. He bowed his tall frame in Carver’s direction, flashing a pearly white smile with one tooth that was sharper than the rest.
“Well, I’ve had a lot of free time,” Carver replied. That wasn’t really true. The game had always come easy to him. What could he say? He was a natural. As he circled around the table to get a vantage point for his next move, he glanced at Victor. “How’s your kid doing?”
“Cora’s good. I think she might be OSE material someday.”
“Oh yeah?” Carver asked with a smile. Suddenly, the door opened, and light flooded in. Tightening his jaw and suppressing a groan, Carver turned to see Quinton Croft enter the lounge. He was probably there to give another lecture on why he was right and Carver was wrong. What a prick. Carver plastered on a smile. “Quinton! Glad you could make it.”
“Hey, guys.” Quinton sat down in a leather chair in the corner of the room. Compared to the other two men, he seemed much more excited, much more eager, bouncing his foot and pressing his thin lips tightly together. “Ready for your speech?” he asked Victor.
Quinton always had this nervous energy, as if he were analyzing every detail in his daily life and sorting it all by importance. His hair, his face, his posture, it all annoyed Carver. And his eyebrows—Carver could go on about them for hours—were permanently furrowed in concentration, making him look like a Neanderthal.
“Yeah. Big night,” Victor replied. The comment hung heavy in the air.
Carver’s eyes shot between Quinton and Victor. “If no one else is gonna say it, I will. It’s not too late to call this off.”
“The board has already voted.” Quinton glanced at Victor, seeking confirmation. Victor nodded.
Yes. The board voted to ignore Carver’s advice, despite him being the Director of Theoretical Physics. Apparently, they felt that theoretical physicists shouldn’t get a say in anything that wasn’t theoretical.
Carver pressed on. “MagRes needs full funding. Half’s not going to cut it.” Why was it even up for debate? It seemed so obvious to Carver that saving their home, the one planet they knew was survivable, was the rational thing to do. Anyone who thought otherwise was an idiot.
“We need a backup plan,” Quinton replied. “If restoring the magnetosphere goes as well as you think it will, then we won’t need Exodus. But we’ve gotta have a Plan B.”
Carver didn’t mind having a Plan B. But he had a problem with devoting half of the agency’s money and manpower to it instead of doing everything possible to make Plan A work. “And how many people will that Plan B save?” Carver asked.
Quinton shot a glance in Victor’s direction before replying. “Enough.”
“A hundred thousand,” Carver said, answering his own question. “Out of seven billion.” Carver gripped his pool cue like a sword. The words felt unreal as they rolled off his tongue. OSE was spending hundreds of billions of dollars to save, what? A few thousandths of one percent of the population? What would happen to those who didn’t make the cut? They’d be abandoned. Incinerated. Left to die. It made Carver sick.
“Like I said, it’s a backup plan.”
Carver could feel his frustration building. It didn’t make sense. Why waste money fleeing Earth for an unknown planet when they could put that money toward restoring the magnetosphere—the root of their environmental troubles? MagRes would mitigate the effects of the solar flares to the point where life on Earth could continue indefinitely. Spending money on anything else was suicide.
“We don’t even know if Alpha Cen is habitable,” Carver reminded Quinton.
“We know enough to try,” Quinton countered. “If your Plan A fails, Earth won’t be habitable either.”
“That’s not—”
“Can we just finish this game in peace?” Victor interjected with an exhale.
“Fine.” Carver waited for Victor to take his turn, then lined up for a shot. The cue rested between his thumb and forefinger.
Victor threw back the last gulp of his ale and wagged a finger at Quinton. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You’re gonna be gone a long time.”
Quinton nodded thoughtfully. “As long as Zach is with me, I’ll be okay.”
Victor smiled. “That’s why I picked you.” He walked over and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
With Victor distracted with Quinton, Carver reached his hand down and discretely flicked one of his own pool balls into the corner pouch.
Zach Croft: 2029
The smoky aroma of the barbecue filled Zach’s nostrils. The wood of the long picnic bench dug into the underside of his thighs.
But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the plate of perfectly roasted corn-on-the-cob and grilled vegetables that sat before him. He jabbed a plastic fork into a potato slice and brought it to his mouth.
“Apple juice?” Quinton asked from beside him, holding up a bottle to pour.
Zach nodded eagerly and watched his father pour the amber liquid into his cup. Before taking a sip, Zach peeled the back of his shirt off his damp skin and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Mosquitoes buzzed all around.
“How was the lake?” Quinton nudged Zach’s arm.
Zach swallowed his food. “Fun. It was fun.” He looked around. “So, what’s going on?”
Quinton nodded toward the stage, where colossal speakers stood like pylons. “Just wait and see.”
The possibilities sparked Zach’s imagination. Could they be planning another trip to the moon? Were they deorbiting some important satellite? Could they be building a new rocket? Or a space station, maybe?
Whatever the event was about, it was big. Really big. Zach couldn’t remember ever going to something like it before. The whole trip was completely paid for by the agency; five-star cabins, unlimited food, video games, a gym, everything.
Carver approached the table from behind, accompanied by another man wearing an OSE t-shirt: Wilford Owen, whose bronze-brown skin contrasted with his shirt’s light gray fabric. “Hey, Quinton. Have you met Wilford?” Carver said.
Quinton glanced back and recalled the man’s face. “Oh, yeah. From Comms, right?”
“That’s correct,” said Wilford, hands in pockets.
Quinton slid along the bench closer to Zach, making room for Wilford. “Well, have a seat. Victor will start in a few.”
“Thanks.” Wilford smiled, sat, then reached for a handful of pretzels.
Zach’s curiosity got the better of him, and he looked at Cora across the table. “Did your dad tell you anything about tonight?”
Cora turned away from Jason, who was laughing at a joke made by Ryker, and shrugged. “He said it’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises,” Zach replied.
Nearby, a man strode toward their table with his hands planted on a little girl’s shoulders. “See? Here are some kids.” He lifted one hand to fix his dark, side-parted hair, which had a slight gloss, then itched his short beard. “Do you mind if I leave Sophia with you guys for a bit?” he asked Quinton. “I’ve got to handle something real quick.”
Quinton wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Mm. No problem.”
“Come on, Erik!” someone else called from several tables away.
The man patted his daughter’s back. “Stay with them.”
Sophia nodded shyly and took a seat beside Jason. From the looks of her, she was much younger than them, no more than six or seven years old.
Zach reached over and offered her an apple slice, giving her a friendly nod. “Want one?” Sophia nodded and smiled, then took a slice.
At the sound of a microphone, all eyes fell on the stage. Victor stood patiently as an assistant attached a lav mic to the collar of his cream-colored dress shirt. Then, he walked to the very front of the podium. A white screen hung behind him with a projected letter P surrounded by stars and planets.
“Hello, friends, family, and colleagues. For those who don’t know me, my name is Victor Keaton, the head of the Organization of Space Exploration.” He strode a bit to the right. “We’re here today to mark an important day in OSE’s history.”
Nicolas Carver watched his boss with a stony expression.
“Thirty-two years ago, we saw the first traces of the solar flares. At first, they seemed insignificant. But it wasn’t long before we realized they would get worse. Much worse. And they have.” Victor changed the projection to a view of Earth from space. “Earth has been a great home for millions of years, allowing our species to evolve to the point where we can venture out to find a new home, one that will continue to support us for the next chapter of human history. But where might we go?”
The screen faded into an image of a blurry orb.
“This is Alpha Centauri, in the closest star system to our own. Of all the planets we have discovered, Alpha Cen is the most Earth-like. Our readings tell us it has water. Oxygen. And with Gateway station, we will get there.”
Zach’s eyes opened a little wider.
“Of course, it won’t be a straight shot. We can’t just pick up and go there now. After all, how do we get to a planet that’s four light-years away? The answer, my friends, is irogen, a fuel one hundred times stronger than anything readily available in our neck of the woods.”
An image of a massive desert crater popped up on the screen. In the corner was a small watermark reading, “Saudi Arabia, 1996.”
“This meteorite impact led us to this conclusion,” said Victor. “Within it, we discovered small amounts of irogen, as well as minerals found in only one other place in the solar system: Mars.” He made a knowing gesture. “It seemed we had our answer then. If we wanted irogen to get to our new world, Mars would be a necessary pitstop. And let me tell you: With the amount of irogen we’ve found on Mars, we’ll have more than enough fuel for decades of travel to Alpha Cen and back.”
Victor began to smile. He clicked a button on his controller, and a detailed rendering of a domed-in city dissolved into view. “So, with great pride, I introduce you to the Prescott Mining Colony.”
The crowd erupted with applause as OSE employees rose from their seats to give Victor a standing ovation. Meanwhile, Zach glanced at Ryker with a confused expression. Ryker returned the look with a shrug.
“What’s he talking about?” Zach asked Quinton.
Quinton leaned into Zach’s ear. “You’ll see.”
“The Gateway will orbit Mars, acting as a relay station for the colonists to transport irogen back to Earth, where it will be refined and stored. After enough has been collected, the Prescott mission team will comprise the first generation of colonists to travel to Alpha Centauri. The first people in history to venture outside our star system. Pioneers. Revolutionaries. Heroes.” Victor looked at the starry sky. “So… who should lead this mission? Someone who’s been with OSE a long time. Someone brave, brilliant, and kind. A born leader.” Victor looked directly at Zach’s table. “That man is Quinton Croft.”
The crowd exploded again as Quinton headed to the stage, waving and smiling. An OSE assistant passed him a handheld mic.
Zach’s mind raced. What was Victor talking about? His dad was leading the mission? He couldn’t. Where would Zach live while Quinton was gone?
It took a moment before Zach realized the answer.
He was going to Mars too.
Chapter 2
Zach Croft: 2053
The Kevlar plates of the police captain’s riot armor knocked together as he aimed his rifle and moved toward the man exiting the dropship. He shouted commands, ordering the stranger to get on the ground.
Outnumbered, the man on the ship dropped to his knees and held his hands above his head. Zach couldn’t hear what the man was saying, but he seemed to be trying to explain, to reason with the officers. Before he could finish, two cops rushed up the ramp and knocked him to the ground. One officer drove his knee into the man’s back while the other secured handcuffs around his wrists. The man cried out in pain and surprise, his face pleading for them to calm down.
As one of the officers yanked the man to his feet and escorted him out of the dropship, Zach got a good look at the stranger’s face. It was all too familiar. His sharp brow. His pointy nose. The dirty-blonde hair parted down the middle and reaching to his cheeks on either side. Skin so pale he really could be a ghost. Zach recognized it all.
The guards stationed at the main entrance to the launch bay swung the doors open. The man and his captors stepped through, and the doors shut behind them.
Suddenly, Zach was on his feet. He ran for the watchtower’s exit and barreled out the door. Jason called after him, but Zach was already gone. He rushed to the ground floor just in time to see the guards escorting the stranger down the deserted hall toward him.
Zach ducked back into the stairwell out of immediate view. His eyes found the man’s torso, where he wore a loose bomber jacket with a patch on the left bicep: an embroidered P with stars and planets circling it.
Zach’s heart raced in his chest. No. He was dead. They confirmed it! Zach thought, his breath shallow. But what if they were wrong?
Zach locked eyes with the man as the officers escorted the stranger past. The stranger’s gaze lingered for a moment, then shifted to the badge on Zach’s shirt. His expression changed from frustration to recognition as he spoke.
“Zach?”
Zach Croft: 2030
“We’re going to be okay.”
Quinton’s warm hand wrapped around Zach’s as their dropship prepared to detach from Gateway station. Zach nodded and forced a smile. No matter how often his father said it would be okay, Zach had trouble believing it. They had been preparing for this moment every day for the last year. Whenever doubts intruded into Zach’s mind, Quinton would find some consoling words to wipe them out.
Zach looked around the dropship, studying the other colonists’ faces. This was his life now. These were his people. He’d better get used to it.
At first, Zach had been upset about leaving Earth. About leaving his home. About abandoning ten years of his life and signing away the next fifteen. God, that seemed like so long. He’d be in his twenties by the time they finished, and then what? Onto to Alpha Centauri? Would he ever return to Earth?
Despite his worries, they still left their home planet, docked to the Gateway, and went into cryosleep for the voyage to Mars. During the month-long nap, images of his life on Earth danced through his thoughts, making him feel more homesick than ever.
“It’s the right thing to do,” his father would say. And Zach trusted his judgment. Although giving up everything was hard, it was for the greater good.
As the three dropships split from the Gateway and plummeted toward Mars, Zach thought about everything he would miss on Earth. He would never see another tree. Another blade of grass. Another skyscraper. This new world would be different, and not all in a good way.
Opening his eyes, Zach glanced across the ship’s cabin. He saw Ryker, accompanied by both his parents: Cage and Kayla.
Zach felt a tug in his chest as a flood of images washed over him.
It was a sweltering summer night. The air conditioners strained to keep up. After spaghetti and meatballs, his mother walked him up the stairs and tucked him into his rocket-shaped bed. With a warm smile, she read him a story—something magical and full of whimsy. He could never remember the details, just the sound of his mother’s voice as she read. He fell asleep with her at the foot of the bed. By the time he woke up the next day, she was gone. His dad claimed she went for groceries and would return later that afternoon.
But she never came back.
The book she had read to him was one of the few things he brought with him on the Gateway, although he hadn’t the stomach to read it just yet. He never did. Even back home, it always sat in his drawer exactly where she left it, as if preserving the last thing his mother read to him would somehow bring her back.
“You all right?” Quinton asked from beside Zach, ruffling his hair. “Be strong. We’re almost there.”
And they were. Past the cabin and through the massive window that made up one of the dropship’s walls, a small border of red appeared in the lower section. There were some bumps on the landscape, which Zach assumed were mountains. Above the line, the sky was bleak. It looked like somebody had mixed pale blue paint with gray and yellow.
“Gravity will be a little different down there. Try not to float off into space without letting me know first.” Quinton winked.
“What’s our current altitude, Carlo?” Zach heard the co-pilot ask. The navigator’s eyes scanned the blue and green readouts before him.
“Twenty-five-thousand and dropping,” Carlo said.
The other pilot leaned back. “Engage reverse thrusters at eighteen thousand feet.”
Quinton seemed to sense Zach’s dismay as the dropship began to shake and thrash. “Don’t worry. It’s supposed to shake a little.”
“We’re at nineteen… eighteen fifty… eighteen. Mark!”
“Activate thrusters.”
“Activating.” Carlo pressed a pair of large blue buttons. “Both thrusters are active.” The tops of Zach’s shoulders snapped against his restraints as the dropship jolted upward. The shock felt much stronger and deeper than any training runs he had done in the last year. It felt violent.
Lights flickered off in succession. Computer screens and holo displays disintegrated into a collage of multi-colored squares. A few seconds later, they recovered.
“Relax,” said Quinton. “Just some interference.” He shut his eyes, inhaled through his nostrils, and mumbled something under his breath. Suddenly, the ship began to tilt sideways. All of Zach’s weight shifted painfully to one shoulder.
“Hmm,” Carlo grunted with a furrowed brow. He flipped a switch, and the ship seemed to level out. “Getting some pull.”
“Does that happen often?” asked Quinton, leaning forward.
“Going to Mars doesn’t happen often, so no.”
The ship tilted again, this time with more force.
“Let’s go manual,” the co-pilot said.
They gripped their flight sticks, juggling for control of the ship as confusion buzzed between them. The slant got more extreme. What once was the right wall of the ship became the floor.
A boom rang out, and the dropship gave a violent shake. Zach’s head smacked against the back of his seat. With the impact, dizziness overcame him. Transparent ghosts lagged behind his vision as he looked around the dropship, trying to focus.
Carlo did his best at the control panel, craning his neck to read a danger warning that appeared on the monitor. “Thruster One failed. We’re spiraling!”
The centripetal force tore at Zach, pressing his spine against the seat. A supply crate dislodged from one wall and flew toward another, crashing into a set of pipes. The composite tubes snapped at the center, venting jets of fog-like gas into the cabin.
“Control it!”
“I’m trying!”
An umbrella of sparks rained from the ceiling, and the lights flickered again. Hot embers dripped down the walls like melted wax.
“We’re too close!”
Then, with a flash and a roar, Zach’s world went dark.
Zach Croft: 2053
“You lied to me!” Zach threw open the door to Carver’s office with a crash. He stormed up to the head of OSE’s desk and slammed his hands against it.
“Excuse me?” Carver leaned back in his comfy leather chair, running his fingers through the graying hair on his temple.
“You lied! About everything! You’re a goddamn liar!” Zach threw his arm out to the side so fast and with so much force that his shoulder nearly dislocated. Everything. Everything was a lie. Nothing Carver had told him was true.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t lied about anything.”
“Then, explain to me how the fuck Ryker Gagarin came back today!”
“First of all, we don’t know who came down on that ship, and second, you should watch your tone—”
“Who else could it possibly be?” Nobody. That was the answer. The only way someone could get onto the ship was from the Gateway. And who was the last person up there?
Carver’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll say it again: We have no idea who was on that ship. But we know one thing: it’s not Ryker—”
“You abandoned him!”
Carver leaned forward in his chair. His jaw tightened. His voice was low and steady. “We did everything we could to find him.” He counted off on his fingers. “We checked life support systems, cameras, motion sensors! Everything! There were no signs of life. Zero.” He lowered his voice even more. “You think I’d leave a kid up there if I knew he was still alive? I’m telling you: Ryker is dead. Whoever was on that dropship is not Ryker Gagarin.”
“Then how do you explain it?”
Carver sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. But we’ll find out.” He stood up and stepped out from behind his desk. “Zach, listen. I know you’re upset. I am too. But stop and think about what you’re saying. You know me. Would I do something like that?”
“I don’t know…” Zach glanced at Carver, then back at the floor.
“When you got back, did I abandon you?”
Zach stared at his shoes and shook his head. “No.”
“No. Of course not. I helped you build a new life. I watched out for you.”
“And I appreciate that.” Zach knew it was true.
Carver put a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “Look at me.” Zach reluctantly looked up at Carver. “You’re like a son to me, Zach. I promise, if we could have saved Ryker, we would have.”
Zach nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was out of line. I’m just… I’m a little confused right now, you know?” He wanted to believe the man on the ship was Ryker, but the possibility now seemed absurd. Carver was right. It couldn’t be him.
Carver squeezed Zach’s shoulder and smiled warmly. “No harm done. Why don’t you take a long lunch? Get your thoughts together. Then we’ll figure out what’s next.”
“Okay. Thanks, Nicolas.”
With that, Zach left Carver’s office, quietly closing the door behind him. Through it, he could hear Carver fall back into his chair with a heaving sigh.
And a curse under his breath.
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