Until All the Stars Are Found E-Book

Katelyn Costello

• Herausgeber: Katelyn Costello
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 628

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Joining the Galactic Garrison was the best decision Ada Gomez ever made for herself. Or so she thought. Orphaned, with her brother Sarkus in the foster system who she can't claim custody of, a guardian who is days from kicking her out and, no job. There is nothing left for her on planet Earth. The only thing going for her is that she has made it. After three years of work, she qualified to begin training for the esteemed Special Operations team on the Galactic Garrison's space station. Joining the Spec Ops division is a chance to start over, to make a name for herself, and if she plays her cards right maybe, Ada can get Sarkus back. But her journey is just beginning.

Being in the Spec Ops isn't easy. It isn't supposed to be. Any sign of weakness must be squashed, fear is the devil, and hesitation is worse than death. But some of the training doesn't add up. And any semblance of structure? It looks like Ada left that on Earth. Ada and her team do their best to put the pieces together and figure out what exactly is going on and roll with the punches mentally and physically to come out on top.

Little do they know the hardest test is yet to come. Because this year everything is different.

Leseprobe

Katelyn Costello

Until All the Stars are Found

Copyright © 2021 Katelyn Costello

All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means, without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First Edition

ISBN: 9781733529372

Cover Design: Jane Farrell

Also, by Katelyn Costello

The Frituals Saga

The Frituals

Rebellion

DEDICATION

Thank you to my love for pushing me to work, even when I didn’t want to, and for answering my eighty-bazillion hypothetical medical questions with every book.

To Mom and Dad for introducing me to Science Fiction as a wee baby.

Chapter 1

Running without gravity is really fucking weird. If I didn’t have this harness on, who knows how far away from this wall I would be? It’s one of several thoughts I have to push away along with what would happen if I hit the button for my GRAV boots? What time does Karrie think I can do? Do I love or hate gravity? I still don’t fucking know.

Running without gravity is, without a doubt, harder than running with a weighted backpack. Sure, running for ten kilometers on the road is hard. Your body gets tired of the thud of the bag against your back, the repetitive impact of your feet striking the ground over and over and over again. But without gravity? Your balance is shit. You constantly search for the ground. You don’t have to worry about that with regular running.

“Let’s go, Gomez, four hundred more meters then you’re done for the day,” my trainer yells from the floor below me.

I glance down to the floor and see her standing in line with the other mentors. I don’t have long to look at her face before I zip past her with the rest of the pack, but I can’t tell if she’s pleased or not. I look down at the track lanes. The LED lights that illuminate my feet are bright lime green, letting me know I’m on track for whatever pace Karrie wants me to run. The neighbor to my left has a track that turns a bright yellow, letting him know he isn’t running up to par. 

“Come on, Gomez!”

Four hundred meters. Then I can take this goddamn harness off. I don’t know when it happened, but my shirt has slid up over the harness again. Leaving the course nylon to rub the same spot it had two days ago. The raw skin burns with the friction and the sweat dripping into it.

Someone hits a button, and a glowing ring three meters in diameter slides out of the floor off the edge of the track. The pack surges forward for the last hundred meters, our uneven breathing and my heartbeat pounding in my ears moments before we go airborne. I hit the button on my side, and the harness releases its hold on the track, and soar through the air, pinwheeling in a mass of arms and legs with my peers before I hit the mat wall with a thud.

I brace for the impact and grab the handholds, scurrying as fast as I can, my legs floating off the wall as I pull myself down. With a grunt, I pull my legs down against the lack of gravity and hit the GRAV lock button, slamming my feet to the ground. I move away from the other recruits, and I put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

“Nope. Up, walking, let’s go,” Karrie says, walking past me. I stand and move to the line where the others who already finished wait. We watch, backs stiff and at attention, while the others finish, their tracks in a myriad of red, yellow, and green.

I peer up at the screen above our heads, where the scoreboard will update in a few moments. This scoreboard is how the Galactic Garrison tracks people’s progress through ranks. When the last person hits the wall, all the mentors tap their tablets, and the numbers change. I watch as my name turns green and shifts slightly up the chart.

ADA GOMEZ +2

Someone taps out a command, and gravity returns. My thick ponytail falls to my back, the black hair sticking to the sweat across my shoulders.

“At ease, soldiers. Good work today. We will be back here tomorrow at 0500.”

There is a mixture of sighs of relief that we are done for the day and groans of disgust at how early we’ll have to be out of bed to make it here in the morning.

“Fuck me,” I breathe, trying to contain my hair. On the final twist, the hairband breaks, snapping across the back of my hand, leaving a nice red welt. I sigh and reach into my pocket, pulling another hair tie out as Karrie walks over to me. 

“That wasn’t bad. How did your ankle feel?” Karrie asks, scrolling through the stats on the tablet. She puts her hand out, and I hand her the data chip that syncs her tablet to my harness. While the harness I wear keeps me from flying away, it also scans my heart rate, pace, cadence, and a slew of other data I don’t understand. 

“Fine, I guess, I don’t think it was my best go, but it wasn’t my worst,” I say, unbuckling the harness and hanging it up on the wall.

Karrie smirks and looks back down at the tablet. “Okay.”

I pause. Karrie usually has more to say than that. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She turns and walks toward her office. 

My brain spins. “Just okay?” I call after her. Is she pissed off at me? But she smiled. Did I fuck up? “Karrie?”

 “Go shower, then meet me in my office,” she says, heading out of the training block. 

“Fuck,” I mutter to the empty air. My brain spirals through all the potential outcomes. 

I met Karrie three years ago. They sent me to her not long after my parents died. I was acting out in school; the school didn’t know what to do. They didn’t have the capacity to deal with someone who lost both parents at once, was in the foster system, and not doing okay. So, like most of the adults in my life did, they passed me off to someone else. Someone handed me a pamphlet and suggested I check out the Garrison as a way to ‘deal with all the feelings’. It was a youth system that was meant to help us become “vibrant young leaders in our community.” I thought at first it was stupid. That was when Karrie came into my life. Sergeant Karrie Lima is my mentor. She listened, helped me to figure out a plan. And what I wanted for me. She helped me out of a dark time and set me back on track. With her help, I graduated their program and diverted my training from on-world service to off-world.

I follow the other Fems to the locker room and strip down, throw the borrowed fatigues in the laundry bin, grab a towel, and head to the showers. I scrub down quickly, the scalding water wicks away the sweat, but burns where the harness rubbed against my side. I get out of the shower, towel off, and pull on my civilian clothes—a pair of ripped black jeans and a thin blue t-shirt. My sneakers have a few holes that are only apparent when you step in a puddle, and the rubber bottoms have almost no treads left.

I wring as much of the water out of my hair and search in vain in my bag for another hair tie to make a neater bun. But this is my last one. Maybe I can find one at home tonight after Jaxon goes to sleep. The other girls pull on their civilian clothes. The holes in their jeans are fashionable and on purpose. Mine are holey because I’ve worn the same pair of jeans for three years now. I sling my small backpack over my shoulder and head out of the lockers into the hallway.  

At the third door on the right I pause, “Sergeant Lima, may I enter?” I step back and look down the hall. Normally by this time on a Friday afternoon, the training center’s halls are empty, and the lights are turned down. Today, however, the space is still brightly lit with LEDs and a man waits down the hall. From this distance I can’t make out the rank patch on his sleeve, but his tight stance clues me in that he must be some sort of officer. He looks up from the tablet he had been reading at me and nods. I nod back and turn to the door.

Karrie opens the door and beckons me inside. In contrast to the bright hallway, the office is dim, and the sole light in the room comes from Karrie’s tablet, and the projector shining on the wall. Karrie sits back down behind her desk and pulls up a graph on her tablet and sends the data to a projector. I stand tall, hands behind my back, waiting for Karrie to ask me to sit. Retired or not, Karrie has specific standards she wants me to meet.

“So,” Karrie says, turning back to me. “Sit on down, Ada. How are classes going?”

I want to roll my eyes but don’t. If Karrie is asking something, there’s a purpose. “My classes are going well. May I be candid?” I ask.

“Yes, Ada, you may always be candid with me,” she says. 

“I don’t see the point in them anymore. I know, I know.” I put my hands up. “I know I need them to qualify. I am doing my best with them. I passed that mech test last week with a b-plus. But the summer classes at the college so far are nothing. I am the only one doing anything. And then going the training base six days a week, I just feel run down.” 

Karrie nods. “That makes sense.” She taps something on the tablet, sets it down, and looks at me. She steeples her hands and doesn’t speak for a moment, just watches me. I do my best not to squirm. “Do you realize what today is?” Karrie asks.

I try not to grin. “As long as all of my paperwork went through on time, this weekend should be my rank approval.”

Karrie nods. “Today was also the last day to qualify for the next shift to go off-world,” Karrie says, pulling up a chart with the requirements. These are all stats I have seen and memorized over the last year.

One-mile run (Earth): 7 min cut off

One-mile run (Zero-G): 9 min cut off

60 sit-ups: 2 Min 

60 pushups: 2 Min

Most of these are things that I have already passed, and if I haven’t yet, I’m within one to two points of each. Karrie grins. “Over the last few days, the other mentors and I have incorporated the parts of their specialized training requirements into the group sessions.”

“Oh? How different are those requirements?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager. Two more taps and the comparisons are up on the screen. The most significant difference is the mile times, the Earth mile is still seven minutes, but the gravity-free mile is a whole minute faster. “Damn,” I sit back in my chair. “So, what do I need to change to make the next cut off?” I try to think of where I could scrounge up some extra time to have a few additional training sessions with Karrie. 

“Nothing.” With one more tap, my stats are up on the screen. 

My eyes fall to the gravity run, and my mouth drops open. The needed time was eight minutes—I made it with ten seconds to spare. “That can’t be right.” I say, “There is no fu—there’s no way. How?” I catch myself mid-swear and run over the rest of the sentence, hoping she won’t notice.

She shoots me a look that says she did notice but doesn’t admonish me. “The harness doesn’t lie.” 

I’ve read countless news articles about people that have tried to claim they had done better than the harness said, but the harness was always the one the officials looked to. The belt has a ninety-eight point eight percent accuracy.

“So, what do I do now?” 

Karrie taps the intercom button and says, “We are ready for you, Staff Sergeant.”

 A moment later, the man that I saw in the hallway enters the room. I jump to my feet and give a salute. 

He nods and settles into the chair next to me. “At ease, Private Gomez. I am Staff Sergeant O’Malley. I work for the Galactic Garrison and assist in the recruitment of the specialized operations division. Sergeant Lima here tells me you have some interest in joining our division.”

I nod. “Yes Sir, I have looked at what it offers, and I would like to study in either the Jumper or Fighter lines and Medic practices. I know for sure I want to go as a Medic.”

He looks me over. “You are small, but that can be good in a Fighter, and we are always looking for Medics. Too many teams don’t take care of their Medic.” He looked up at my stats. “Sergeant Lima sent me your paperwork before today’s deadline. After reviewing them, I think you would be a great fit for the special op’s division. I am sure Sergeant Lima told you that today was the last day to qualify for the next draft. Did she explain anything else?”

Karrie shook her head. “No, Sir, I figured it would be better for you to explain the next steps.”

O’Malley nodded. “Right. Well, you may or may not know that we recently moved our special operations base on-world to Houston.” 

My mouth goes dry. “Houston? It’s not right outside New Seattle anymore?”

“No, we found too many from New Seattle ended up not passing the second round of testing, so administration demoted the location to a basic infantry station. That change occurred in the past few weeks. It may not be public knowledge yet.” 

“Oh, okay, that makes sense,” I say, thinking of Sarkus. If I have to leave for Houston, who will be there for him? I wonder.

“Is that an issue?” the Sergeant asks.

“Oh, no. No, just surprising, but it’s fine.”

Karrie, knowing that I’m thinking of my brother, gives me a sad smile.

“Alright,” O’Malley continues. “You will be tested once you arrive at Houston to see if you are ready to go off-world. If you pass those tests, you will move up to the space station. Should you fail, we will send you to do more infantry work on-world. You can try for spec ops twice in your career.” 

I nod as he speaks. Most of the information are things I already know. “Thank you for explaining all of that. My main question now is; when would I have to report for transport?”

“If you are ready to move on, report to the base in New Seattle by 1300 to catch the eco-train to Houston. Before your departure there will be a short test to determine if you really deserve to go to Houston,” he says. 

“At 1300?” I glance up at the clock on the wall. It gives me less than twenty-four hours to get everything together and get out the door. “Okay, what sort of paperwork would I need to finish?”

“You need your identification cards, and a signature of clearance from your parent or guardian.”

I try to keep my face clear, but I share a glance with Karrie. She is just as surprised as me, the thin lines around her mouth in a small frown. “Even if she is over eighteen?” 

“Yes, this is required. Will this be an issue?” O’Malley asks, interlacing his fingers. 

I hate the way he asks that. ‘Will it be an issue?’ Each time he does, it feels like a challenge, one I’m not meant to meet, it makes my skin crawl every time.

Karrie gives me a nod, encouraging me to say my piece. I clear my throat. “Honestly, Sir, it may be. I have recently grown out of the foster system; I don’t have the best relationship with my foster parent. I don’t know if I will get him to sign off. If he is home during the next few days, he most likely will be blackout drunk.” I glance at my hands uncomfortably, considering my options, and look up. “I have a meeting after this with my social worker. Could she sign off? She has been helping me get ready for the transition out of his home.”

“I think that should work, let me make a quick call to verify.” He pulls out his phone and steps outside. 

I spin around to face her as soon as he steps out of the room. “Karrie, is this really going to happen?” 

“Yes, Ada, you will go off-world! You didn’t want to know how you’ve been doing compared to the mark, but you’ve ranked past it for weeks now!” She laughs. “I told you! You train with me, and you would make it! I didn’t go through all that training for nothing,” she says, spinning and pointing to her medals on the wall.

“I know, I know, but I still didn’t believe that I could do it. There has just been so much happening.”

A soft knock at the door puts a pause in our celebration as O’Malley reenters the room. He glances between Karrie and me. His brow furrowed for a moment in disapproval of our antics. “They said that you could get your main signature from your social worker, but they would also like you to attempt to get a signature from your foster father. Just in case.”

I sigh. “Okay, I’ll try.” I turn to Karrie. “Could you forward the forms to me?”

She nods. “Of course. Thank you for stopping by Sergeant O’Malley. I will make sure Ada is all set and on her way to you soon.” 

“Thank you, I look forward to seeing you on our base in a few days.”

I stand and shake his hand. “You as well, Sir. Thank you for this opportunity.” I follow him to the door and slowly close it. Craning my neck, I watch him got down the hall until I know that he is far enough away, and he won’t hear me. “Great expanse, Karrie! I am going off-world!” 

She squeals and jumps up, rushing around the desk and hugging me. “I am so proud of you, Ada.” She taps down the screen, and the projector goes black. “Okay, now we need to talk about what you are going to need to do over the next few days.” 

The sobering reality of the ticking clock on the wall floods back. “Right. Less than twenty-four before I have to go.”

“Exactly. First, they are saying you need to be there at 1300. But that is wrong. You need to be there closer to 1100. The train will leave at 1300. If you get there that late, you will miss the train and be screwed. Especially if they are adding a ‘little test’,” she says, using air quotes. “How are you going to get to the bus station?”

“I can walk, it isn’t too far. I just need to make sure I get up with enough time. Jaxon won’t care when I leave. I go scrapping at weird hours all the time.” I look at the tiny screen of my watch, and I pull up my bank account and check out my credits. “Do you know where I can get a cheap tablet?”

“Maybe why?” Karrie asks.

“I have a hundred credits. I told Sarkus I would get him one for his birthday or before I go, whichever came first. So, he can still talk to me sometimes.” Karrie opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. “I’ve already told him it most likely will only be once a week if that. It’s mainly for messenger. And only when I am off-duty.”

“Okay, hit up this guy, he should be able to give you a decent enough tablet. Do you have a large backpack you can put your stuff in?” She shoots a contact to my inbox.

I think for a second but shake my head. “No. Jaxon got rid of the duffel bag I moved in with.”

Karrie sighs. “Of course, he did. Because why would the man want to keep a decent piece of equipment?” she grumbles, going into her closet and pulling out a medium-sized duffel bag. “You don’t need to pack much—basic toiletries, a few outfits for when you are on off-duty. They will give you anything else you need. You will also need your identification cards.”

“Thank you,” I say, pulling up the list on my watch screen and rotating the dial to scroll through the contents. “You don’t know how much all of this means to me. You’re helping me so much.”

She shrugs. “Don’t get sappy on me now, Gomez. You still got a ton of work to do.” She glances at the clock. “Go, you don’t wanna be late again.” 

I follow her gaze. “Shit.” I jump from my chair. “Thanks, Karrie. Seriously.” Then scooping up the bag run for the door. I glance over my shoulder as the door closes and see Karrie smile and shake her head.

Chapter 2

I glance at my watch when I get outside the training center, mentally calculating how long it is going to take to get to the city bus. The stop is three blocks down the road. It’s 2:45, and the bus comes at 2:50... and it’s at least a seven-minute walk. Shit shit shit.

I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and take off down the road. This section of the city is dead around this time, but if I don’t get my ass down the road faster, I will get caught up in foot traffic when the school releases for the day.

I weave in and out of the parents waiting in front of the school and dash around the corner. I can’t be late for another appointment, I stress, spotting the stop not far down the road. I skid to a halt by the sign and glancing back and forth, the bus nowhere in sight.

“Did I miss it?” I wonder, glancing at my watch again. 2:49. “Did it come early?” I look down the road, trying to see past the sea of school buses floating in front of the school. 

“Ah, Miss Ada, just leave your training?” a voice asks before slipping a hand in the crook of my arm.

“Emma!” I jump, turning to the elderly lady at my side.

“Who else would it be? Do you let other old ladies grab your arm?” She grouches as I lead her to the bench next to the sign. 

“I don’t let anyone grab my arm.” I laugh. “I guess if you’re here, I haven’t missed the bus yet?” I ask, praying that it hasn’t come.

“No, Ma’am, here it is.” The bus appears around the corner like she magicked it into existence.

“Right, of course, it is,” I sigh. I didn’t miss the bus again. 

“How is your training going?” she asks. “Did you reach your goal yet?”

“Which one?” I laugh as the bus stops in front of us with a whoosh.

We sit near the front, with Emma, on the outside since her stop comes first. “I don’t know what your main goal is. Have you made it to that yet?” 

I smile. I see Emma about once a week. She is always waiting for the 2:50 bus, while my training times vary throughout the week. But every time she sees me, she asks how my goals are going. It helps to keep me accountable. I never want to tell Emma I’ve failed to make progress on my goals. I hold back a grin, barely able to contain my excitement. “Emma, I have definitely made progress on my goals this week.” I glance around. “Do you want to know a secret?”

“Of course, I do. You should know by now that you should always tell your secrets to old ladies. You never know when we will die, and then your secret will be safe with us.”

I laugh and lean in. This close, the smell of Emma’s lavender perfume and hairspray fill my nose, and I breathe it in, knowing I will miss these moments very soon. “So, there are only two people that know this so far, one of which is my trainer Karrie, and a staff sergeant.” 

Emma’s eyebrows shoot up. “A staff sergeant? Why were you talking to one of those?”

“Well—” I wiggle my eyebrows “—I may or may not have been smashing my goals. You know Karrie, she tells just enough that you think she told you everything. But she left out just how much I’ve been improving.”

“Well, I won’t be here on this Earth much longer! What happened?”

I laugh again. “I won’t be either! I passed the test to qualify for the special operations division. I get to go to Houston, then off-world!” I grin with pride.

“You did!” She claps. “Oh my gosh, Ada, this is amazing! We have to celebrate!” She turns to her bag and digs around, looking up at me and then back down into the depths. “Aha!” She whips out two bits of chocolate candy wrapped in a delicate pink foil. The bus shudders to a stop and the air releases the bus back down to the Earth. Emma fumbles for the chocolate, and I just barely catch it. “See! This is why you would be a great addition to the special operations. Your reflexes are great,” Emma coos, patting my arm. 

I pop the chocolate into my mouth, savoring the flavor as it melts. “Thank you, Emma, this is a great way to celebrate.”

“So—” she grabs my hand; her wrinkled skin feels soft and cool in mine “—when do you leave?”

“Very soon.” I smile sadly. “This is probably the last time you’ll see me for a long time. I’ll be shipping out to the on-Earth base in Houston in a little over a day.”

“Does Sarkus know yet?” she asks as the bus slows down again.

“I’ll see him in a few hours. I have some other stuff I have to get ready first,” I say.

She stands and pulls her purse over her shoulder. She waves to the driver bot at the door before turning back to me. “I wish you the best of luck, my sweet Ada. You will be great. You’ve been working for this so hard. I am very proud of you.” She plants a wet kiss on my hairline. “Make me proud. I expect to still hear from you.”

I squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”

She heads for the door. “I am serious. I better hear from you, miss. I promise I will actually check my messenger now,” she says with a wave before stepping off the bus. 

I scooch over to the window and watch as she toddles off down the road. As she slips out of view, I feel a slight pang in my chest. I haven’t had a chance to think about the goodbyes I will have to make. Emma’s words have warmed me since my parents died—she was one of the few people I could turn to for support. I’ve only really considered how hard my goodbyes would be with Sarkus, and now that time was coming up. 

I glance above my head at the display that informs riders of each stop. Next to the stop number is a rotating information section. I rarely notice the ads, but this slide catches my eye. It’s another missing person’s report. 

Child 

Male 

Age 7 

Name: Yang

Last seen walking home from school

Next to the text is a rotating photo of the boy.

I wonder what happened to him. These reports started last summer, with one boy who was nine, a few months later six-year-old twins. From there, it escalated to the point where it seems like every other day there’s a new report. Once I’m an officer, I’ll make sure someone looks into this.

The bus stops two more times before I climb off. The New City Hall stands in the center of New Seattle. Officer’s cars fly overhead, and people scurry everywhere, bumping into nearly everyone they pass. I have been coming here since Mom and Dad died three years ago. 

I buzz in at the door and hurry to the front desk. “Hi, Adaline Gomez, I’m here to see my social worker Shaelin Denmark. She has an office on the second floor,” I say, sliding my ID card across the counter to the secretary bot behind the desk. 

I glance around, waiting while the bot scans my ID, and verifies that I do, in fact, have an appointment. “Thank you, A-da-line, your appointment is running be-hind by fifteen minutes. Please use the fourth elevator to head up to the second floor.”

I take the ID back and slide it into my bag. “Thank you, have a good day,” I say and hurry on to the already stuffed elevator. The doors slide closed, and I lean against the wall as the box flies to the second floor, faster than it ever needed to, in my opinion. I push my way out of the elevator and smoosh past people down the hall. Shaelin has a small office, with a single couch outside for the people waiting. A mother and her small child have taken up the couch, so I slide to the floor beside it and settle in for the wait.

I pull up the list of supplies that Karrie had written up, and the form Sergeant O’Malley had given me. The formal document was one that would release my parent or guardian from any responsibilities, essentially giving me over to the Galactic Garrison for the next year. I guess since I just turned eighteen, it still considers me a child. Which is kind of annoying? This entire process would have been a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about trying to get Jaxon to sign this doc. Maybe I could forge his signature? I quickly dash that thought away. Jaxon barely ever wrote anything down. It would be pointless. Come to think of it, I don’t know if I had ever seen him actually write anything. 

The door opens to Shaelin’s office, and she leads a little boy out. The boy reminds me of Sarkus with his short black hair, it’s like how Mom used to cut his hair when we couldn’t get to the hairdresser. He wears a green polo with thin blue stripes that is just a bit too big on him. His eyes are ringed in red and glassy from tears. I look away as his adult rushes to his side. I know all too well what it is like to feel vulnerable when leaving my social worker’s office.

The boy’s sniffles echo down the hall as he explains to the adult in his life how his appointment went as they move toward the elevator. 

Shaelin watches him go with big, sad eyes. It’s something that I both appreciate and hate about her. She is always full of understanding or pity, whether or not I want to feel it. “Hi, Ada,” she says, turning back to me, hand on the doorframe of her office. “Come on in. Sorry for the wait. I just have to clean a few things up.”

I enter and sit in my usual chair. Two chairs face her desk, I always take the seat on the right, closer to the door. When I have meetings, and Sarkus is here, he always takes the left side, so he can hold my hand, and if I ever need to sign any docs, he doesn’t need to let go. “It isn’t a problem,” I say.

Shaelin goes around the room, quickly tossing toys in a bin. “Right,” she says, settling in the chair across from me. “How are things? You look very sprightly today.”

“Sprightly?”

“Well, yes, you seem extra happy today. Has something changed for the better at home?” She asks, looking over her glasses. The question is almost a jab at my usual sullen demeanor. I can be a real bitch to her. 

“You and I both wish. No. Jaxon is just as much of a lazy drunkard as he was two weeks ago. No, this is something better, bigger, more important.” I beam, pride making my heart squeeze with joy. “I passed the basic spec ops test! I can go actually start training, and then I’ll be able to claim custody of Sarkus!”

“That is a great, Ada,” Shaelin says, but something in the way she sets her shoulders says she isn’t as excited for me as she would like to be.

“What?” I ask. “You aren’t saying something. Does it have to do with that message you sent me yesterday morning? Why we had to move our appointment up? I am glad we did, cause it definitely helps with stuff, but I feel like something is wrong.” She turns the big pity eyes on me.

“Ada, now I don’t want you to be upset.”

“You realize that whenever you say that to me, I end up absolutely pissed, right?” I say, leaning forward, narrowing my eyes. She can be hard to read sometimes. 

“Well, I just want to forewarn you that this may put a damper on your good news.” She spins her stylus between her fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

“Already has,” I grumble, thinking of Emma’s exuberant reaction. 

“Well, Sarkus’ foster parents came in yesterday. It turns out that Melody is unexpectedly pregnant.”

I let the words sink in for a moment. Melody and Bryan Blain are nice people. By far, the kindest foster parents Sark has had so far. They have two other children. One is Sarkus’ age, while the other is around fourteen. “So, they’re giving him up because they want to make room for a new baby in a few months,” I say, my voice coming out deadpan. But inside, I am screaming. I can’t believe that they would do this. They had said they would be willing to keep him for another year at least. 

“That is correct,” Shaelin says, waiting for me to react more. 

“When are they kicking him out, then?” 

She sighs. “They aren’t kicking him out. They have put in for him to have a transfer.”

“Well, how long until that transfer gets processed?” I ask. 

“I’ve already approved it. He moves tomorrow afternoon,” she says, passing a tablet across the desk to me. 

I scan the doc quickly, already knowing what most of the information would be, having been through plenty of my own transfers. I would gladly go through twenty transfers if it meant he wouldn’t have to go through one more. “He is moving out of the city?” I ask, looking up. “I thought we made it clear on his paperwork he had to stay in New Seattle?”

Shaelin takes the tablet back from me. “Yes, and if I had another family who would take him, I would send him there in a heartbeat. But most either want babies or have a track record of being like Jaxon.” 

I growl my disappointment but don’t argue anymore. “Will they allow my visitation rights before he moves? I leave in less than twenty-four hours for Houston. I told him I would do my best to say goodbye to him before I went, whenever it happened.” 

She shakes her head. “They don’t want you seeing him. He is already very upset, and Melody thinks seeing you would make it worse.”

“Well, can you at least call her and let her know what is happening now? Maybe she will make an exception because we will both be leaving New Seattle?” I plead. “I need to see him before I go. I don’t—” I stop and take a breath. “I don’t know when I will be Earth side again if I make it through the training. I don’t want him to think I’ve abandoned him.” 

She reaches across the table and writes a note. “Yes, I will call her after we are through here. And I will send you a message as soon as I have an answer. Just promise me you won’t try to sneak over to see him.”

“I won’t,” I lie. “I know I need to respect their choices.” It’s bullshit. “They have to do what’s best for their family.”

She nods slowly, as if she doesn’t quite believe that I am being agreeable. “Yes, well, what do you need to do for Spec Ops?” 

I email her the doc. “I need you to sign this. They want me to attempt to get Jaxon’s signature tonight. I am going to try, but I doubt it is going to happen.”

She skims it before grabbing a stylus. She signs below the line labeled guardian and writes the social worker below it. She taps around her tablet before sending me a copy of my birth certificate. “I see you also need this?”

“Oh, thank the expanse you have one. I wasn’t sure what file I saved it in.”

“Well, they should be able to access a copy of that in their Database, but you never know when a file will corrupt.”

“Yeah. I mean, at least they keep hard copies of all legal documents, even if we aren’t allowed to use paper for anything else.”

“Hard copy is always better,” Shaelin agrees. “Now, can I do anything else for you today? I mainly wanted to make sure I talked to you in person about Sarkus.”

I shake my head and stand up. “I don’t think so, I just needed your approval to go. Especially if I can’t get Jaxon to sign.”

“Do what you can, but don’t push him. The last thing you need is him taking a swing at you right before you leave. Because that paperwork will take you more than twenty-four hours to get together.” She strides to the door and opens it for me. “Good luck, Ada.” She pulls me into a stiff hug. 

“Thanks, Shaelin. Please take care of Sarkus and let me know as soon as you can of any changes in the future. I want to get him out of this system as fast as possible.”

Chapter 3

My bus ride back to the apartment is long and quiet, giving me plenty of time to plan what to say to Jaxon. I get off the bus just up the road from “home” around seven, well after rush hour traffic. My stomach is screaming for food at this point. And the granola bar wrappers in the bottom of my bag are a tease. Though there likely isn’t going to be much to eat waiting for me in the apartment either. 

Peering up at the windows of my apartment high above, it looks like no one is home, but you never know with Jaxon. I honestly don’t know how he passed the tests to be a foster parent. His ex-girlfriend Leslie had at least been a decent human. But she deserved better, and she left within four months of me moving in. It was a rough couple of months after she left, Jaxon was even more moody and thought everything was a personal attack on his character. Not that he has much to begin with.

I grab the rungs of the fire escape and haul myself up to the first level. I figured out pretty quickly when I moved in with Jaxon that it was best to put all my things down and remove any trace of my day before approaching him. Today, I’ll need a different tactic.

I quickly and quietly scale the stairs to the third-floor window. I wipe my hands off on a towel I’ve tucked in a small box. The fabric is stained a burnt copper color from the flakes of iron on the rungs. I replace the towel to its nook and turn back to the window. My life would have been ten times easier if the landing led right into my bedroom, but no, this window leads into the hallway right outside my room. It looks down the hall to the living room and Jaxon’s big armchair, where ninety percent of the time, he is passed out drunk.

I stand at the edge of the window frame and peer down the hall, ready to jump back and run down a flight of stairs if I need to. Jaxon hates that I come in this way. He has tried to lock the window in the past, but I figured out a way to undo the lock from the outside. Great for sneaking in, shitty for home security. He isn’t smart enough to nail it shut.

 I never know what sort of mood Jaxon will be in when I get home. He has gotten a lot worse lately now that I’m eighteen. Nearly every conversation we have is him asking when I will be leaving now that I have aged out of the foster system. My answer has been the same every time. As soon as possible. He technically could have kicked me out on my birthday, however the contract he signed when I got transferred stated when I left it had to be moving to another stable environment. Because I haven’t had anywhere to go, he would have been hit with a nasty fine if anything had gone wrong. Besides, the lazy ass wants to keep me around because he can’t take care of himself.

I peer down the hall. Jaxon lays in his chair, feet splayed out in front of him, and he loosely holds a can of beer. Keeled over to his side, I can’t see his face. I grip the frame and slowly raise it a few inches. I crouch below the window and strain to hear any noise coming from the apartment. Aside from the muffled voices from the television, all is quiet. I can’t hear him snoring. Keeping my eyes on his legs for any sign of movement, I lift the frame the rest of the way open, thankful yet again that I remembered to oil the frame and hide any squeaks. I quickly climb through and shut it behind me. I spin back to the hallway, take the two strides into my room, and close the door with a soft click.

I press my ear flat against the door and listen for thirty beats. I sigh, hearing nothing, and sink to the squeaky mattress of my bed. My room is small. I’m pretty sure on the floor plan it was a large closet for the master bedroom across the hall. But when I was placed here, Jaxon had already furnished it for me. So, kind of him. I have the bed, a standing lamp since there are no overheads, and a dresser. There’s no window. That was the biggest hint to me that it was a closet. That and the fact that I can’t lock the room from the inside, but he can from the outside. I barely have space to open the bottom drawer of the dresser. But I don’t have that many clothes, anyway.

I empty the drawers of the dresser, laying the few clothing items I have out on the bed. By now, most of the clothes don’t fit anymore or are so worn out I don’t see any point in taking them with me. My go-to clothes are the green cargo pants I wear ninety percent of the time, and a few black shirts; black is easier to layer and doesn’t show wear and tear as quickly. I wear something until it’s see-through.

Socks, bras, and underwear all make their way into the bag too. I lift the false bottom I installed in the of the drawer and pull out my sentimental items: a necklace my mother used to wear, but I never have for fear Jaxon would pawn it, one of my father’s ties, and a single photo of my family screen-printed on a piece of sheet metal a few inches wide. I lay them between my clothes for padding and turn to my bed.

I lift the mattress and pull out the bag of food and a few bits of garbage I stashed underneath, I shove the trash in a pocket of the duffle bag to dispose of later and sort through the food. I probably won’t be able to take it with me. But I need something for dinner tonight, and breakfast. Maybe Sarkus can use some of it? Tossing a stale granola bar and other expired snacks in the garbage pocket. Lastly, I pull my pillow from its thin case. I needed a way to hide any credits I earned scrapping from Jaxon. I learned the hard way he liked to go through my stuff. So, I created a small slit in the pillow that you can’t see when it is in the fabric case. I shake the pillow and out falls about fifty credits. I split a pair of socks and shove most of the money in them, putting some in my backpack to have handy.

I press my ear to the door. The show sounds louder. Which means Jaxon is probably up now. I pull the form up on my watch and take a deep breath. He needs to sign it. But if he refuses to, I have Shaelin’s signature, I remind myself.

“Hey, Jaxon,” I say, coming into his domain. My room is neat and clean, mainly due to the lack of things, but the living room is trashed. I step carefully around piles of cans and bottles trying not to topple the precarious stacks. I look at the bits of metal, wondering if it would be worth staying to clean them up a bit—I might be able to sell some of them for scraps to get a few more credits for Sarkus.

“What do you want, Ada?” Jaxon says, crushing the can in his hand it sloshes across his lap and onto the already stained carpet. “Shit. Ada, get me another.” He slurs.

I hold my breath in the kitchen. The smell of rotten food is overpowering. I can’t clean it. He thinks I would be too loud, and I honestly wouldn’t know where to start. I pull open the fridge. Like usual, it is crammed full of cans of alcohol, but I managed to squeeze a few containers of food in the back, none of which I can grab now. 

I bring him back the can and stand off to the side as he opens the drink with a crack and a hiss and takes several large gulps.

“So, you know how my birthday was a few weeks ago,” I say. It’s a statement. We know it occurred (see above all the conversations about me leaving.)

“Yeah, when did Shaelin say I could kick you out?” Jaxon asks, turning back to the game on the TV. I start to answer, but he screams at the bots fighting on the screen. “Fuckin’ A’ they made him last week! Why did you think you could beat him? His tech is brand new!”

I wait until the round is over. “So, kicking me out isn’t quite the wording I would use, but—” I tap a few buttons and send him the doc for him to sign “—if you sign this doc, I’m released from your care. You claim no rights to my welfare. It would all be over.”

He picks up his cracked tablet from a side table and scans the doc. He blinks a few times, trying to focus on the small print. “So, where’d you get this?” He reads it again, “Really? The Galactic Garrison, you think you are good enough for them? They really want you?” He tosses the tablet to the couch on the other side of the room.

I shrug. “I guess so.” I leave out the part about me already passing the tests or the fact that he knows I enlisted and have been training for nearly three years now. “Sign the doc, and even if they kick me out, I won’t be your problem anymore. I’ll be on my own.” I cross my arms, waiting.

He scans me up and down. “No. No, I won’t sign it.” He turns the TV back up.

A spark of anger bursts in my chest. “What? Gonna get all sentimental now on me?” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No. I think it’s a waste of time. They won’t even let you out of New Seattle, let alone off the world. There’s no way they’d let you in.”

“Well, that’s your opinion. I’d like to get theirs.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. If you’d read the damn doc—”

“Don’t you swear at me, bitch!” Jaxon says, launching the half-full can at my head. I duck away, and it ricochets off the wall spraying my back with cold alcohol. “I said I’m not signing it. Find another way to get out of my house. I want you gone by the end of the week.”

“Sign the doc, and I’ll be gone in twenty-four hours,” I repeat.

“I’m not fucking signing the doc. Get the fuck out of my face. Get out.”

I retreat down the hall and slam the door. I slide down the door to the floor and rub my eyes. I knew that would happen. I wipe off my watch, now soaked in alcohol, and tap out a message to Shaelin. 

ADA: I tried to get him to sign. He threw a beer can at my head. Told me it was a waste of time because I won’t be good enough to get in. Said he wants me gone by the end of the week. I guess it is a good thing I’ll be gone tomorrow.

I hit send and lay back, waiting for her to respond. 

SHAELIN: Did he hit you with the can? Let me know if you need any support, I can have someone come around. I’m sorry Ada. I will send a message to the Galactic Garrison and let them know you were unable to get his signature.

SHAELIN: Still waiting to hear from Melody.

I scroll over to the doc from Sergeant O’Malley. It lists some benefits and flaws of being in the military. I scroll down looking to see if there is anything else, I need to get before I leave, but this signature was it. I glance at my duffel where I know a pile of money sits, though maybe not enough for a decent tablet for Sarkus. I need to sell a few more items.

I do one last check under and around my bed, making sure nothing else is left in my room, before heading out into the hall. I don’t worry about sneaking out, I walk right out the door. When Jaxon calls to me, I keep walking, knowing he will follow for a minute, screaming. He will get fined for breaking quiet hours and for some health code violations while acting as a guardian to a foster child. I grin and speed up. Serves him fucking right. Good luck with that, buddy.

Chapter 4

The building across the street has been abandoned for years now. The signs listing it for demolition have faded, the dates long past, making the entire building a scrap heap in its own right. I shove aside the metal panel I keep in front of the door and move inside the dark interior. In the corner closest to the door is a pile of scrap metal that I’ve collected over the last few weeks. This building was picked over long ago, so I’ve felt pretty confident no one would come through again.

I sift through the pieces of metal, appraising each by its color, thickness, and overall look. I have pipes, pieces of hardware from outdated machines, and sheets of metal cut into weird shapes by prior owners. Most of the parts have bits of rust, but one sheet of copper catches my eye. I’ve been saving this piece to sell when it got colder. Most people still use copper piping, even though the element is so rare now. When it gets colder here in New Seattle, pipes burst all the time, leaving people scrambling for the metal. I was saving it, but since I am leaving, it will probably get me the most cash now.

I slide the pliable metal away from the wall. The piece is three-feet by two-feet and will probably get me somewhere around 175 credits. I just have to hope that plus the other money in my bag will be enough for a tablet for Sarkus. I don’t have long until The Market closes. I thread my arms through the handles of the duffle bag, turning it into a rough backpack that digs into my shoulders and carry the piece of copper in front of me. 

I hurry through the streets. It’s dark—the time of day where you don’t want to linger. The shadows grow long, and the floating solar streetlight flickers to life. But this is also the perfect time for a sale.

 When I was little, I would go out with Dad, a bundle of metal sheets and pipes between us as we headed to The Market. Mom and Dad would spend all day when Sarkus and I were in school searching for metal, and Dad and I would go sell it while Mom stayed home with my brother. He taught me all his for tricks to make the haggling process quick and to the point, every time playing to my advantage.

Then Mom and Dad died. I was watching Sarkus at home, but we heard the blast. Gang violence was and is nothing out of the ordinary, so we didn’t think anything of it. We had just gotten off a video call; they had just finished a sale and were coming home. They were meant to be back in five minutes. Sarkus and I had made cookies, and they were excited to get the cookies while they were hot. 

Someone must’ve thought our car was someone else’s. It was four hours before I called the police. Twelve hours after the blast when the officer came to our door. Sarkus and I woke up to the officer standing over us in the living room. On the table was a plate of cold uneaten cookies.

I started selling the rest of the scraps Dad had in the stash two weeks later. At first, people didn’t take me seriously. But they recognized me. A lot of the sales I got that year were pity sales. I had to be careful though—the foster parent Sarkus, and I lived with didn’t like me going into The Market. But we didn’t want to ask for anything. The third time they caught me with scraps was when they had us re-homed. They screamed at me for getting into gang violence. But I never sold to the gangs. Not at first. The next home was pretty much the same; no one understood my need to keep selling. I didn’t really understand it until recently. I needed to do it because it made me feel close to Dad. 

I have to make this last sale a good one. One that will pay off for years to come. 

I turn into the dark alley and pass under the arch. Blasters power up nearby, a threat and a promise. Not everyone who sells in the Market is affiliated with the mob. But the Market is owned by the mob, and the mob must protect its property, which includes the vendors that pay them to be there.

A monitor flashes, and my face appears on the screen. “Ada Gomez,” I say, waiting for the voice tech to recognize me.

“Welcome, Ada.” It intones, and I hear the weapons power down. “Is there anyone you would like to meet with today?”

The monitor lowers to eye level, and a list of other patrons of The Market show up on the screen. “Tortie, I want to meet with Tortie.” The other names flash away, and Tortie glows white. They send the message to him, and when my request is met with an answer, the name turns green. 

The monitor pings. “Tortie has agreed to meet with you. He is in Bay 9. He will expect you in five minutes. You will have ten minutes for your sale. Do you accept these terms for your meeting? Please note that this does not guarantee a sale.”

“I agree to the terms,” I say, and wait for the message to be passed along. 

“Welcome to The Market, Ada.” The monitor lifts away, and a doorway slides open. I hurry down the passage and into the general sales area. Bay 9 is, of course, the farthest away from the entrance. But Tortie would do that. He and his cronies need time to get out when The Market is raided. On a quiet day, it can still take up to ten minutes to get through to Bay 9, and today it’s packed.

I force my way to the edge of the large room and push my way along the wall, passing the other bays. Vendors bark at me as I shove behind their stalls, but I just keep going. I can see Bay 9 with its glowing number over the heads of everyone. Luckily, the closer I get, the more the crowds thin out. This is where the pricier sales go down and few people can afford to be down here anymore. I could quickly get fifty, maybe even one hundred credits for my sheet of copper in the general sales area, but a sheet this big is a rarity. Something I know Tortie will value. And he won’t try to swing any bullshit with me, because he knows I won’t with him. 

I am passing Bay 7 when I see the first of Tortie’s men. Their skin is a deep orange—in the right lighting, it looks like it could just be a bad tan, but their eyes, vertical slits like a goat, give them away. They glue themselves to me like shadows. Protecting both me and the item for sale, while also appraising me and whether or not I’m a threat to Tortie. I recognize the gentleman who flanks my right side and nod as he approaches. The guy to my left is new, jumpy. His hand hovers at hip height, ready to grab his blaster. “Your buddy gonna shoot me?” I ask, keeping my gaze locked on the sign for Bay 9. Out of my peripheral, I see the one I recognize wave the other down. 

“Sorry, Ada, he doesn’t know a lot of people ‘round here yet.” I nod and try to pick up the pace. I’m running out of time. I hear a squawk and the sound of Tortie speaking in his native Plutonian. The guard responds, then calls to me. “Ada, he will wait for you. No rush.”