“She’s not small. She’s majestic as fuck.” A tremor worms into my voice despite my attempt at levity. I swallow hard and try to pull myself together. If nothing else, Fortuna deserves a dignified end. I look again at the only home I’ve ever known, the place that contains so many of my memories and so much of myself, the clunky little ship that so recently became my own. She gradually travels farther and farther away, until she’s no more than a speck on the screen. Knowing what comes next, I bite my lip and wipe away the tears starting to blur my vision.

I want to say something, but sometimes words fail. Everyone is silent as Fortuna erupts in a dazzling array of shimmering light.

For a moment, an awed hush blankets the ship. It’s as though the entire universe is holding its breath to witness the spectacle of Fortuna’s end. The sight of my ship, my home, breaking into pieces. A gleam of alien light leaks through the cracks, shining faintly in the emptiness of space. I suck in a breath, imagining that deadly glimmer traveling over to engulf us—but then that too fades into nothingness, leaving only chunks of metal floating out into the void.

There’s a moment’s pause. A moment’s peace.

And then the emergency alarm begins to blare, and the entire cockpit is bathed in sickly green light. I squeeze Corvus’s limp hand before biting my mouth-guard and grabbing the wheel, using the last of the Red Baron’s failing power in an attempt to make the crash a little more graceful.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Touchdown

The arrival of a spacecraft is rare enough on Nibiru, but never before has one crashed into the ocean.

A crowd gathers on the docks to watch, raised fingers and hushed voices pointing out the ship dropping toward the water. A few observant folk noticed the odd flash and shimmer in the sky not too long ago, and wonder if the two are connected.

One such witness is a young woman standing at the very edge of the dock. She has been watching the sky since long before the ship began to careen toward the planet’s surface. If anyone were paying attention to her rather than to the spacecraft falling out of the sky, they might notice something strange about her—an unfamiliarity in the way she carries herself, a certain alienness in the way she clasps her gloved hands. One might almost think she were praying, if such a thing happened on this planet. But regardless of the difference, she is here with the crowd now, watching and waiting and hoping as the ship struggles to stop itself. Though it slows, its struggling engine loses the fight. So far out in the ocean that it’s barely visible, the ship hits.