The Navigator (2 page)

I COME TO, CHOKING ON SMOKE AND DUST. MY
ears ring. I can hear the sound of people yelling, but their voices are far away and fuzzy. At first I can’t even tell where I am—it seems like a small, unlit room thick with haze—until I recognize the arm of a sofa that’s in flames a few feet away from me. I’m still in my apartment. Only, the ceiling has mostly caved in and there are smoldering planks of wood where my computer equipment used to be, and I’m half buried in debris. My first instinct is to try to collect some of my personal belongings, but I can’t stop coughing and my head is pounding, and I know that what I need to do is get up, out into some fresh air. It’s too dangerous to stay here. And so I use the flaming couch as a point of reference and start towards the place where my window should be. I climb on all fours up a pile of rubble until I’m finally breathing in cleaner air and collapse on the
lawn. My lungs are on fire. My dark skin is covered in ash and dust.

It’s only then that I realize most of my building has been blown away, the apartments above mine completely obliterated. Razed, along with the rest of the structures on my block. I’m probably only alive at all because I was in a basement. Still coughing, I roll onto my stomach and look towards the park where the crowds had gathered for the celebration.

Only, there isn’t really a park anymore. The trees are gone. Small fires dot the charred grass, smoke spiraling up towards a crimson sky. There are scores of blackened clumps throughout the park too. I tell myself they’re tree stumps or the remains of the stage I never saw—anything to keep my mind away from the idea that these mounds were recently dancing around with their hands stretched up to the sky while drums and synthesizers blared.

My stomach lurches. My mind races, trying to make sense of the world I’ve climbed up into, which seems so different from the one I was just living in. What’s happened? What caused this? I wonder if there’s been some kind of gross miscalculation of celebratory pyrotechnics. Or if a Garde’s new power has overwhelmed him, turning an unsuspecting kid into an untamable inferno and wiping out an entire block.

The streets fill with people, all shouting, adding
to my confusion. They’re singed and bloodied. Some huddle over unmoving bodies on the ground. Others stumble unevenly before collapsing.

I realize that my identity band is vibrating—for all I know it’s been going off constantly since I woke up. It’s Zophie again. Not knowing what else to do, I accept her call.

“Lexa!” Her voice pours out of a hidden speaker on the side of the cuff. “Hello? Are you there?”

“Zophie,” I murmur. My ears are ringing.

“You’re okay! I thought you . . . Everything is so messed up.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, getting to my feet. It’s the first of a million questions that are threatening to pour out through my lips. “My neighborhood . . . Eilon Park. Something’s happened here.”

“No. It’s everywhere. We’re being attacked. And not just the city. The planet. They’re hitting us hard, Lexa. Their targets are strategic. . . . I think Lorien is falling. Everything we’d been warned about—it’s all coming true.”

The prophecy
. My mind races back to the message I was decoding before everything turned to fire and ash. For generations, the Elders have been warning us that one day Lorien would face destruction and death. Some kind of global calamity. It’s the entire reasoning behind our society’s setup—with our super-powered
children trained to be soldiers against some unknown enemy. I’d always thought it was a scare tactic. But as I stumble forward, stepping past the remains of a man dressed in the colorful robes of the Quartermoon celebration, I realize I might have been wrong.

“Lexa,” Zophie continues before I can ask anything else. “You have to come to the museum. Right now. It’s the only way you’ll be safe. I need you. I have a plan.”

“What?” I ask. My brain isn’t functioning on all cylinders. I’m not sure if it’s shock, or the cave-in, or both. “What are you talking about?”

“Just meet me there. I’m on my way now. As fast as you can, Lex. Run. Don’t let anything stop you.”

There’s some kind of interference on her end of the line, and then the connection drops out. I look down at my cuff, thinking about who I should contact if the world really is going to shit. Who I should check in on. That’s when I realize I have no one else to call. For the past few years I’ve been alone, refusing to get too close to anybody. Secluding myself. Making sure I had no strings, no one tying me down.

No one to worry or care about.

I look to the sky. The smoke from my neighborhood has created a layer of smog far above me, all but obstructing the Quartermoon and whatever else is out there causing this.

Who is attacking Lorien? Why? How could—

Beside me, the scarce remains of my building collapse farther, filling my basement apartment with fire and debris. I stumble away, coughing through the miasma of dust and ash that’s kicked up.

This stirs something in me. A switch is flipped, and before I know it I’m running. On instinct. It’s not until I’m at a full sprint that I realize my body is following Zophie’s orders and that I’m headed towards the museum. My home is destroyed. My planet, flawed as it may be, is under attack. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. I just have to focus and keep moving, heading towards the next goal.

The chaos is everywhere, widespread. Most people I pass are preoccupied with their own survival or with trying to find or help out their loved ones. They yell, asking no one in particular what is happening. I hear a short screech somewhere to my right—blocks away? Closer?—followed by an explosion and a rumbling beneath my feet that almost knocks me to the ground. Capital City is still under attack. And even after everything we did to prepare, we weren’t ready. We were caught off guard.

The museum. It’s not that far away now. Ten blocks or so. I just have to keep my legs moving and concentrate on the sound of my feet hitting the ground and . . .

Out of the smoke in front of me charge half a dozen figures unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They’re pale,
dressed in black and carrying blasters and swords that seem to glow with a light of their own. Dark circles ring their black eyes. Their gaping mouths are full of sharp, jagged teeth. The one in the front is huge, taller than me and three times as wide. He has a long black ponytail, but the sides of his head are shaved. Tattoos wind around his skull.

These monsters are definitely not Loric.

I stop too fast, and in doing so trip over a smoking tree branch, hitting the pavement hard. I’m trying to catch the breath that’s been knocked out of me when one of the men—no,
creatures
—raises a blaster and fires at a woman crying over a lifeless body on the other side of the street. She falls forward.

My heart goes into overdrive as I fight the urge to vomit.

I stifle a cry and half-crawl to a nearby bush to try and get out of sight. The creatures continue forward. I look around to find something to protect myself with, but there’s nothing. I’m alone—I don’t even have a utility knife or anything with me, just the clothes on my back. I’ve always imagined there was no situation I couldn’t handle by myself; I’m going to be proven wrong about this by being murdered on the streets of Capital City.

I clench my fists. I won’t go down without a fight, at least.

Suddenly a blinding light flashes through the square. I squint and reel back. The burst appears to completely disorient the creatures in black, who take the brunt of its force. And then the strange men are flying through the air, battering against each other and slamming repeatedly into the ground.

Telekinesis. That means Garde are here somewhere.

The one who appears to be the leader is thrown far—well out of my range of sight. Another one of the sword-carrying bastards is impaled on a broken Grid pole. He roars, and then his body starts to disintegrate, turning to dust. A girl who looks far too young to be facing such creatures darts past the pile of ash, one hand in front of her as she uses her powers to crush another of the attackers. Her metallic red pants reflect the flames of a nearby club called the Pit, which smolders, threatening to live up to its name. Two other Garde flank her, their arms outstretched as the bodies of their enemies crash against each other, eventually turning to dust as well.

“This way,” the girl yells to them, flipping back her unnaturally white hair. “I see survivors in the distance.”

She points forward, and there’s another flash of light. Then they’re gone. Whoever those Garde were, I think they may have just saved my life.

THE LORIC MUSEUM OF EXPLORATION IS A WHITE-BRICK
building that looks mostly untouched. Whoever is attacking us must not think of it as being a worthy target. As I race up the stone steps, I wonder what I’m going to do if Zophie isn’t here. What if she ran into some of those monsters and didn’t make it past them?

Thinking about Zophie lying crumpled on the street makes me cringe in a way I wouldn’t have expected. We’re not close, but she was kind to me at a time when I had all but sworn off everyone in Capital City, and for that I guess I have some sentimental attachment to her. I grimace, steeling myself. This is no time to be getting caught up in emotions. I need to stay strong and focused.

One of the tall glass doors to the museum opens when I approach, and it’s only when I’m inside and Zophie is closing it behind me that I realize it’s because
she was there, waiting for me.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Lexa,” she says, stepping forward. She looks like she’s about to hug me, but I hold out a hand instead. She pauses and then takes it, wrapping her fingers around it. Her curly red hair is pulled back into a tight bun, one strand falling haphazardly over her face.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask.

“Invasion,” she says. “On a global scale.”

“Who? I saw some . . .” I struggle to find the right word. “
Monsters.
They murdered a woman, but the Garde showed up and took them out.”

Zophie nods, her eyes looking distant. “Those Garde were lucky, then. I saw some fighting on my way here too. But there were so many of the invaders. Armies of them, with beasts and weapons like I’ve never seen. The Garde were trying to defend some children and . . .”

She doesn’t finish.

“Why are we here?” I ask. “Is there a bunker? Some kind of shelter we can hide in?”

“Bunker?” Zophie asks, her eyebrows forming a line of confusion across her forehead. “There is no bunker. There’s only the ship. You’re flying us out of here.”

My mouth hangs open as I try to wrap my head around this.

“What?” I ask.

The idea is unfathomable to me. The ship Zophie’s
talking about is the one she’d hired me to work on, refurbishing the vessel to the state it would have been in when it was in use generations ago. But it was never actually meant to be flown. It runs on
fossil
fuel, something our society hasn’t used in ages.

“Impossible,” I say.

“Not impossible.” She shakes her head. “It’s our only way of getting out of here. The Elders . . . they don’t expect the Loric to survive this. And even if we do, you saw those invaders, Lexa. Do you want to be under their rule?”

“Where do you expect us to go?”

“Earth,” she says. “It’s the closest inhabitable planet.”

I know about this planet. When I was at the academy, I was on a team that specialized in modifying and upgrading technologies for Earth, a place we had been helping to advance and evolve for centuries. They had us to thank for several of “their” breakthroughs over the centuries. I can’t believe Zophie is telling me that this planet that is so far behind ours in every conceivable way is our only hope for survival.

“There’s no way,” I say. “What would we even use for fuel?”

“You remember Raylan, the man who commissioned the ship restoration?” Zophie steps towards the glass doors, looking out warily. “Well, in order to receive his funding, the museum had to follow his very specific
instructions. Part of that meant storing a tankard of synthetic fossil fuels in the display room. We all thought he was crazy. I mean, for the longest time he was living as a hermit in that huge compound. But maybe he was thinking farther ahead than any of us could. I’ve heard that he’s a descendant of one of the Elders. Who knows—maybe he
knew
this was going to happen.”

Zophie starts to wring her hands. I try to process everything that’s happening.

“But there’s a catch,” she says, turning back to me. “Per Raylan’s instructions, the fuel pump can only be accessed through a pass code—one only he knows. He contacted me right before communications went out asking me to oversee preparations. He was having trouble getting in contact with his pilot at the LDC. I told him I knew someone who could fly the rocket, but I wanted a place on the ship. He agreed. He’s on his way now. Once he gets here we can fuel up and go.”

I stare back at her, still not believing anything I’m hearing.

“Please,” she says. “I can’t fly this thing. You’re the only one I trust to get us out of here alive. You
know
this ship. Even if you hadn’t been on the refurbishing team—I know you used to program flight sims back at the academy. Those included older models like this, right?”

“That was years ago,” I say. “I’m not a pilot. Call your
brother.”

Her brother, Janus, is a hot-shot pilot for the Lorien Defense Council. She shakes her head.

“I
did
. He’s been called out on a mis—”

“Then call the LDC or the LDA. Call . . .” I struggle to come up with another viable option.

“There’s no one else,” she says. Her voice is firm but her hands are trembling. “I talked to my brother.” She swallows hard. “He said these attacks were strategic. They’ve taken out our weapons, our ships—anything that’s left is being used to fight. They’ve hit us hard. The ports, the academy . . . This is likely the only flyable passenger ship left in Capital City. If we don’t leave . . .”

She trails off, but I get the point. It’s easy to see our situation. She doesn’t believe this world is going to survive. Lorien, perfect Lorien, with its green forests and red-peaked mountains and Elders who always know what’s best for us—this false utopia is going to burn.

“Besides, I’ve seen you fly before.”

I wince.

“That was different,” I say. “An accident. Besides, the only reason I got off the ground was because I was in a ship where almost every function was automated. Not like this ancient piece of crap you’re suggesting we use.”

“Lex . . .”

I stare into her big, pleading green eyes for what feels like a long time, but I say nothing. My mind is too overrun with the images of what I saw between my apartment and the museum. Everything Lorien has already lost. Everything
I’ve
lost. My home. My work. My brother. And now I stand in front of the only person I might consider a friend, and she’s asking me to leave our world behind. Lorien, which I’ve been fighting to change.

But it is changed now. It can never be the same. And I realize that if I do go with her, all I’d be leaving behind is a planet. Not a home or family. My options are to try to escape or die fighting for a place that I had already grown to hate.

“There’s more to it,” Zophie says softly. “There are others going. There’s another ship that’s leaving. It may have
already
left. We have to join it. Janus is piloting it.”

The doors burst open before I can respond. A small, floating trolley piled high with boxes and bags sails in. A dozen or so Chimærae follow behind it, and finally, a man. He’s tall, with dark, curly hair and thick eyebrows. His pale-blue shirt is ringed with sweat.

“Crayton!” Zophie exclaims, rushing to close the doors behind him. “Where are Raylan and Erina. Are they . . . ?”

“They’re staying,” Crayton says. “They’re Garde.
They’re going to fight.”

Zophie’s mouth hangs open for a few moments. Then she just nods.

“Who’s this?” the man asks, staring at me.

“Our pilot,” Zophie says, looking at me in a way that makes it obvious that she wants me to keep my mouth shut and just go along with her. “Lexa, this is Crayton. He’s a caretaker at Raylan’s estate. You may remember seeing him making deliveries to the museum when you were here. He’s been our go-between with Raylan for years.”

“What is all this?” I ask.

“Supplies,” he says, waving to the boxes. “Food. Weapons. Water. Medicine. Even some bags of jewelry and valuables to barter with. Raylan had it all loaded up and ready to go at a moment’s notice. I think he’d been anticipating something like this.”

“I meant the Chimærae.”

“They’re coming with us.” His voice gets quiet. “There were more of them when we left the estate. They fought bravely to make sure we got here.”

I’m about to protest the idea of taking an animal horde on board the already-small ship—not to mention the fact that I don’t even know if I can fly it—when Zophie steps forward.

“We need a pass code to access the fuel,” she says. “Did he give it to you?”

“Yes.” Crayton nods. “It’s her name.”

My head buzzes with confusion. Crayton shifts his weight, turning slightly, and that’s when I realize that he’s not just carrying a backpack. There’s something moving inside the bag strapped to him, stretching beneath the dusty layer of fabric covering his pack and starting to fuss, as if just waking up.

A baby.

I must look surprised, because Crayton nods his head back over his shoulder.

“Her name is Ella. That’s the pass code. I watched Raylan change it on his data pad right before I left. Something simple so I’d remember it.”

Zophie pulls back the cloth covering the baby. She’s tiny, pink and wrinkled. I haven’t had much experience with babies, but she looks too small. Like a doll.

“She’s so tiny,” Zophie whispers, almost cooing.

“Everything happened very fast,” Crayton says. “Erina wasn’t feeling well, and then suddenly she was in labor. No time to trek into the city. But everything was fine. Erina and Raylan looked so happy. Then the sky turned red and everything went wrong. They entrusted her to me. I don’t think . . . I don’t think they believe this is something they will survive. I have to make sure she’s safe. It’s
bad
out there, Zophie. If they don’t make it . . . their sacrifice can’t have been in vain.”

There’s an explosion outside—close. Too close. Dust
and debris fall from the ceiling around us.

“We have to move,” Crayton says.

“This way.” Zophie pulls on his sleeve. “Hurry!”