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  “Gates are capable of creating and stabilizing wormholes, which are essentially shortcuts in space-time,” he begins, talking down to her again. “When a wormhole is fully stable, a ship can travel through, thereby crossing enormous distances in an instant.”

  The Masada Run will destabilize the Genesis Gate, but only for a while. Months, probably. Two or three years, if they’re lucky. Possibly just a matter of weeks. All those lives, including her own, will be spent for the mere chance that Genesis might gain an opportunity to rebuild and rearm itself, to beat their plowshares into swords, and then to plunge back into a war that they almost certainly can’t win.

  Abel continues, “A wormhole can only be permanently stabilized through the use of so-called exotic matter. In the Gates, this exotic matters takes the form of supercooled gases kept even colder than the space beyond it, mere nanokelvins above absolute zero.”

  Colder than outer space. Noemi has tried to imagine that before, but she can’t. The intensity of that chill is beyond any human reckoning.

  Abel continues, “These gases are cooled by magnetic fields generated by several powerful electromagnets that make up the components of the Gate—”

  “But all those components—they’re programmed to reinforce one another. It’s almost impossible to destroy one while the others are backing it up.”

  He cocks his head. “You understand more about the components of a Gate than I would have thought.”

  “What, you thought nobody from Genesis would’ve learned about this?”

  “To judge by the extremely outdated and dilapidated condition of your current ships and armaments, Genesis appears to have all but abandoned scientific and technological advancement.”

  From anyone else, that would be an insult. From Abel, it’s a simple, factual assessment. The insult would’ve been easier to take. “Apparently not, because I understand how a Gate works. Which means I know they’re supposed to be invulnerable. You say they’re not. How do we destroy one?”

  He hesitates, and his reluctance is uncannily genuine. Too genuine, in Noemi’s opinion; Mansfield was showing off with this one. “Most efforts to damage or destroy a Gate are targeted at destroying the magnetic fields inside. However, it is not necessary to destroy the fields to collapse the Gate. Only to disrupt them.”

  Noemi shakes her head. “But we can’t even manage that, not with every component supporting one another.”

  “You’ve failed to see the obvious alternative.” Abel catches himself. “You shouldn’t feel that this failure reflects negatively on you. Relatively few humans are capable of the insight necessary to—”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Disrupting the fields doesn’t have to mean weakening or destroying them. It can also mean strengthening them.”

  She opens her mouth to object. Strengthen it? How can making the Gate stronger possibly help them? Then the answer takes shape in her mind. “Strengthening the fields would warm the gases inside. When the exotic matter becomes too warm, the Gate will implode.”

  Abel inclines his head, not quite a nod. “And destroy the wormhole forever.”

  Noemi sinks into the nearest station, overwhelmed by the possibilities and problems she now sees. “But—any device powerful enough to overcome the Gate’s magnetic fields—where would we get that? Do any of those even exist?”

  “There are thermomagnetic devices capable of creating that level of heat on their own. Not many, of course. The practical applications are limited.”

  “But they are out there? We could find one?”

  “Yes.”

  She wants to hope—wants it so badly she can taste it—but Noemi can see all the problems with this plan already. “You’d have to activate it on the verge of the Gate. Otherwise the heat would melt your ship before you even reach the Gate. And you can’t just launch it remotely either. You’d have to have a pilot to work around the Gate’s defenses.”

  “You understand a great deal about piloting for someone from a planet that has stubbornly refused to go anywhere.”

  And that reminds her of the guilty longings she sometimes feels when she sees the speed of Earth ships, the complexity of the Gate, even the inhuman reflexes of their mechs. Noemi doesn’t want to be like people from Earth, but… she can’t help wanting to know what they know. To discover. To explore.

  Her next flash of insight eclipses all those old dreams in an instant. “No human could do it. A human pilot would lose control or die from the heat too quickly.”

  “True. Also, even if the human pilot could succeed, the Gate’s implosion would kill her instantly.”

  Noemi hadn’t bothered worrying about that. Collapsing the Gate—saving her world—it’s worth one life. Her willingness to make that sacrifice is irrelevant if she would only fail. But there’s another possibility. “A mech could do it, right?”

  Abel hesitates before answering, just long enough for her to be aware of it. “Not most mechs. They’re programmed to go into basic utility mode during self-damaging tasks. You’d need an advanced model. One capable of thinking even at the point of destruction.”

  “An advanced model like you.”

  He straightens. “Yes.”

  Abel clearly has no instinct for self-preservation that overrides the orders given by his commander. The air lock proved that. If she tells him to destroy the Gate and be destroyed along with it, he will.

  Noemi would gladly lay down her life to save Genesis. So she can ask a mech to give up… whatever it is he has.

  Slowly she rises from the chair. The projected starlight shines softly around her, making the moment even more dreamlike than it already is.

  Her only plan had been steering the Daedalus toward Genesis and bringing Esther’s body home. She’d had a vague idea of turning the ship and the mech over to her superior officers, in case they could be used in the war effort. Some small contributions that would outlive her, that could go on serving after the Masada Run.

  Instead she’s found a mech not only aware of how to destroy a Gate but also capable of helping her do it. And a ship that could take her through the Loop to find the device she needs—Earth would come after any Genesis ship, she thinks, but they won’t be on the lookout for this one. This could actually work.

  It means throwing herself through the galaxy, to planets she’s never seen before. It means risking her life, maybe even winding up in an Earth prison, defeated and helpless—which would be so much worse than dying in the Masada Run. It means leaving Genesis behind, maybe forever.

  She turns to Abel. “We’re going to destroy this Gate.”

  “Very well,” he replies as easily as if she’d asked him the time. “We should run an in-depth diagnostic on the Daedalus. Although my initial scans indicate that she remains fully fueled and in good condition, we will want to be certain of that before we begin to travel. It should take no more than an hour or two.”

  It startles her that he understands they’re about to travel through the Gates to other worlds, but of course he does. Abel would’ve realized the implications as soon as he explained the Gate’s flaw to her. However, there’s one thing he doesn’t understand yet. “We have to wait.”

  Abel gives her a look. “So you want to end a deadly and destructive war, but there’s… no rush?”

  Noemi’s not sure why Mansfield decided to give a mech the capacity for sarcasm. “I’m only an ensign,” she says, tapping the single gray stripe on the cuff of her green exosuit sleeve. “This mission—it’s risky, and there could be drawbacks I haven’t seen—”

  “I would have seen them.” His expression is so smug that Noemi wishes she had something in her hands to throw at him.

  “Yeah, well, you’re Burton Mansfield’s mech. So forgive me if I don’t trust you completely.”

  “If you don’t trust me, why are you undertaking this mission on my word alone?” Abel seems almost irritated. “If I could lie to you about the risks, I could also lie to you about the potential.”
/>   That’s not a bad point, but Noemi doesn’t bother justifying herself to a mech. “My point is, I should run this by my superior officers if I can.”

  “Do you wish to fly directly to Genesis?”

  Noemi opens her mouth to give the order, then thinks better of it. Yes, she should run this by Captain Baz at least—probably the whole Elder Council. She can imagine standing in their white marble chamber in her dress uniform, looking up at Darius Akide and the other elders, showing them this one chance they have to save their world.

  And she can imagine them saying no.

  They might not trust Abel’s word. What would it take to convince the Elder Council? They’re so sure the Masada Run is the only way—

  She thinks about the various speeches that have been given, the vids they’ve seen in support of the Masada Run. Sacrifice your lives, they say. Sacrifice your children. Only through sacrifice can Genesis survive.

  Now she’d be coming back to tell all of Genesis and the Council that there’s another way out. That the Masada Run isn’t necessary and never was. She, Noemi Vidal, a seventeen-year-old ensign, orphaned and newly friendless, backed up only by a mech.

  Would the Elder Council even believe her? Worse, would they refuse to back down just to avoid admitting they were wrong?

  It’s not that Noemi never doubted the Council before—but this is the first time she’s ever allowed herself to think that they might fail her world so completely. She’s not sure she really believes they would. But they could, and that risk alone is enough.

  “Belay that order,” she says slowly. “Run the diagnostic. See if the ship’s ready to travel through the Gates.”

  Abel raises one eyebrow. “Does that mean we’re proceeding without approval from your superiors?”

  Noemi’s been taking orders her whole life. From the Gatsons, because they were good enough to take her into their family and deserved her obedience. From her teachers, from her commanding officers. She’s tried to obey all of them and the Word of God, too, despite all her doubts and confusion, putting aside her own dreams, because that’s her duty.

  But her duty to protect Genesis goes beyond any of that.

  “Yes,” Noemi says, staring out at the stars that will guide her. “We’re going to destroy the Gate on our own.”

  To save her world, she must learn to stand alone.

  10

  ABEL DOESN’T LIKE THIS PLAN.

  The single strongest conflict within his programming arises from an order that involves working against Earth.

  His loyalty to Earth is written into his code. Working against the world of his origin in the war against Genesis betrays all his most critical directives.

  All, that is, except one: obeying the human who commands him.

  Surely Mansfield never meant for anyone else to wield this authority. But if he’d guessed what could happen to his most prized creation, he would’ve written subroutines to ensure no human could ever force Abel to fight against Earth.

  Apparently even the foresight of Burton Mansfield has its limits, which means Abel now has to help destroy the Genesis Gate… and be destroyed along with it.

  Without hesitation, he begins a thorough systems check. The Daedalus could easily reach Genesis, but the longer journey ahead will ask far more of their ship. Charts and data written in vivid blue light superimpose themselves on the projected star field. “The Daedalus’s atmospheric, gravitational, sensor, and propulsion systems show various degrees of inefficiency due to three decades without repair or refurbishment,” he reports. “However, all are operational and well within safety parameters. Hull integrity remains solid. Communications will require extensive repairs before we’ll be able to handle more than the most basic planetary and intership messages.” He gestures toward the comms position, which is effectively useless; what communications power they have will need to be routed through the main ops station. “Our shields show sixty percent strength, which is adequate for space travel, including Gate travel, but not acceptable for combat situations.”

  Noemi’s expression turns thoughtful as she rests her hands on her hips. “Okay. We’re not going to be picking any fights. Right?”

  “Not without your orders,” Abel confirms. “We also have sufficient fuel, as well as emergency rations that, having been kept in vacuum, should remain edible.” They won’t taste very good, if Abel understands human preferences, but that’s Noemi Vidal’s problem. He doesn’t need to eat much or often, and can make do with things that no human would ever consider food. “However, we’re showing instability in the ship’s integrity field. During standard operations, this is unimportant—but traveling through a Gate without a fully functional integrity field is extremely dangerous.”

  “Okay.” Noemi nods and sits down. Curiously, she returns to the ops position, not the elevated captain’s chair. Most humans are too hierarchical to forgo these small displays of authority. “How do we fix the integrity field?”

  “We’ll need to replace the T-7 anx that anchors the field.” On the screen he brings up a diagram of the part they need, roughly oval-shaped, approximately the length and width of the average human torso. “Ours can make it through one more trip through the Gate. Perhaps two. Beyond that, it will collapse.”

  “You’re going to tell me we don’t have a spare T-7 anx on board, aren’t you?”

  “Correct.” Abel finds himself taking satisfaction in every problem he can point out. He likes poking holes in her plan to defeat Earth, to destroy him. “We’ll also have to travel through multiple Gates to reach Cray.”

  She frowns. “Cray?”

  How ignorant is this girl? Her innate intelligence won’t compensate for her lack of knowledge about the galaxy. Abel decides to begin at the beginning. “Are you familiar with the other worlds of the Loop?”

  “Of course I am,” Noemi protests, but he brings them up on the viewscreen anyway, five worlds suspended in a circle like jewels strung on a golden chain.

  First comes Earth, still vividly blue from its oceans despite the climatological havoc that is leading to the planet’s death. Next is Stronghold, a dull, chilly gray, reflecting the metallic ores dominating its surface. It is a world of miners, and a place where armaments and ships are built; so far as Abel knows, it remains the only colony world besides Genesis that sustains more than ten million humans. Then comes Cray, its harsh orange terrain evidence of its uninhabitable desert surface. Those few humans there—elite scientists, their students, and skilled technicians—live underground.

  Next is Kismet, a small waterworld with very little landmass, an oasis for the richest and most famous. It glows the soft violet color of its vast aquatic surface. Finally, Genesis. Slightly larger than Earth, with even more temperate climates. Its vivid, welcoming green might be a picture taken of Earth long ago, millennia perhaps, when it remained healthy and lush.

  “As you can see,” Abel says, focusing on the circle of planets projected above them, “we cannot reach Cray directly. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Noemi asks.

  “Unless more Gates between the worlds have been built during the past three decades. I would be unaware of them.”

  Abel has never had to admit not knowing something before. He doesn’t care for it.

  “Build new Gates?” Noemi scoffs. “Earth did the exact opposite. They’ve loaded this Gate with too many defenses to ever get past, and turned space around the Kismet Gate into a minefield.”

  “Why?”

  Noemi turns toward him. The blue-white illumination from the screen shines on her face, reminding him just how young she is. “The war. Did they not program you to understand war?”

  Abel could fully discuss the nations, weapons, causes, and outcomes of wars dating back to the conflicts between the Egyptian pharaohs and the ancient kingdom of Kush. As hard as it is for him to accept that he must die at this human’s command, it may be even more galling to have her talk down to him. “Basic military strategy would call for the u
se of the Kismet Gate as a second front.”

  If Noemi has picked up on his dark mood, she shows no sign. “Exactly. Earth gave up their chance of a second front in the war to make sure the rebellion couldn’t spread to the other colony worlds. So they had to make the Kismet Gate an absolute barrier, to seal us off completely.”

  Citizens of Genesis appear to have an exaggerated opinion of their political importance. But Abel keeps to the subject at hand. “Then the Gates shown on this chart are our only vectors of travel.”

  He illuminates them, each Gate another point on the chain. The Earth Gate takes people from that world to Stronghold. The Stronghold Gate leads to Cray, the Cray Gate to Kismet, the Kismet Gate to Genesis—at least, before the mines were laid—and finally the Genesis Gate they’re currently orbiting, the one they intend to destroy, which leads back to Earth.

  “I understand how the Loop works,” Noemi says. “But I don’t understand why Cray is the only place that will have a thermomagnetic device.”

  Abel considers what she’s told him so far. “You won’t have had the opportunity to travel to another planet before. So you are unfamiliar with these other worlds.”

  “They taught us the basics, but I’m short on the details. Obviously.”

  He’s been stretching out this discussion because it reveals her ignorance. At some point Abel will have to analyze whether he has developed the capacity for passive aggression. “Cray’s planetary core is used to power the massive supercomputer there. As such, their mechanical systems have to tolerate intensely high levels of heat—”

  “—which means they can use thermomagnetic devices that would be too risky somewhere else,” Noemi cuts in. “Right?”

  She is, but Abel doesn’t bother admitting it. “If we’re to obtain one without anyone noticing us, Cray is the only place we can begin.”

  She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply. Abel’s sophisticated emotional-recognition subroutines identify this as an attempt to gather courage. When she opens her eyes again and speaks, her voice is steady and clear. “Then we’ll have to go through the Genesis Gate. Past Earth, past Stronghold. Can we do that without being caught?”