Though rarely used, the Lepidopterix ship did have prison cells. It was a small, dark, bare room. It had perhaps had more in it at one point, but it had gone years, maybe generations unused and what it contained had been broken down and recycled by the replicator system. Amber tried asking for a bed at least, but the computer was no longer acknowledging her requests.

She’d been sitting in the dark room almost an hour when Atropos was pushed through the door to join her. She leapt to her feet to catch him as he stumbled, and he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “What happened? I was so afraid that he’d killed you.”

“I am fine,” he said, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What about you? Your face—”

“My face is nothing,” Amber said dismissively. “It’s just a black eye. Your wings . . .”

“They don’t hurt,” he assured her. “The damage is easily repaired.”

Or it would be, if they were not about to be executed. They left that unsaid, but the words hung heavy between them.

“I am sorry.” Atropos stroked her cheek, his eyes heavy with remorse. “I thought he might choose to have me destroyed, for the sake of his reputation, if nothing else. But I never believed he would kill you too.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed to it at all if you thought he would kill you,” Amber said, frightened and frustrated. “We could have done something else, figured something out.”

“We did not have time,” Atropos said. “This was more important than my life.”

Amber shook her head and held him tightly, pressing her face into his chest. She knew he was right. They’d saved Erin, her entire species. But it was hard to think about all of those other lives when the life that mattered most to her was about to be snuffed out.

Time passed, and they could only sit in the darkness, wondering what was happening, what decisions were being made about their lives.

“They may still decide to spare you,” Atropos said, his arm around her. They sat against the wall, holding each other in the dark. “Actian will cede to the will of the flight if they are unified enough. And not one of us would see an implanted host destroyed easily.”

“And what would be the point of that if you’re gone?” Amber asked. “They won’t send me back to Earth carrying your child. I’d be trapped here like a lab experiment or a living incubator. Dying sounds almost preferable.”

“Still.” Atropos brushed her hair back behind her ear and kissed her forehead. “I would rest easier, knowing you and our child are still alive somewhere.”

He put a hand on her stomach, still for the moment unchanged by the life growing inside her. Amber put her hand over his, wondering about the baby and the future and wishing she could know more about either.

They both sat up straighter as they heard the door opening and held on to one another tighter. Was this it? Was one or more of them about to be taken to their death?

A moth stuck her head through the door, small and dusty mouse grey.

“Hurry,” she said, waving them toward the door. “We do not have much time!”

Amber, confused, got to her feet and Atropos followed. The moth pushed the door open further, casting furtive glances down the hall beyond it. There were two other moths in the hallway, both larger than the first, one darker grey and the other brown. They were holding what were unmistakably weapons, two pronged curved blades made for tearing wings.

“This part of the ship is pretty deserted,” the small grey moth said. “But we should be careful anyway. We have a shuttle waiting. This way.”

“Wait,” Atropos said, stopping the moth. “Who are you? You seem familiar.”

“I am Betula,” the small moth said, wings rustling restlessly. “You saved my clutch brother Biston years ago, before your brother was flight leader.”

The larger gray moth nodded to Atropos respectfully.

“I remember,” Atropos said. “It was a dishonorable challenge.”

“One of the bright thought they could prove themselves worthy of being leader by killing every dull in the flight,” Betula said a touch bitterly. “And others had taken control of the computers and were hoarding the food. We were weak and starving, and that bright claimed the right of challenge against Biston. He would have killed him, but you stopped it. And then you found us food. Because of you, we lasted until you and your brother took control of the computers and restored food rights to everyone.”

“I am Laothoe,” said the large brown moth, offering a hand to Atropos to shake. “In those days, when the dull were most hopeless, you were our hope. We wanted you for flight leader, but it was clear you would only ever support your brother.”

“But now your brother may have brought the wrath of the Swarm down on us,” Betula said. “The dull are outraged that he plans to execute you, and even the bright are frantic that he would kill your host and the child. The entire flight is in chaos.”

“I should go to Actian,” Atropos said, face pale. “We need to do something.”

“You need to leave,” Betula corrected him. “You and the human. The child must be protected. A ship is waiting to take us away.”

“Leave the flight?” Atropos asked, his wings flaring in shock. “No Lepidopterix has ever left the flight!”

“None has ever impregnated a human either,” Betula replied. “The winds are changing, and we must move with them or be swept aside.”

“Where will we go?” Amber asked, wide-eyed. “To Earth?”

“We are not sure yet,” Betula admitted. “Back to the Lepidopterix home world, or to the Centaurian outlaw planets maybe. We will figure it out later. Right now, we must leave before Actian has you executed and regains control of this place. You are the hope of rebellion that has been long-awaited. But in order for it to survive, you both must live.”

Atropos looked to Amber, taking her hand. She looked back at him, dazed by all that was happening. If she agreed, it would not just mean leaving her planet behind. It would also mean committing to carrying this child, a choice that might kill her in the long run. It would mean getting involved in a rebellion that could kill all of them. But staying here meant almost certain death. It was no choice at all.

“I always wanted to explore space,” she said with a hopeless smile. He smiled back at her and squeezed her hand.

“Lead the way,” he said to Betula, and the three moths hurried off down the hall, leading them through the dark halls of the unused parts of the Lepidopterix ship to a distant airlock.

“These escape shuttles are fully equipped for long-range travel,” Laothoe explained as they passed through the airlock. “They date back to the ship’s initial launch. If the main vessel was ever compromised, the escape shuttles have the power and supplies to make it all the way back to the home world.”

Through the air lock, they stepped onto the bridge of the escape shuttle, barely big enough to fit them all at once, plus the large brown Lepidopterix sitting in the pilot’s seat.

“Let’s go,” Betula said, and the pilot nodded, manning the controls. Atropos and Amber watched through the main screen as, with a great shuddering clamor, the escape shuttle detached from the main ship and began to move away.

“Light speed, quickly,” Betula urged. “Before they can get a tractor beam on us!”

Amber had never seen the Lepidopetrix ship from the outside. It was a massive white sphere, the surface textured, reminding her of a seed pod or a cocoon. Earth was below it, blue and beautiful and remote. It began to recede rapidly as the shuttle accelerated, leaving the ship and everything she’d ever known behind. She was shaken by how quickly it had all happened.

Betula breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the ship was out of sight.

“We are the first independent Lepidopterix in known history,” Betula said a little breathlessly. “Quite an achievement for a bunch of dull moths. Are we safely out of range, Clarus?”

“Yes,” the pilot replied. “We will be out of even comm range soon.”

“Any last messages?” Betula asked Atropos.

“Yes,” Atropos said quietly. “Please open a channel.”

The pilot did so, and Atropos leaned a little closer.

“Actian,” he said, calm but strained with exhaustion. “I am sorry. One day, I will stand beside you again. Goodbye, brother.”

He shut the channel himself and turned away. Amber reached for him, her chest aching with sympathy, and held his hand.

“You two should head to the med bay and get patched up,” Betula said. “Hepia will take care of you.”

Amber turned to see the same white-winged healer who had helped her back on the ship standing in the narrow corridor that led to the rest of the shuttle. She waved to them with a small smile.

“Then you can find a bunk and get some rest,” Betula said. “There won’t be much of that to go around soon. You two are about to become the figureheads of a revolution.”

Amber squeezed Atropos’s hand, feeling fear rattling her heart around her rib cage. She took a deep breath to quell it and smiled at the moth.

“Bring it on.”

* * *