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  “Mom died. Several days ago. We—we found out and then—” Gordie fades off into useless silence.

  “No!” I say again. And then I repeat violently, with fury, “No! No! No!”

  I am shaking. . . . Ice-cold. Dry in the back of my throat. Perfectly calm and alert.

  Sharp, sharp focus.

  Everyone is looking at me, frozen motionless with pity, tragedy, fear—some of them even stunned at my reaction. Somewhere, with my peripheral vision, I am aware of all of them, my friends and supporters, fellow Earth refugees, Atlantean astra daimon, surrounding us.

  But my razor focus is on Gordie and Gracie, because there can be no other way.

  “When . . .” I start, clenching my hands, clenching all of me, so that I become a stiff, unyielding thing of bone. “Tell me.”

  “Gwen. . . .” I feel Aeson’s gentle touch on my shoulder, but immediately I shake him off.

  I take a step back, so that neither Aeson nor my siblings nor anyone else can touch me.

  Gracie starts crying again, this time gently and silently, fat tears running down her face, then again sucks in a deep breath to speak. “It was during Stage Two, when you were inside the pyramid—the third day of Stage Two. Mom . . . she was gone on that day, but we only found out later, on day four, when we got the call from the ark-ship. They were—Dad and George—they were picked up, and—”

  “And they called immediately,” Gordie continues. “It was afternoon, our time, and we were in the audience at the Game Zone, watching you, and we got called back urgently to Phoinios Heights—I mean, your fiancé, Aeson, he got a message—it was the only time he left the Games and you, only for this—he took us back himself, and that’s when we found out. . . .”

  “How . . . ?” I say. I find that I am incapable of sentences, only short, stupid words. “How—did she . . . die?”

  Gracie makes a hard noise, then muffles it. “She was really sick—it was the advanced cancer, the Earth meds stopped working, and the Atlanteans didn’t get to her in time. She was already—so sick—she was—they didn’t even get the chance to take her up to the ship, I mean, they promised they were coming, over and over, but she passed away at home. I don’t understand what actually happened, I mean, why couldn’t they land in a stupid shuttle for five minutes and get her up there before she got so sick? Why? They missed her by one damn day!” Gracie’s voice rises, and she puts the back of her hand against her mouth, and starts trembling with sobs.

  I watch my sister weep, and I don’t reach out to her. Instead I am frozen in my own, ice-cold, alien place. It’s as if I am looking at myself from above, floating outside my own numb, dead body.

  “That long?” I say, my breath forced with every word as I enunciate in strange wooden staccato. “You found out ten days ago, and no one told me??”

  “Gwen, you had to remain focused on the Games,” Aeson says softly. “I’m so sorry, but we couldn’t tell you and risk you losing your concentration—”

  “How could you?” I turn to Aeson for the first time.

  He blinks.

  His expression is heart wrenching, and something inside me rips wide open. In that same moment a tide starts rising in the back of my throat, choking me, and liquid pools in my vision.

  “How could you . . . keep this from me? It’s my Mom! Aeson, you saw me several times after you knew, and you said nothing! And you kept me isolated from my family? Is that why you wouldn’t let Gracie and Gordie come see me?”

  But it’s Gracie who snarls suddenly. “No, don’t! Don’t you dare put this on him! I asked him to do it! I was the one—blame me! I knew I couldn’t bear to see you without breaking down, and you know Gordie can’t lie at all!”

  Gordie makes a weird, sad noise and stares at me, shifting his shoulders, as if to confirm.

  “So I asked Aeson to make up something—anything—to excuse us not visiting you,” Gracie continues. “It was awful. All those days of knowing about Mom, of talking to Dad and George, and not being able to talk to you, and—and—not knowing if you were gonna die too, in those damn Games!”

  “Sorry, Gee Two, we had to stay away, so sorry,” Gordie adds painfully. “Tough to pretend. It sucked.” Then he clamps up again.

  “I—”

  I press my lips together hard, clench my mouth, trying to hold back the quivering, the drowning tide.

  It is now an ocean.

  It surges over my head and finally swallows me.

  The next few minutes are a mess. . . . I collapse and Aeson catches me in his strong arms and half-carries me as we walk through the stadium corridor to exit the building complex.

  People I know walk on all sides of me. . . . I feel Gracie’s cold, wet hand clutching mine, and Gordie’s awkward fingers pressing my shoulder, while I shuffle along like an old woman on limp feet.

  The astra daimon whisper discreetly among themselves. . . . Occasional individuals and groups of strangers hurry past us in this network of passages with fresh cracks in the walls and other visible signs of damage. Meanwhile the hallway lights flicker randomly or go out completely, indicating malfunctions.

  All of this I notice with one small part of my consciousness, while the rest of me is as broken as the structure around me. My face is wet and my nose is thick with weeping, and I’m barely aware of my own feet moving because of the general anemic weakness that has come over me like a life-leaching blanket.

  At some point in the low illumination my white Contender uniform suddenly sparks with an energy charge, like static electricity, and then it lights up brightly . . . Vocalist White. It’s now glowing belatedly, indicating my formal Champion status. Is this the result of Imperial orders? Somewhere the Games techs must have been instructed to run the final sequence of my Contender uniform program. . . .

  Which makes it official: I won my Category in the Games of the Atlantis Grail.

  Gordie makes a small sound as he points at my shining outfit, and the rest of my friends notice, but no one reacts or says anything.

  They realize that at this moment I don’t give a damn.

  “Only a little more, Gwen . . . we’re almost there,” Aeson keeps saying as he guides me forward. His hands support me, keeping me upright because I’m limp and barely functional.

  Mom. . . .

  We finally emerge outside and reach the Competitor parking area for the hover cars, where I vaguely recognize one of Aeson’s metallic gleaming vehicles, this one a large four-seater, and next to it the usual vehicles of the guards. I am seated next to Gracie in the back seat, while Aeson and Gordie sit in the front, and Aeson drives.

  Aeson takes off with a grim expression and a fleeting, intense glance at me. As we rise in the air I see Dawn and Chiyoko getting into different hover cars nearby with Xelio and Erita, and there’s Laronda next to Gennio and Anu. . . .

  Their figures shrink and recede, and it all blurs into white sun glare.

  Gracie continues to clutch my hand and leans into me with her whole body. I can feel how badly she’s trembling, but remain silent and numb and let her hold me. . . . We gain altitude, while below the grand structures of the downtown multi-stadium complex gleam with gold and grey metal, the now-protruding and displaced Atlantis Grail “monument” prominent among them.

  We join a common air traffic lane and continue moving over the City of Poseidon toward Phoinios Heights, where Aeson’s estate sits atop a hill—our present home.

  Soon the familiar hills and greenery come into view, and we begin the descent.

  Aeson lands the vehicle so it hovers a foot off the ground, and I step out onto the mauve brick surface of the private estate landing area, holding onto Gracie. Immediately Aeson comes around on the other side and gently takes my elbow. Together we walk up the long, shallow steps to the front door, where a line of estate servants stands waiting for us. Thebet, the old steward, bows deeply before us—before me—as we enter.

  I take my steps like a decrepit old woman. I nod to the servants, then lower my
head and keep it down so that I can see only the polished hallway floor and not the expressive eyes of all these people—kind, pitying, in some cases marveling and filled with awe. . . .

  All of this is directed at me.

  I hear Aeson give quick instructions to the serving staff, while my brother and sister stand next to me. Meanwhile, sounds of other landing vehicles and voices draw near, coming from outside, as more of our friends arrive.

  I can’t deal with any of it.

  A hard pulse pounds in my temples, while waves of heat and cold surge back and forth, coursing alternately through my body.

  “Aeson,” I say loudly, on my last strength. “Please . . . I need to talk to my father and George . . . right now.”

  There’s a pause. A quick exchange of glances.

  “If you must, Gwen,” he says softly. “I will make the call. But—”

  “But you’re in no condition to talk to them!” Gracie interrupts. “Not right now, not when you’re barely standing! You need to get in bed and sleep! They’re not going anywhere! If they see you like this, you’ll only frighten everyone!”

  “I have to speak to them!” I cry out in a hoarse, cracking voice, even though I know she’s right.

  And yet. . . .

  I glance from Gracie to Aeson to Gordie. My tone fades in softness. “They won’t care. Dad and George. . . . They would want to speak to me exactly as I am—they understand about the Games, right? You told them about me being in the Games?”

  Gracie nods.

  “Yeah, they know everything, we told them,” Gordie adds.

  “And they’re worried sick about you!” Gracie sniffles and again rubs her face with the back of her hand.

  I take in a shuddering breath. “Even more reason to speak to them right damn now. They need to hear directly from me that I’m okay.”

  And I need to hear from them . . . about Mom.

  Aeson watches me with deep understanding, an unblinking gaze of his lapis lazuli blue eyes. He then reaches for me and squeezes my hand. “Very well. . . . I will make the call for you. Come with me.”

  He heads for the media communications room, and I and my siblings follow him.

  The main office workroom, with all the specialized deep space comm equipment, is located on an upper floor of the estate, and we hurry through corridors and up a marble flight of stairs. Aeson holds my hand to help me take each step, but with a burst of adrenaline I’ve recovered enough of my strength that I follow him without stumbling, with Gracie and Gordie directly behind us.

  Inside the room, I am settled on a chair while Aeson turns on the largest video screen and makes the necessary connection across infinite space to the ark-ship orbiting Earth. Since he’s not only the Imperial Crown Prince of Atlantida but the Commander of the international organization Star Pilot Corps, Aeson has the most sophisticated Atlantean comm tech here at his disposal.

  It occurs to me, he’s calling somewhere that’s on the other side of the universe . . . whatever that means. The universe has no sides. All of this—it is incomprehensible. . . . Focus, focus. . . . Feeble racing thoughts, mind going off on tangents—stop.

  I watch the dark screen come alive unbelievably after just a few seconds. On the other end is the face of an Atlantean crew member in a grey Fleet uniform, against a stark background of familiar wall panels inside generic ark-ship quarters. He is a typical Atlantean older teen, with long, gilded hair pulled back against a lean, bronze-skinned face with angular lines and pale hazel eyes that seem tired and sleepy. I’ve never seen him before.

  The Atlantean crewman on comm duty comes to sharp attention and salutes Aeson. “Nefero niktos, Imperial Lord! Or is it nefero dea for you now? Apologies, we didn’t expect your call until later!”

  Aeson barely nods, and his voice becomes cool and commanding. “We are early. Get me Pilot Nefir Mekei or Pilot Quoni Enutat. But first, we must speak with Charles Lark and George Lark—is it night cycle for you now?”

  “Yes, it’s just after midnight, Earth Universal Time Coordinated, on board AS-1999,” the crewman confirms. “The Larks are in their quarters, but I will wake them at once!”

  “Do it gently. Tell them it’s good news. Gwen Lark is here. She is safe and unharmed and wants to see her father and brother.”

  The crewman salutes again. Then his face disappears, replaced by the Imperial Fleet network logo.

  Aeson orients the screen so that it faces me directly and takes a deep breath and turns to me. He looks me in the eyes with encouragement.

  I, in turn, stare at him with a numb, fixed, dumbfounded expression of unrelenting weariness mixed with grief and adrenaline, and my body is shaking, while my breathing has grown faint.

  “Breathe, Gwen,” he whispers gently and leans toward me to place his warm hand over mine. Its pressure is reassuring, and I feel a surge of strength at his touch.

  A few interminable minutes seem to pass while I alternate between watching the screen and glancing at Aeson, who nods at me and says soothing things, while I seem unable to form words in reply.

  “Aeson . . .” I finally whisper back. “Oh, Aeson. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  But before Aeson has time to respond, the screen comes alive again, and I see the familiar, beloved face of my Dad.

  Chapter 2

  Charles Lark, my father, is sitting in the place previously occupied by the Atlantean crewman, framed by the same ship-board view, which for some reason comes across as bizarre and incongruous in my mind.

  At once I feel a stab of psychological vertigo at the strange sight of my Dad on an ark-ship, even before my mind registers the real life details of him—such as his unkempt, wavy brown hair with more grey than I remember, the wrinkled beige shirt with a collar that’s folded wrong on one side, the same exact pair of rimless glasses, his sickly pallor, or his exhausted, grim expression—just before his face transforms into a beaming smile at the sight of me.

  “Gwen! Oh, my sweet girl! My dear child!”

  The familiar sound of my father’s voice, that on some level I never expected to hear again, pierces my heart.

  “Dad! Daddy!” I exclaim in a horrible voice that cracks again and sounds squeaky and very “little girl,” which would normally embarrass me, but not today. At the same time, I start to rise in my chair, leaning forward with all my strength, so that I am facing the screen, and smiling and crying at the same time.

  “It’s so good to see you, sweet girl,” Dad says. His face draws closer to the screen also, so that I can really see his wrinkles, the unshaven greying whiskers on his cheeks, and the reddened eyes behind the spectacles. I realize now my father is crying also, his eyes full of moisture. He also looks thinner and more frail than I remember. . . .

  “Thank God you are safe, oh, thank God,” he says softly and shakes his head, as though the act of speaking has robbed him of strength.

  And then, in the next moment, I see my older brother George.

  A hand comes down to rest on Dad’s shoulder, and then George leans in, so that he’s taking up half the screen, and he cranes his neck to stare at me with a serious expression that softly blooms into a smile. George’s dark hair is longer than I remembered, or maybe it just sticks up oddly, and he’s got bed head—after all, I woke them up. He’s wearing an old black t-shirt that I recognize.

  “Hey, sis . . .” George says in a steady, almost playful voice. “Good to see you! Didn’t think that I ever would again, but great to be wrong.” He makes a sound that’s a chuckle or a smirk or something else that’s typical charming George. And then, because Dad makes a choked sound of his own, George grows suddenly serious, like a shield slamming, and I see now that he is also thinner than usual, with harder lines and angles, and somehow older than I’d expected in just a year.

  “George!” I exclaim. Another unexpected surge of emotion causes my breath to catch in my throat.

  “So many things, my girl.” Dad begins to speak. “So much has happened. . . . I hear you
had to participate in some kind of terrible athletic Games—it is over now, right?”

  “Oh yes, it’s over,” I hurry to say. “I survived and even won, Dad! Everything worked out okay. I will tell you all about it later, and about so many other things—”

  “Such as you getting married?” George interrupts and raises one corner of his mouth in a semblance of disapproval. Such a typical George facial tic. . . .

  “Oh, my . . . about that—” Suddenly I feel a flush of embarrassment, an instant of panic, and cast a quick glance at Aeson, who is sitting next to me, but off screen, invisible to Dad and George. Aeson’s expression in that instant is both endearingly solemn and just a tiny bit uncomfortable—I can tell he’s making an effort to maintain a calm, even relaxed appearance, but he’s not fooling me. . . .

  Dad makes a hollow whistling noise as he exhales a held breath, then clears his throat awkwardly. “Yes, well—your Aeson—this young man of yours seems very nice. He really does. . . . A handsome, well-grounded fellow, apparently in charge of everything. . . . Excellent command of English.” And then he exhales again. “I’m a little stunned, I admit. . . . But I’m very proud of you—yes, of course. . . . Not sure how any of this happened, but we’ll come to that. At some point later you will tell me everything, how you met—although George did mention your fellow was a Qualification officer in charge of all of you, and now Gracie tells me he’s even grander . . . ah, it’s such a strange thing, my Gwenie-girl—that already you’re so grown up. . . . Getting married to an intelligent, accomplished young man from another world! Unbelievable to me—you’re my little girl, you know, still my sweet baby girl. . . .”

  “You’ve met him? You talked to Aeson?” I whisper. Again, my mind goes spinning out of control with stupid amazement.

  Dad nods. “He was the first person we talked with when—”

  And then, just like that, he grows silent.

  I know exactly why he stopped talking.

  It hangs between us, this horrible, empty, hollow thing, this new hole in the fabric of the world.