Unstoppable - Dreams Bigger Than Heartbreak E-Book

Charlie Jane Anders

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 542

Beschreibung

The thrilling intergalactic adventures of the multiple Locus Award-winning Unstoppable series continue in the sequel to Victories Greater Than Death, from the international-bestselling author of All the Birds in the Sky. They'll do anything to be the people they were meant to be - even journey into the heart of evil. Rachael Townsend is the first artist ever to leave Earth and journey out into the galaxy - but after an encounter with an alien artifact, she can't make art at all. Elza Monteiro is determined to be the first human to venture inside the Palace of Scented Tears and become a princess - except that inside the palace, she finds the last person she ever wanted to see again. Tina Mains is studying at the Royal Space Academy with her friends, preparing to save the universe - and she's not the badass space hero everyone was expecting. These three young women are thrust into the hands of destiny, journeying into dark voids, navigating deadly spy missions, and facing impossible choices that could change all their lives forever. With the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance, they must discover their strength, whatever form it takes. The thrilling intergalactic adventures of the Unstoppable series continue in the sequel to the Locus Award-winning Victories Greater Than Death, from the international-bestselling author of All the Birds in the Sky. They'll do anything to be the people they were meant to be — even journey into the heart of evil. Rachael Townsend is the first artist ever to leave Earth and journey out into the galaxy — but after an encounter with an alien artifact, she can't make art at all. Elza Monteiro is determined to be the first human to venture inside the Palace of Scented Tears and become a princess — except that inside the palace, she finds the last person she ever wanted to see again. Tina Mains is studying at the Royal Space Academy with her friends, preparing to save the universe – and she's not the badass space hero everyone was expecting. These three young women are thrust into the hands of destiny, journeying into dark voids, navigating deadly spy missions, and facing impossible choices that could change all their lives forever. With the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance, they must discover their strength, whatever form it takes.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Acknowledgments

DREAMSBIGGERTHANHEARTBREAK

ALSO BY CHARLIE JANE ANDERS AND AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

All the Birds in the Sky

The City in the Middle of the Night

Even Greater Mistakes

THE UNSTOPPABLE SERIES

Victories Greater Than Death

DREAMSBIGGERTHANHEARTBREAK

CHARLIEJANEANDERS

TITANBOOKS

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Dreams Bigger Than Heartbreak

Print edition ISBN: 9781789095449

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789095456

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd.

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First Titan edition April 2022

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Copyright © 2022 Charlie Jane Anders. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

Charlie Jane Anders asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

For Annalee, who gave me a ride on their starship.

PROLOGUE

(27.8.33.12 of the Age of Despair)

Princess Evanescent (she/her) knows her ship is under attack before the crew does. She flinches awake, as if a pleasant dream just went sour all at once.

Her moss-covered Yarthin face twists into a mixture of sadness and amusement under her glimmering crown, and she speaks into a slender flower twining around the nearest lacquer screen, next to her brocaded chair.

“All hands, this is Princess Evanescent. The Questionable Decency will be boarded by the Compassion shortly. They’ve sent their flagship, the Unity at All Costs, and thus I am afraid we are very much outgunned. Please abandon ship. I will greet our guests alone. It has been my honor to journey with you. Goodbye.”

A moment later, alarms and crewmembers both start screaming as the assault begins.

A young Scanthian attendant named Orxyas (he/him) appears in the doorway. “Your Radiance, come with us. Please. Or you and I could switch places. I could stay, and you could . . .”

The princess shakes her head. “I’m their primary objective, and they will not be easily deceived. This will end badly for me, but it needn’t for you. I imagine they’ll let you depart in peace, so long as I remain.”

Orxyas starts to protest anew, then just bows his head and takes his leave.

The air rings with the sound of alarms and the frenzy of the crew—who are still trying to fight an unwinnable battle, in spite of the princess’s orders. Then all of the evacuation modules launch, and the ship goes quiet.

Princess Evanescent takes one last bite of Zanthuron coral. She plays a few poignant notes on her qhynqhun, a musical instrument with a long curved neck and a flat body.

A sharp crack rings out.

Footsteps approach.

The princess rises to greet her visitors.

Princess Evanescent is seized by heavily armed people in matte black armor with a red slash across their chests. They drag her through the gold-dappled walkways of the Questionable Decency as her slippered feet try in vain to touch the ground.

The Unity at All Costs stretches so far above and below, it appears endless. Princess Evanescent takes in every detail of the echoing superstructure studded with crooked spikes. Here, in the heart of the Compassion’s power, she is alone—except that she’s never alone, even for a moment, because she is a princess.

The soldiers carry the princess to a room full of prismatic clouds that scatter dark rainbows everywhere. Her resolve—to show no fear—evaporates as they deposit her in front of an apparatus with a dozen bent legs and a long sharp drill.

Her breath comes faster and shallower.

“You know what I want,” says a treacly sweet voice.

“I know who you are,” the princess says. “Kankakn. The founder of the Compassion, and its self-styled spiritual leader. As to what you want? I cannot say.”

“I’ve come to take your crown,” says Kankakn (she/her). “For this process to work, I must peel away everything you are. I will unchoose all your choices, unthink all your thoughts—until all that remains of you is a weeping husk. You will be lower than all the misshapen creatures your Royal Fleet has striven to protect.”

The Compassion soldiers lift the flailing princess and carry her toward a set of restraints, facing the sharp blade on legs.

“Don’t!” the princess shouts. “Don’t do this. The Firmament and the Royal Fleet have only tried to help, to bring peace—”

“My poor child, try to clear your mind,” Kankakn says. “Let me remove your crown without causing you too much suffering.”

Acolytes in cream-colored robes shove Princess Evanescent’s limbs into restraints, and she seems to reach a decision.

“Petals in a deluge,” she says in a low voice. “Sparks in a whirlwind.”

The crown atop her head catches on fire. Wisps of smoke waft into the air, and delicate filaments crumble and smolder.

Kankakn sees too late, and rushes forward. “No! No, you pampered fool—”

One of the acolytes tries to seize what’s left of the crown and comes away howling, with a burnt hand.

Princess Evanescent smiles. Her scalp is on fire, the remains of her crown turning into a wreath of golden smoke.

A few heartbeats later, the princess’s head is utterly consumed by flames.

Joinergram, 90 Days Before Newsun, From: Tina Mains To: Rachael Townsend

Hey Rachael, I’m going to let you off the hook right now. You don’t need to be the glue anymore.

You did it. You brought us all together, you kept us going when we traveled into the hot sweaty armpit of death. You made us a family, and you saved all of our lives.

Let us take care of you for a change. Please.

This isn’t like eighth grade, when I decided I was going to be your bodyguard, and I went around staring down Walter Gough and Lauren Bose, until you told me I was embarrassing you. Nobody thinks you can’t take care of yourself, we just want to be there for you. The same way you’ve been there for all of us.

The rest of us are making our scary beautiful fantasies come true. Me, Damini, and Yiwei are learning so much at the space academy—and I thought I knew every weird fact already. Kez looks so good in those trainee ambassador threads, I can’t even stand it. When Kez makes it back to Earth and leads everyone into the light, there are going to be Kez T-shirts and posters and TikToks and movies, and I can’t wait. And Elza? She’s going to blow everyone’s mind at the Palace of Scented Tears.

We’re all becoming our best selves—thanks to you.

Every now and then, I have to stop and look at my life, and I can hardly believe that I’m here, in the greatest city that’s ever existed. (Don’t worry, not gonna subject you to me singing Hamilton off-key again.) It’s not the life I used to dream of, back home on Earth. It’s better.

I only wish you hadn’t paid such a high price.

Or there was something the rest of us could do to help you pay it.

I would go back into the stankiest part of death’s armpit, if there was a chance of helping you get back what you’ve lost.

RACHAEL

1.

Rachael Townsend used to have a mighty superpower: anything she saw, she drew. She traveled from world to world, and sketched every mind-blowing vista.

Until she woke up from a coma, and the one thing that gave meaning to her life was gone.

*   *   *

This is the most outstanding sight Rachael has ever seen—and it’s wrecking her heart.

Rachael’s boyfriend, Wang Yiwei, lies across her bed wearing nothing but his blue Space Underpants, which fit like a glove because they were made for him specifically. (Yiwei’s muscles look even more cut after a couple weeks of Royal Space Academy training.) His lovely brown eyes are full of warmth, though he’s probably getting a cramp from staying in the same position for so long, with his leg bent and his chin resting on one hand.

Rachael has never felt so helpless in her life.

“I’m sorry,” she says yet again. “I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. I just . . . can’t.”

“You’re fine.” Yiwei smiles bigger. “Take all the time you need.”

Rachael perches on the edge of the bed and tries to put on a brave face.

In between her and her half-naked boyfriend is a plastiform pad and a pile of lightpens and styluses.

She picks up a stylus and tries to put the outline of Yiwei’s spiked hair and square jaw on the page. This used to be so easy. Just . . . turn what you see into a shape. Light and shadow, texture, colors, all of it.

Rachael’s stylus touches the page, and . . . nothing. Her mind freezes. She loses concentration.

“It’s okay,” Yiwei says. “I can hold this pose forever.”

Something is hollowing Rachael from the inside, eating away at her willpower. Her self-esteem.

Who am I, if I can’t do the one thing I was always good at?

“You are giving me lots and lots of inspiration,” she tells Yiwei. “Just not the kind that turns into drawings on a page.”

“Relax,” he says. “Nobody but you and me here.”

This time, Rachael picks up a lightpen. For a moment, muscle memory takes over, and she can feel the picture take shape. Turning vision into execution—but as soon as the lightpen touches the page, it’s gone.

She lets out a roar of frustration and throws the lightpen at the wall. Xiaohou picks it up with one of his little front legs and tries to drum on the floor until Yiwei tells the musical robot to cut it out.

“You can stop,” she tells Yiwei. “We’re done here.”

Xiaohou looks up and warbles a few bars of Rachael’s favorite K-Pop song by Blackpink, like the robot wants to cheer her up. She glares at his round opaque metal face, with its gumdrop eyes and pouty little snaggletooth mouth. His little ears wiggle. The music stops.

Yiwei hasn’t broken out of his pose. “Don’t give up yet. We barely got started.”

Rachael is already putting away her art supplies, with a throatful of sour. “No point bashing my head against the wall. There’s something seriously wrong with me.”

“Your brain got jacked by that doomsday machine,” Yiwei says. “None of us could have done what you did, and of course it took a toll on you. I bet the aftereffects will wear off eventually.”

Rachael shakes her head. “If it was going to wear off, it would have.”

The best brain experts from a hundred planets did every test twice, and they all said there was nothing they could do. Rachael used the art-making part of her brain to control an ancient superweapon at the head of a butterfly made of starlit threads—and now, every time she sets out to create art, her brain tries to connect with that weapon, and she freezes.

She’ll probably never make art again. This is killing her.

“Everyone owes you a debt that’s impossible to calculate.” Yiwei maintains eye contact with Rachael as he puts on his Space Pants. “You saved all our lives—not only me and the other Earthlings, but everybody, everywhere. You’re the galaxy’s number-one hero.”

Whenever Yiwei says things like that, it’s like he’s lowering a huge weight onto the space between her shoulder blades.

*   *   *

Rachael steps out of the Royal Academy dormitory (where she’s sharing a suite with Tina and Damini) and winces. She would give anything to be able to draw this skyline.

Off in the distance, she can see the curved crystal fingers of the Palace of Scented Tears, the walls of the Wishing Maze, the multicolored lights of Gamertown, and the truthspike at the center of the Space Academy campus. More walkways crisscross underneath the one she stands on, as far down as she can see.

The whole city is at her fingertips, thanks to the blue-and-white-striped puff that floats next to her. Her Joiner has little googly eyes and a slanted grin, and it bounces when it delivers a new message.

JoinerTalk, Damini to Rachael: Rachael, everyone at the academy wants to meet you!!!! You’re famous! In a good way, I promise. Can I bring some kids over to the dorm later???

When Rachael gets a “text” from one of her friends on her Joiner, the words appear in a cloud that only she can see. But also? She kind of “hears” their voices in her head, and “sees” their faces, like living emojis, in her mind’s eye. When she replies, she sometimes forgets to smile back.

Wentrolo, the main city in Her Majesty’s Firmament, has 150 million people living in it, from a few thousand planets. Everybody has a place to live, because the buildings are constantly changing shape. (Today, a bunch of the nearby buildings are shaped like ampersands, but a few days ago, they were teardrop-shaped.) There’s no money—you can get anything you want for free, as long as you help other people occasionally.

Even if all you want is just to hide from everyone.

*   *   *

Stuff Rachael thinks about when she’s hiding out in her room and not making art:

I hope my parents checked on Tina’s mom. Maybe the three of them are better friends now?

What if someone farted in the middle of the Javarah Smell Ceremony?

If I had all my old Supernatural AU fanfic with me, I could publish it on the JoinerShare and nobody would know what it was based on. A whole bunch of aliens would think I invented Sam and Dean, and they always worked together at a truck-stop diner.

Even though we’re all here together, I miss the other Earthlings so much.

If I stare at the wall long enough, I can see patterns in the tiny cracks.

*   *   *

Wentrolo feels like a small town most of the time. Rachael only sees the neighborhoods she’s interested in, and she has her Joiner set to maximum privacy, so nobody notices the “war hero” walking among them.

Most of the time, anyway.

Right now, a familiar voice comes from behind her.

“Honored Rachael Townsend!”

She ignores the shouts. Instead, she gazes down at a family of Javarah who are playing with their kids, one level below. Adult Javarah look like fox-people, but their kids are shiny and blue, with no fur yet.

“Esteemed Rachael Townsend! Please wait up!”

Here comes Senior Visioner Moxx (he/him), a large Ghulg (with tusks going up the sides of his face past his eyes). The left sleeve of his cranberry-colored uniform scrolls with his medals and commendations from the Royal Fleet, under an insignia that reads WE GOT YOUR BACK. He strides toward Rachael, as if he’s about to take command of a planet.

The sight of this swaggering warthog-man brings back memories of high school. Moxx isn’t going to fat-shame Rachael or throw her stuff in the trash, but his body language is way too familiar.

“Gracious Rachael Townsend, may you walk in gentle sunlight and sleep under bright stars.” That’s how a Royal Fleet officer greets a civilian in the Firmament.

Rachael knows the correct response, but she only gives him a tiny nod.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages!” Moxx grimaces, making his tusks lift up to his neon-red hair. “We want to give you the Royal Fleet’s highest commendation, the white half spiral, for your role in the Battle of Antarràn.”

Sometime in the past few months, people started talking about the Battle of Antarràn. Rachael prefers to call it “that time we got trapped in a mausoleum and a bunch of people died for no reason.”

“There’ll be a ceremony, and you will deliver a speech. Everyone will attend,” Moxx says.

Ugh. Hard pass.

“Why am I the one getting an award?” Rachael stammers. “I bet Tina would love the white half spiral. Or Damini, or Elza.”

“You’re the one who actually saved us all.” Moxx fidgets. “Additionally, your friends are enrolled in the Royal Academy, the princess selection program, and the ambassador program. It wouldn’t be appropriate to single out any of them.”

Rachael’s stressing out, which is when the headaches start.

Moxx is still talking. “You are the only one who’s ever communicated with the Shapers. I mean, uh . . . the Vayt. You told us that they warned you about some terrible threat. Something that we don’t know how to fight is coming for us. Everyone is more scared than they want to admit. We need your help!”

And with the headaches come glimpses of . . . something. A terrible presence scritches at the underside of Rachael’s brain, leaving an impression of distorted flesh, glistening like lukewarm soup—things no human was ever meant to see. Rachael can almost hear them shriek, the way they sometimes do in her dreams.

Rachael always had a little voice in her head feeding her anxiety, telling her that everything was already ruined. Now that voice has a personality of its own, and it’s the people who took away her ability to make art. The Vayt.

“I told you everything I know,” Rachael mutters. “I don’t exactly get a clear message from the Vayt, and the connection only goes one way.”

She takes a breath, and then another, until the headache fades.

When Rachael wasn’t being examined by doctors to figure out why she can’t do art anymore, she was getting prodded by experts trying to understand the Vayt, the mysterious creatures who rigged the entire galaxy to put human-shaped people on top. The weapon Rachael controlled was part of the Vayt’s plan to protect against some mystery threat to everyone, everywhere—all she knows is, the danger is already here, and time is running out.

So they attached brain-gargoyles to Rachael’s head (she still has bite marks on her scalp). She spent a day doing Aribentoran poetic meditation, where she tried to doubt everything. She went inside a smoke-cocoon. She even got a hug from a one-eyed Oonian cuddle-priest who was way too handsy.

Damini keeps fretting that Rachael could suffer serious damage if she tries too hard to dial in to these nightmares.

“I was thinking,” Moxx says, “you could try going into what the Javarah call the urrl zatkaz. It is a type of restorative coma.”

Rachael sighs. “Do you really think it’ll do any good?”

Moxx has the worst poker face in the universe. His tusks go sideways and his big eyes unmistakably say nah. But he stammers, “It’s . . . worth a try. We have to try everything.”

“One coma was enough for me. Sorry.”

“It’s not entirely like a coma,” Moxx says. “I did some research and found the Earth term ‘spa day.’ You never know, maybe this will—”

Rachael flicks her left ring finger. Xiaohou responds by doing a happy backflip and blasting some CrudePink music.

She walks away, with Xiaohou on one side and her Joiner on the other. Xiaohou has gotten upgraded so many times, he no longer has any visible speakers or cameras, and he looks more like a metal monkey. He can actually swing by his tail.

JoinerTalk, Rachael to Tina: ugh moxx again. this time he wants to put me in another coma, for funsies

JoinerTalk, Tina to Rachael: this is NOT what the Royal Fleet is about. We do not force people to undergo medical experiments

JoinerTalk, Tina to Rachael: do you need me to come down there? i can ditch school

JoinerTalk, Rachael to Tina: nah i got this

“Honored Rachael Townsend!” Moxx shouts over the CrudePink. “Please don’t turn away.” He rushes after her. “You must understand! The galaxy is at a breaking point, and we need answers!”

Rachael walks on, and the CrudePink gets louder. It’s that song about getting burned to nothing by a supernova and then your fried atoms coast through space for a billion years, until they drift down to a planet and become part of someone’s lunch, and they choke on your billion-year-old ashes. Super catchy.

“We’ve had teams of scientists examining the Vayt machine in the Antarràn system,” Moxx yells. “And nobody has been able to connect with it the way you did. It’s completely shut down.”

Not my problem.

“Gracious Rachael Townsend, please!” Moxx shouts.

Rachael does another hand signal, and her Joiner summons a barge, which glides right next to her. A moment later she’s flying over the city, and Moxx is a tiny speck.

*   *   *

Joinerguide: Life in Her Majesty’s Firmament

Welcome to Wentrolo, a stunning achievement in urban design. Right at the center of the Glorious Nebula, Wentrolo is the capital of Her Majesty’s Firmament, resting on top of an oval made out of pure starstone. We have everything we could ever need, including our own private sun.

Around half a million people arrived in Wentrolo on the same day you did, but don’t worry: this city keeps growing to make room for everybody.

There’s so much to see here. There’s the Palace of Scented Tears, where the queen and her Privy Council help to decide the fate of worlds. Tourists aren’t allowed inside the palace, but you can explore the outside, not to mention the beautiful Peacebringer Square, and the Wishing Maze—which might just change your life. Elsewhere, there’s the Royal Space Academy, the majestic Royal Command Post, and the Garden of Starships. But also! You can play every game in Gamertown, get anything you might need in the Stroke or the other shopping districts, or learn about the traditions of a hundred different worlds in their separate neighborhoods.

But don’t feel overwhelmed! The device you hold in your hand, that little ball of fur looking up at you right now, is your key to finding your way around this city. Your Joiner will help you to locate whatever you need, and you can also decide just how much city you’re ready to handle at any given time.

You don’t need money, or any other sort of device, as long as you’ve got your Joiner. Your fuzzy friend will follow you around like a pet. In exchange for all this abundance, your Joiner might occasionally ask you to do favors for other people: like if someone needs help moving furniture, or delivering something, you’ll be asked to lend a hand. Here in Wentrolo, we all help each other—and we’re so happy to see you here.

2.

Rachael almost heads to the Slanted Prism, her favorite arcade in Gamertown. She’s gotten hooked on WorstBestFriend, a game where you try to create an evil imaginary friend who tears down your self-esteem. (Rachael’s fake friend is named Chloe—she’s blond and adorable and totally sadistic.)

JoinerTalk, Yiwei to Rachael: miss u! we just had a class in cycle theory

JoinerTalk, Yiwei to Rachael: all about how to break cycles of violence and create peaceful cycles instead. So so cool!

But that conversation with Moxx weighs on her mind. Plus, she stares at the shape-shifting cityscape and imagines never being able to draw any of this. Art wasn’t something Rachael did, it was who she was.

So Rachael uses her Joiner to ping her best friend.

JoinerTalk, Rachael to Tina: Hey. I’m finally gonna do it. I need moral support.

JoinerTalk, Tina to Rachael: “moral support” is totally the name of my next starship. meet u there!

Now Rachael’s committed. She steers her barge in the direction of the Wishing Maze.

*   *   *

Tina has somehow gotten taller than the last time Rachael saw her—at least six-foot-four—and her skin is a brighter shade of violet. Plus she’s started wearing jewels in her cheeks and jawline, so she looks a lot more like Captain Thaoh Argentian, the Makvarian hero she was cloned from. (Long story: Rachael and Tina were best friends back on Earth, but then Tina turned out to be an alien clone who was left on Earth as a baby.) Tina’s uniform looks a lot like Moxx’s, except it’s paler (because she’s a cadet) and instead of ranks and honors, her left sleeve displays a bloodred oval from that one time when she disobeyed orders. Her right sleeve displays one of the best pictures Rachael ever drew: out-of-control wildflowers.

The moment Rachael sees Tina, she feels better. Tina offers her a hug and she says yes, and then she’s embracing her bestie and babbling about her random ideas for comics. For a heartbeat, Rachael can pretend the two of them are back home, heading inside the 23-Hour Coffee Bomb to eat donuts and doodle in the last booth on the left under the big speaker.

As they walk across Peacebringer Square toward the entrance to the Wishing Maze, Rachael tells Tina more about Moxx’s plans to give her a medal and put her in a coma (maybe not at the same time). “I don’t want to be anyone’s savior, I want to lock myself in my room for a year and not speak to anyone. Even Yiwei. Even you.”

Rachael glances up at Tina, anxiously. Tina’s friendly expression looks the same as always, though her face is a different shape and there are jewels over her dimples.

“I know!” Tina says. “It’s not just that you’re missing a creative outlet. It’s more like, making art was your safe place where you could recharge your batteries, when people got to be too much. Right? And you don’t have that anymore, at least not right now. So of course socializing is going to be tough, even when it comes to the people you’re closest to.”

Best friend: the person who gets you when no one else does.

“It’s okay to be messed up by what you went through. Nobody’s expecting you to be suddenly fine,” Tina adds.

Rachael feels some of the tension drain from her neck, her wrists, her spine.

The two of them get lost in the Wishing Maze, where the walls are at least twenty feet tall, made of a stone that looks like granite.

“I feel like a bad girlfriend,” Rachael says. “Yiwei is having this awesome life at the academy, and I’m holding him back. And . . . remember Lou?”

Tina has to think for a moment, then she nods. Lou was the sculpture guy with the great eyebrows who had a whirlwind romance with Rachael at art camp, the summer after ninth grade. They were madly in love, for five weeks.

“We were great for each other at camp, because we shared all this camp stuff, and we went through this intense camp experience together, and I feel like I just said the word ‘camp’ a hundred times. Our relationship only made sense in those nasty cabins.” Rachael always feels self-conscious mentioning her exes because Tina never had a real relationship until Elza.

“You and Yiwei did not go to art camp together,” Tina says. “You crossed the galaxy and had each other’s backs in a hundred life-or-death situations. All six of us are bonded for life.”

“Yiwei got to know me at my best, is the point.” Rachael stops trudging and stares at her pale shadow on the wall. “And now I’m . . . not. At my best.” She rocks on her feet for a moment, thinking of the revolting voice in her head, sliming her thoughts. “And meanwhile? His ex, Jiasong, is a turbo-genius who helped him start a half-robot rock band. I could never live up to that.”

Tina snorts. “Whatever.”

Dead end. They turn and retrace their steps. The shadows lengthen.

“All I want,” Tina says, “is to do what you did for me: remind you you don’t have to be anyone, or anything, other than Rachael Townsend.”

Rachael’s shadow stiffens. She can’t talk, and then she can. “Yeah. Except . . . who I am is kind of a moving target.”

“That’s okay too.” Tina’s smile has gotten bigger, along with everything else.

They’re definitely close to the center, where wishes can maybe come true.

“I think we’re almost there,” Rachael says.

Rachael’s feet are sore by the time they find the statue at the heart of the Wishing Maze: Untho Kaash, a skull-faced Aribentor who was the founder of Her Majesty’s Firmament. She pulls out the wafer she got from an artisan in the Stroke, and writes on it: “I wish I could make art again.” Just writing those words makes her want to ugly-cry.

Tina raises a big purple thumb.

Rachael reaches up to Untho Kaash’s skull-face and sticks the wafer inside.

A moment later, it’s gone. He ate it!

Someone is watching Rachael and Tina from the nearest bend of the Wishing Maze. The stranger waves at Rachael—then ducks around the corner before she can get a good look at them.

Tina and Rachael rush after this mystery person and catch sight of them rounding the next turn. Rachael almost knocks over a sunflower in a smock, who hisses at her to watch where she’s going.

Another turn, another glimpse of the stranger disappearing from view.

“You go left,” Tina says. “I’ll go right.”

Rachael nods and veers left, but she doesn’t see her stalker. Until she notices an opening in the wall that you can only see if you’re looking right at it. The opening leads to a junction, where the stranger is looking right at Rachael. They’re a Javarah—a fox/cat-person—with an elegant furry snout. And on top of their head sits . . . a tiara? With glowing lights rippling and flowing directly inside this person’s skull.

The queen. Rachael has been chasing the queen around the Wishing Maze.

She lowers herself to one knee. “Your . . . your, uh, Radiance?”

The queen grins and waggles her ears, like she’s trying not to laugh at Rachael’s courtly manners.

She points to a hand-painted red box on the ground next to her, and vanishes. Like: poof!

Tina runs up, panting, and she gapes at the look on Rachael’s face.

Joinergram, 83 Days Before Newsun, From: Tina Mains To: Rachael Townsend

It’s true! I see you all the time—though I still miss you like a fiend when we’re not hanging out.

There’s a hologram of you in the entry hall of the Royal Space Academy, looking metal AF. Gritting your teeth, white-knuckling your fists. You’re right next to the renowned Smaa the Monntha—and two spaces down from the legendary Thaoh Argentian.

Before you say it . . . sure. There’s a part of me, a teeny smidgen, that wishes it was me there. But then everybody would be looking to me for answers instead of you—and I would probably pretend to have some, and it would be a whole disaster. Right?

It’s weird here. Fun, but weird.

The academy is the size of a small city, with these huge mustache-twirls out front, and a courtyard with the super-tall truthspike. And a ton of classroom buildings—and out back, there’s the Garden of Starships. Rows of wriggly spreeflowers grow between a dozen newly built ships, waiting to take off and fly somewhere.

This two-year program is designed to start out by teaching us history, going back to the Seven-Pointed Empire, which ruled most of the galaxy for ages and then collapsed. And then there were years of chaos until something new came along: the Royal Fleet. We’re supposed to get a common understanding of the past, and build from there.

But the Royal Fleet is shorthanded, and the garden is bursting with the new ships they’re frantically building. So instead of learning the basics first, they’re throwing us at the wall right away. We’ve spent hours in the simulator, practicing how to dive out of a spaceship into a planet’s atmosphere.

I keep hearing that the war with the Compassion is going downhill. Our big ships can’t be everywhere at once, and the smaller ships are getting pasted. The leader of the Compassion, Kankakn, is stepping up to take charge of the fight, and people don’t even mention her without lowering their voices.

At least Damini is having the time of her life. She’s made a new friend: this girl named Zaeta, who has ninety-nine eyes in between little fish scales, and the weirdest cutest laugh. Zaeta is the only person I’ve met who loves danger and weird puzzles as much as Damini.

Soon we’re going to start learning to do combat, and I’m . . . gonna have a problem. I made everyone promise I wouldn’t have to fight, but I shoulda known it’d never be that easy. The top brass at the academy, like Wyahaar and Barthanoth, keep grumbling that they have to make a special curriculum for me. Plus whenever I see that hologram of Captain Argentian, her smoky gaze gives me a soul-rash. Which is why I look two spaces over, instead. At you.

Can’t wait to help you figure out that red box, and why the queen wanted you to have it. Maybe we can work on it after school today? Slanted Prism. I’ll get the snah-snah juice!

3.

Gamertown always messes with Rachael’s eyes at first.

Her barge descends past a dozen towers, blaring with candy-colored lights. Holographic gameplay swirls around the rooftops and cartoon icons run around under a skyline dominated by the crimson curlicues of the nearby Royal Space Academy. Even with Rachael’s Joiner set to “maximum introvert” mode, the shouts of a half-million players and spectators still ring out, and she can smell the fried Scanthian parsnips and bottles of snah-snah juice that everybody uses to fuel marathon gaming sessions.

Ugh, the more I see this place, the more I need to draw it. Wish things would stop looking like a dream all the time.

Like every other neighborhood in Wentrolo, Gamertown changes its layout and architecture to make room for more and more visitors. But Rachael’s main hangout, the Slanted Prism, always looks the same.

JoinerTalk, Yiwei to Group: Rachael where are you? everyone else is here.

JoinerTalk, Kez to Group: i’m already on my fifth snah-snah juice!

On the outside, the Slanted Prism looks like a chunky box turned sideways and resting on one corner, with walls made out of mirrors that refract the light into rippling colors. A ramp leads through a big arch, and then you’re on the inside, where the tilted walls shine like mirrors, catching the light from a hundred games of Ringforge, YayJump!, and Rachael’s favorite, WorstBestFriend.

Everybody sits on floating cushions, or invisible chairs. Groups of people cluster together around their own holographic gameplay.

Rachael makes her way through the big front area, where some of the game noises remind her way too much of being on an actual starship under attack. Then she reaches one of the private rooms, with undulating walls that look like marble, and finds her friends from Earth sitting around a large holographic sun: Kez, Tina, Damini, Elza, and Yiwei.

They’re playing RingForge: everyone tries to be the first one to build a ring around a star. And Yiwei is winning.

“I am so sexy right now, I can’t stand it,” Yiwei roars. “I heard if you win three games in a row, you get a dancing-sun tattoo that everyone can see through your clothes. It’s going to look so tough.”

Kez hoots and then knocks a planetoid out of orbit, shattering part of Yiwei’s crystalline ring structure. “Whoops. I’m sorry, were you using that?”

Yiwei curses and vows revenge for this heinous act of sabotage.

Today, Kez is using she/her pronouns. She came out as gender-fluid a while ago, and now she has a new, rotating set of pronouns. Rachael would be anxious about screwing up and hurting Kez’s feelings—except that the EverySpeak makes it impossible to use the wrong pronoun by mistake. Even if you did misgender Kez, the EverySpeak would treat this as a miscommunication and make sure that nobody else heard it.

Damini leans way over to the left to swerve her ringbuilder ship, and drags a whole ton of space dust into her ring. “Hah!” She’s wearing her long black hair up, over her round laughing face, with a dash of red between her eyebrows.

Tina notices Rachael standing in the doorway, and pauses the game. “Hey, Rachael,” Tina says.

“Oh, hi!” Kez leaps to her feet. She’s wearing her new trainee ambassador uniform, a million strands of gold crisscrossing her entire body, from neck to knees, over a white tunic. All of that gold sets off her high cheekbones and wide dark eyes. She’s styled her hair into twists, and she looks ready to negotiate a peace treaty between a dozen planets.

All the Earthlings surround Rachael, chattering and asking questions, and it’s actually . . . nice. They’re not a crowd, they’re family. The big crimson sun flickers in the middle of the room, surrounded by five half-finished rings.

“You met the queen!” Damini says. “Was she gorgeous? I bet she was gorgeous.”

“I’m not jealous you got to meet the queen,” Tina says.

“I hope you put in a good word for me.” Elza laughs.

“And she gave you a present!” Kez says.

“I’m not jealous at all,” Tina says.

Rachael pulls the red box out of her satchel and shows it to everyone. In the light of the holographic sun, she can see all the little brushstrokes from whoever painted it, and the little flourishes carved into the sides and top.

“It’s beautiful,” Damini says. “Is it a puzzle?”

“No idea,” Rachael says. “I don’t know how to work it.”

Damini finds a hidden catch and the box opens to reveal a scene inside a single room. A Makvarian family: three parents with purple skin and jewels on their faces, fussing over a newborn baby. There are tiny nubs in two of the four corners, and when Damini plays with them, the scene shifts, and the baby is suddenly a toddler and the three parents are older.

“Here, let me try.” Yiwei adjusts the little nubs again. The toddler grows up before Rachael’s eyes, until they’re an adult.

This box contains every single moment in that baby’s life.

“How did somebody make this?” Damini turns the box over and over. “It’s not holographic. I can’t find a mechanism.”

“According to my Joiner, it’s called a layered panopticon, because you can see the story from every angle, and every point in time,” Kez says. “Are you sure you want to be messing with this? You’re still recovering from the last time you did the Royal Fleet’s dirty work for them.”

Kez grew up with a control-freak dad who put tons of pressure on her to be perfect and wanted her to join the family business, making weapons and high-tech surveillance gear, so now all she wants to do is help people make peace instead of joining an alien military.

“This is different. I think.” Rachael can’t keep her eyes off the box and the tiny people inside. “I asked for help with my art problem, and this was the answer.”

“I’ll see what I can find out when I go to the palace,” Elza says. Then she raises her hands to her face, swaying a little. “Oh, I’m going to the palace soon! I need to sit down.” She plunks herself down on a flying pillow, and Tina fetches her some snah-snah juice.

*   *   *

Now that Rachael knows how the box works, she spends hours poking at it, alone in her room. Somehow this thing contains the story of a whole life, lived inside a single room: love, joy, sadness, grossness, longing, despair, hope.

The longer Rachael plays with the layered panopticon, the more she learns about the person whose birth and death are the beginning and end of the story. One time she “peels” to a moment where this protagonist is a teenager, and they’re kissing someone else, with their unlaced shirt sliding down off one shoulder.

She flips ahead, and these same two lovers are standing over what looks like a corpse.

The whole thing looks handcrafted, but what kind of hand could do this? And why would the queen give it to her?

Did the main character of this story-in-a-box murder someone? With the help of their lover? What was that body doing at their feet?

How the hell do you pack so many scenes into this one tiny box?

Every time Rachael asks how the box works, Tina rattles off more jargon.

But Damini responds: “It’s art. Which means it’s kind of magic, right?”

*   *   *

Journeyguide: So You Lost a Loved One in the Abduction. Why Did This Happen?

The Abduction. The Reaping. Whatever name you prefer, this was a defining trauma for a whole generation.

We watched in horror as glowing windows opened up in midair, and streaks of pure energy grabbed our loved ones, on every planet where humanoids live. Our friends, our family members, were twisted into horrifying shapes, and then pulled inside some kind of nightmare space, to be lost forever. Anyone who wasn’t present has seen the recordings. There’s not enough therapy in the universe.

How could this have happened? Who could have done such a thing?

We soon realized this was the answer to a mystery we’d been trying to solve for a long time: the mystery of the Shapers.

When you look at the most advanced species in the galaxy, they all have one thing in common: the same basic shape. Two arms, two legs, and one head on top (usually with two eyes, two ears, and two nostrils.) For a very long time, we all believed that this was natural: humanoids were just better at everything, and that’s why we ruled the galaxy.

Then, about forty NewSuns ago, we learned the truth. Someone with unthinkable power had given us two-legged people an unfair advantage, long before any of us were recording our history. These mysterious people traveled around and whenever they found creatures with a humanoid shape, they provided help and support. When they found people who were shaped differently, with more than two legs (or tentacles or slimetrails instead of legs), they sabotaged and ruined them—or just wiped them out altogether.

This was the greatest crime in history, and every wealthy planet had benefited from it.

So who were these ancient fiends? For a long time, we knew nothing about them. We called them the Shapers, and we believed that they looked like us (two legs and all). And they had evolved into a higher form—become gods!—and they wanted to help us evolve as well. That was a comforting fairy tale that we liked to tell each other.

The truth was much darker.

At the same time that the Abduction was happening on so many worlds, the Battle of Antarràn was raging. From the survivors of that battle, we learned the truth: the so-called Shapers were actually called the Vayt. They were nothing like us, at all, and they hadn’t helped our ancestors because they wished us well.

The Vayt were losing a war, an eternity ago, against an enemy that we still know nothing about. So they devised some sort of ultimate weapon, made out of living bodies as well as technology—and this weapon needed billions of humanoid bodies as raw material. At the Battle of Antarràn, this weapon was activated for a brief time.

So when you think about that vision of people being crushed into unnatural shapes and then pulled into a sickening void, remember that the people who created that weapon were afraid of something even worse.

4.

Drowning choking nothing but greasy chills flooding her nose and mouth—all life, everywhere, dead and forgotten—too late too late, death is coming—

Rachael wakes with a lurch, and for a moment the thunder in her chest and the shallow fast breaths in her ears drown out everything. Then she closes her eyes and gets a grip. Just another nightmare.

Another useless warning from the Vayt.

*   *   *

Rachael has never seen Kez (she/her) look so powerful. Kez always used to seem twitchy, neurotic—but now she holds her head high, even with the higher gravity in the Irriyaian Quarter, and she strides forward as if she’s thrilled to be settling a family squabble. It’s part of her ambassador training: before you can make peace between worlds, you need to practice mediating neighborhood disputes.

“Every day I get to do some good for somebody,” Kez tells Rachael as they stroll through the twisty snaggly streets. “If only my father could see me now. He would be furious.”

Rachael nods. She’s barely spoken two words so far, but Kez doesn’t seem to mind that she’s having one of her extreme introvert phases.

All the buildings are made of a shimmering rock that looks like quartz, and the sunlight looks a bit redder than elsewhere in Wentrolo. Almost everyone else here is Irriyaian: tall, bulky, with bony studs coming out of their bald heads and necks, and colorful tiger stripes on their skin.

She can’t resist thinking about how she’d capture all of this, if she still had that power. The best angle to show the whole sprawling scene, the direction the light should come from. Her head starts to throb again—she cannot handle any alien visions right now. She closes her eyes and tries to think about Kez’s new gig instead.

“The only bad part is when people serve up some microaggressions.” Kez sucks in air through her teeth. “Which is . . . often. They look at me and see a ‘lesser humanoid.’”

“That sucks.” Rachael can’t hear the phrase “lesser humanoid” without hearing Marrant sneer at her and her friends on the worst day of her life.

“It really does.” Kez shakes her head. “Everywhere you go, there are hierarchies within hierarchies. You and I are at the top of one heap, simply because we have two arms and legs, but we’re also at the bottom of a different heap. It’s weird, but also strangely familiar.”

“Because you were part of the upper class back home,” Rachael murmurs.

“Right. Except that everyone went out of their way to make me feel unworthy, because I was a second-generation immigrant. It does your head in.”

Rachael beams up at her. “You’re going to go home and become the most important person in human history. Those jerks can suck it.”

“They can. They really can.”

Kez obsessively checks the directions on her Joiner. Left, right, around the hairpin corner, and at last they arrive at a house made out of a curved slice of polished stone, in the old style of Irriyaian architecture (according to Kez). An older Irriyaian, with gnarled head-spikes, sits on a long bench in front of a window shaped like a peacock.

Kez holds up her golden medallion and says, “Mediator-in-training Kez Oduya, here to see Renna the Nahhi. Ummm . . . the light of reason shines where our vision fails.”

Renna the Nahhi (he/him) is the old dude on the bench, and he’s spitting mad over a floatbeast that’s belonged to his family for generations.

The floatbeast, named Vha, used to hover over Renna’s house like a big balloon made of flesh, and provide cooling shade and delicious bloodmilk. But then Vha split into three smaller floatbeasts, which happens sometimes. One of those three smaller floatbeasts went missing for ages, until at last it turned up—and it had become part of another floatbeast, belonging to a lady called Jyiri the Nahhi. This is the kind of thing that would have led to duels and face-painting, back in the day.

“Vha would never have abandoned me, even after splitting apart,” Renna grumbles. “Jyiri the Nahhi must have used powdered floatbeast extract to lure Vha into breaking into pieces, so she could steal the most precious part of the beast: the hindquarters.”

“So Jyiri insists that your floatbeast just divided up on its own,” Kez says. “And its—uhhhh—its butt just randomly drifted over to her farm and became part of her floatbeast, before she even knew what was going on.”

“She would say that. She lies about everything. She’s been scheming to take what’s mine since we were in school.” Renna slaps his bench, his big fish eyes glaring. “I want her to return Vha’s hindquarters to me, and I want payment for my emotional suffering and distress.”

Kez listens to all of Renna’s bellyaching as if this were a vitally important controversy. But she does keep pointing out, gently, that you can’t tell where Jyiri’s floatbeast Reo ends and the piece of Vha begins.

Rachael would not have the patience for this, not in a million years.

“Can I arrange a meeting between you and Jyiri?” Kez asks at the end of Renna’s tirade. “So the two of you can try to work this out in person?”

Renna sputters for a while, but finally agrees. “Allow me to do you a service in turn: when you travel back through the Irriyaian Quarter, avoid the main gate. There could be some unpleasantness that you might wish to avoid.” He flashes a toothy grimace.

Kez just shrugs and ushers Rachael out of there.

As they walk back down the steep slope toward the main part of the Irriyaian Quarter, Rachael whispers, “So how exactly are you going to resolve their dispute? There’s no way Renna’s getting his floatbeast butt back. Right?”

Kez nods. “Yeah, but this isn’t about a floatbeast at all. It’s about the stuff Irriyaians always obsess over: respect, status within the Nahhi nation, and control over land. Jyiri can give Renna some clippings from her snah-snah vines, and they can invite each other for dinner. And when Jyiri’s floatbeast breaks into pieces, Jyiri can give a piece to Renna. Simple enough, really.”

“You’re good at this,” Rachael says.

They’re right near the main gate, which Renna told them to avoid. Spiky reeds grow out of the top of the arch.

Rachael can hear voices coming from near the gate, like the shrieking of banshees. Plus a loud crack, over and over, that could be some kind of alien drum or actual violence.

Kez tenses up, like this is bringing back horrible memories, and steers Rachael toward one of the side entrances. They take side streets until they’re on one of the main streets, with a clear view of what’s happening back at the main gate.

Irriyaians wearing black clothing are shouting something—it’s more a roar than a slogan. A few aliens (including a couple of “lesser humanoids”) try to come through the gate, but they get grabbed and thrown on the ground by the mob. Rachael doesn’t see what happens to them after that. Rachael and Kez sneak a bit closer.

JoinerTalk, Kez to Group: uh, i hate to bother you all in the middle of what i am certain is something v important

JoinerTalk, Kez to Group: but you might want to come and have a look at this

JoinerTalk, Tina to Group: i’ll be there as soon as i can

JoinerTalk, Yiwei to Group: i’m on my way right now

“This shouldn’t be allowed to happen here,” Kez mutters. “I thought this was a safe place. I thought—”

Then she stops. And stares.

Near the gate is a big structure that looks like a black cake topper. In front of it stands an Irriyaian, facing the mob, wearing a black jacket . . . with a familiar red slash painted across the chest.

“They took our people,” the person with the red slash shouts, loud enough to hear over the music. “Someone pulled our friends, our co-parents, our children, into holes that appeared out of nowhere. They were stolen, screaming for their lives, and lost forever. Nobody is doing anything. We need stronger leadership. Scratch that, we need leadership.”

“What the hell,” Rachael says. “Are they . . .”

“. . . recruiting people to join the Compassion?” Kez says. “Yeah. But that’s not the worst part.”

Rachael finally gets a good view of the apex of the cake topper.

A hologram shows a recording of a Irriyaian—a kid, younger than Rachael—shouldering a ginormous weapon and shouting, “For freedom! For Irriyaia!” The kid shoots at some fire-breathing monsters, and they’re torn into bloody chunks. The kid’s shoes are spattered with brightly colored blood and guts.

Rachael stares at this young action hero: ripped clothes, gritted teeth, glaring eyes. And then she realizes who it is.

Yatto the Monntha.

The gentle soul who made Rachael feel at home when she’d just left behind everything she ever knew. Who told her that there is no greater valor than to create beauty.

“This must be one of the action movies that Yatto starred in when they were young,” Kez says.

This is way more violent than Rachael expected: Yatto shoots into a swarm of fire-breathing creatures, so their bodies are all torn apart and pieces land everywhere.

Tina comes running up. “Are you okay? What’s happen—” She follows Rachael’s gaze, and her jaw falls open. “Is that . . . ?”

“’Fraid so,” Rachael says. “The Compassion are using Yatto as a mascot.”

“They said those movies celebrated the ugly past,” Kez says, “when Irriyaia dominated the rest of the galaxy as part of the Seven-Pointed Empire.”

Rachael sways on her feet. Tina helps her to lean against the nearby wall. She keeps remembering the fire in Yatto’s eyes as they fake-murdered a bunch of creatures.

Tina whispers in Rachael’s ear. “Listen, I think something is coming. Something really bad.” She glances at the video of young Yatto, shooting a red-hot burst out of their cannon. “I don’t think the queen gave you that box just to help you out with your problem. I think we need to solve that puzzle soon, before it’s too late. For all of us.”

Rachael pulls the red box out of her satchel and stares at it again.

It’s still just a box, full of love and murder. And no answers.

Joinergram, 78 Days Before Newsun, From: Tina Mains To: Elza Monteiro

Hey cutie. You’re sleeping in my bed, and instead of lying next to you I’m recording this, because I can’t sleep and I’m an eternal uber-dork. You might notice this message waiting on your Joiner when you wake, but I hope you don’t open it until you get to the Palace of Scented Tears.

Still not sure how much we’ll be able to communicate while you’re in the selection process, and I want you to be able to see me telling you how much you mean to me.

Here are some things I could never tell you face-to-face:

I’m scared all the time.

I feel like I’m never going to be enough. Like I can never be the person everyone needs me to be. Even after everything we’ve been through, I can’t trust that I’ll know what to do when things get hard.

I miss my mom. I miss the Lasagna Hats. I even kind of miss my cruddy high school. I have all these fantasies about taking you home and showing you where I grew up. I want you to show me around São Paulo, too. I want to dance to Brazilian funk with you until we get lost in the beats and the feeling of the crowd moving around us.

I’m scared if I ever make it home to Earth, people will freak out at the sight of a giant purple girl, and call the police. Or animal control.

You know what I’m not scared of? I’m not worried that you’ll let anyone down, or that you won’t seize your dreams with both hands. I know you’ll outsmart all the haters, and the princess selection program will never know what hit it. You have such a beautiful ferocious heart, I don’t question you’ll be a star.

I don’t know if you’ll get to be a princess, because life is weird. I’m living proof that things don’t always work out the way they’re supposed to—but I know you will keep growing into your power.

Soon you’re going to wake up and I’m going to walk you over to one of the hundred golden doorways that will open up to let in all the kids who want to become princesses. The whole thing is designed to look intimidating, but you’ll ace this, and I’ll stay with you as long as I can.

Soon, everything will be different. I’ll be a seasoned cadet in the Royal Space Academy, and I’ll probably be better at saluting and doing math in my head. I’ll be wearing my new uniform, which makes the ones we were wearing on the Indomitable look like worn-out pajamas.

And you’ll have been hanging out inside the palace, rubbing elbows with the people who run the galaxy.

We’ll both be closer to the people we were meant to be. I can’t wait for the new me to meet the new you.

I love you, Elza. There, I said it. I never want to stop saying it. Love you love you love you.

Oh, damn, you’re waking up. I gotta go. Byeeee!

ELZA

5.

Elza would have sworn her heart was crushed into such a tiny space, she could never pry it open again.

But then she fell in love at first sight. Twice.

First, with an obnoxious girl in a ripped space suit who dropped out of the sky.

And then with the Palace of Scented Tears.

Elza stands in the Royal Receiving Room and feels something open all the way up inside her, like wonder is flooding into every tiny nerve and capillary. She soaks up every detail.

A million crystal wings flutter and shift overhead. The walls are made of spun sugar that catches the light and looks like it’d crack at a single touch. Attendants bustle around the room, wearing colorful clothes made of some fabric like silk, and everything in here is alive—if you talk to anything in the palace, it’ll talk back.