GENESIS. HOME.

Noemi’s fighter breaks through the atmosphere. The blackness of space releases her, and once again she’s embraced by pale-blue sky. She’s cried in this helmet too much already—the visor keeps fogging up—but tears well in her eyes again as she sees the teal-blue ocean stretching below her, and then the outline of the southern continent, the one where she was born, where she and Esther grew up together.

Her instrument panel blinks in different colors, testifying to the many computers trying to identify her. The ship’s automated fleet signal will answer them. Noemi refuses to look down, even for a moment. Nothing matters as much as drinking in the sight of the far mountains, dusky blue on the horizon. Or the beaches, breaking with white foam. Or the grain-gold fields that stretch into the distance. It’s so much more beautiful than she ever understood before.

I wish you could have seen this, Abel.

Only within the final five thousand meters of her descent does she snap back into officer mode. Blinking hard, she focuses on her instruments, zeroing in on her home base. When the comms crackle into life, she takes a deep breath. “Ensign Noemi Vidal requesting clearance to land. Authorization code 81107.”

A pause follows, long enough for her to wonder whether they lost the signal. Then an incredulous voice says, “Ensign Noemi Vidal was reported killed in action nineteen days ago.”

“Not quite,” Noemi says. So this is what it’s like to come back from the dead. “Call Captain Yasmeen Baz. Tell her I’m reporting in, and that she has to stop the Masada Run. Do you understand? Stop the Masada Run.”

“The Masada Run has been indefinitely delayed,” says the judge, looking down at the court records, “pending the outcome of this case and the assessment of Ensign Vidal’s testimony.”

Delayed isn’t as good as canceled. But it’s as much as Noemi can manage now, while she’s under arrest, and on trial.

She sits in a simple chair in the middle of a round room. Like many buildings on Genesis, this hall of justice has been built to echo the structures of Earth’s classical past—lit by the sun, cooled by shade and breeze, and ominous through the sheer power of stone. Long shafts of sunset light stream in via the tall, narrow arched windows, illuminating the raised semicircular bench from which her three judges peer down. They allowed her to put on her dress uniform for this, crisp and dark green; wearing it has always made her feel strong. She needs every ounce of strength she can muster.

Abel never asked Noemi about the legal system on Genesis, for which she was guiltily grateful. This is the controversial topic that ignites arguments, destroys harmony, and keeps regional boundaries stiffly in place. Some faiths believe in justice, others in mercy; the Elder Council has never found a universally satisfying way to unify these two ideals. Although some faiths once advocated for executions, the planet has forbidden the death penalty by unanimous agreement. Beyond that one guarantee, punishments for crimes vary widely among the region-states.

Noemi’s home favors mercy, as does the Second Catholic Church. In her heart, though, she’s always longed for justice: hard, swift, certain, and severe. She’s been willing to deal out that harsh justice—and now she’s equally willing to endure it.

Because desertion of duty is a military crime, and the military has little use for mercy.

There are other crimes, too. “Failure to report the injury of a fellow soldier,” intones Commander Kaminski, battalion leader and, now, her prosecutor. “Failure to report the death of a fellow soldier.”

She thinks of Esther and winces. They haven’t let her talk to the Gatsons yet, or to Jemuel. She wants so badly to tell them how courageously Esther died, and how her resting place is at the heart of a star. Will she ever get her chance to explain? If she does, will Esther’s loved ones believe her?

Kaminski continues, “Failure to follow orders in battle.”

“I object,” says Captain Baz. She’s Noemi’s defender as a matter of law, but she seems to really care, to be fighting for her with true dedication. Noemi hopes so, anyway, because Baz is pretty much her only hope. “Officer Vidal’s actions were well within her discretion as an officer—”

“Up until a point.” Kaminski’s thin smile is more forbidding than any scowl could be. “Which point, do you think, Captain Baz? When she decided to board an enemy spacecraft? When she failed to deactivate an enemy mech, despite having the ability to do so? Where does that cross the line?”

“You’re assuming this story is true,” says one of the judges, raising an eyebrow. “We’re supposed to believe this girl became the first person in thirty years to pass through the Kismet Gate? That she crossed paths with Burton Mansfield himself?”

Captain Baz thumps her lectern for attention. Her dress uniform looks strange on her—too stiff, too confining. Baz was born for exosuits and armor, not this stuff. But she’s fighting the legal battle as vigorously as she’d fight with her blaster. “Analyzing satellite data showed that a small ship passed through the Kismet Gate around the time Ensign Vidal says—”

Another judge, his voice deep and booming, interjects, “If the story is true, Vidal’s behavior is even more egregious! She claims to know how to destroy a Gate, to have possessed the technology to do so, and yet failed to do it! By her account, she has left this world exposed to conquest for the sake of a mere mech.”

Noemi can imagine Abel’s crisp, superior voice, speaking with thinly veiled huffiness: A “mere” mech? He’d be so offended that it would be fun to watch him at it. Her memories of him warm her voice as she says, “He’s more than a machine.”

Kaminski shakes his head in open contempt. His dress uniform suits him better than Captain Baz; this is a guy who takes down his enemies not with weapons, but with words. “What was it you put in your report? Ah, yes. The mech ‘has a soul.’” The glance he gives the judges is amused, inviting them to join in his mockery. “The only question is whether that’s sentimentality… or heresy.”

“We don’t prosecute heresy in this courtroom!” Baz is beside herself. “Can we stick to the facts at issue?”

“Ensign Vidal says the mech’s soul is a fact. One that kept her from taking action to save this world—the very action she claims to have abandoned her post to fulfill—so I’d say that’s at issue, wouldn’t you?” Commander Kaminski folds his arms.

Noemi can’t take any more. “We’re not here to talk about Abel!”

Captain Baz seizes on this. “That’s right. We’re here to talk about you.”

“No, we aren’t.” Noemi gives her captain an apologetic look. As much as she appreciates the defense, it’s so far beside the point. “What happens to me doesn’t matter. It never did. The only thing that matters is stopping the Masada Run, forever.”

Kaminski stares at her with his icy blue eyes. He was one of the command leaders who devised the Masada Run strategy, and apparently he’s egotistical enough to see this as her attacking him. “You cost Genesis one attempt at salvation, and now you want to rob it of another?”

“It’s not our salvation! The Masada Run stalls Earth at best, maybe not even for very long. It’s not some epic noble stand. It’s futile. It’s useless. We only turned to that strategy because we didn’t have any other options, or we thought we didn’t. But now that I’ve traveled the Loop and seen what’s going on out there—what’s happening on Earth—I know they’re not as strong as we thought. And we have allies out there. On Kismet, on Stronghold, even on Earth itself. Maybe Cray, even. If we can get through the Genesis Gate, spread our message, we don’t have to stand alone!” Her voice is shaking now. Noemi stops herself and takes a deep breath before she finishes. “I’m willing to give my life for Genesis. All your pilots are. But shouldn’t that sacrifice be worth something? We deserve a better fight.”

“Soldiers are meant to defend this world!” Kaminski shouts. “Not to demand what they think they ‘deserve’ from it.”

Noemi wonders if her chair is bolted to the floor. Probably so. That means she can’t just get up and throw it at him. Words will have to do. “We are this world. Its next generation. If you’re not trying to save us, then what exactly are you trying to save?”

A deep voice from the back of the room says, “A good question.”

The sensors recognize the shift from day to night and turn on the artificial lights, bathing the courtroom in brightness just as everyone turns to see who’s walked in. Noemi thought she recognized the voice, but still can’t believe it when she sees the figure walking in, dressed in the white-edged robes of the Elder Council.

“Darius Akide,” says the chief judge, whose power is irrelevant next to that of one of the five individuals who lead the entire planet of Genesis. “You honor us with your presence. We… did not expect the elders to take an interest in the case.”

Akide steps closer, a rueful smile on his face. “You didn’t think we’d be interested in the first citizen of Genesis to leave this star system in three decades? How incurious you must think us.”

“She claims to have left this star system.” Kaminski can’t mouth off at one of the elders, but his disdain for Noemi remains clear. “Since the ship she says she traveled in has conveniently disappeared, we can’t prove or disprove her word.”

“You think machines have all the answers? Sounds like Earth thinking to me.” Akide comes to stand beside Noemi’s chair. He’s not a tall man, but right now he seems like a giant. “Sometimes we need to search for truth within, quite literally. Ensign Vidal’s report said that on Stronghold she was identified as a citizen of Genesis through medical examinations. So we examined the routine tests she was given upon her return to see if the reverse could be proved as well. Lo and behold, we found traces of antiviral medications that haven’t been used on Genesis in decades, as well as one previously unknown to us. Also toxins in her blood… not dangerously high levels, but high enough to suggest that she’s been breathing air more polluted than Genesis’s has ever been. If you believe Vidal didn’t travel to these other worlds, Commander Kaminski, how can you account for these test results?”

Kaminski looks like he’d gladly swallow his tongue. Captain Baz grins, a more open smile than any she’s shown since Noemi’s return. Until this instant, Noemi hadn’t realized that Baz had her doubts. But she fought like hell for Noemi anyway. The fighting takes away any sting the doubt might have caused.

The chief judge manages to say, “We will of course take all the findings into account in our proceedings—”

“These proceedings are over.” Darius Akide takes one step forward, more forceful than any of the judges up high behind their bench. “The Elder Council doesn’t interfere often in justice proceedings. Almost never, in fact. But we have that right, and we’re exercising it today. By decree of the Council, the Masada Run is hereby postponed until future notice. The Council, not the military, will decide if or when that run ever takes place. Furthermore, Ensign Noemi Vidal is cleared of all charges and reinstated at the rank of lieutenant.”

“A promotion?” Kaminski realizes he’s said that out loud a moment too late.

“This girl has brought us the only intel on Earth and the other colony worlds that we’ve had in three decades,” Akide replies, letting them all hear the steel within his voice. “More than that, she’s described a way to destroy a Gate—a way that’s no longer useful to us, but one that might spur our own scientists to come up with new theories of their own. I’d say a promotion was the least we owed her.”

“I agree,” Captain Baz says. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

It ought to feel like the most exhilarating victory possible. Instead it feels… well, okay, pretty good, but this doesn’t solve everything. The Masada Run might not be canceled for good. The war isn’t won. And this doesn’t bring Esther back.

Gratitude, Noemi reminds herself. When she smiles a moment later, she means it.

The judges don’t seem to know quite what to do. One of them starts gathering her tabulator and belongings; another becomes suddenly interested in smoothing out his robe. However, the head judge holds it together. “Lieutenant Vidal, you are hereby freed to return to duty.”

Noemi gets to her feet, only to have Akide’s hand close firmly over her shoulder. “Actually, she has a new assignment—advising the Council about what she’s seen on her journey through the Loop. We read her debrief, of course, but there’s much more to learn, I think.” He looks her in the face then, for the first time, and misinterprets the dismay he must see there. “The assignment’s only temporary, Vidal. We wouldn’t keep you from flying forever.”

“Thank you, sir.” But really, inside her head, she’s thinking only, Me, advise the Council? Noemi had braced herself for disgrace, even for time in jail. But this is something else completely, unexpected and intimidating. As she takes in the cold fury on Kaminski’s face, the way his fingers curl around the edges of his lectern as if it’s a neck he can wring, she realizes it might be dangerous, too.

With the Council by her side, though, she might be able to change things—to get another, truer chance to save Genesis.

Afterward, Noemi expects to be swept someplace very grand, very secret, or both. Maybe to a meeting of the entire Elder Council, or some secret archive where sensitive information is kept. Instead Darius Akide walks with her by the riverside, in full sight of countless passersby. This is her public vindication, then: quiet and uneventful. Noemi isn’t sure whether she likes that or not.

Well, it beats prison.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, and the sky still glows with the last of the light. Noemi takes in the many buildings—the great ones carved of stone, the smaller ones of wood, with their domes and arches. She watches the low, long boats skimming over the water, competitors laughing to see who can reach the far bridge first. A flock of white birds skitters overhead; they’re native to Genesis, splendid things with pink-tipped tails that look newly exotic to her now. The dress uniform that gave her courage in court feels out of place while others stroll by in loose robes and cloaks of bright jewel colors. Those robes have never seemed lovelier to her before, and she can’t wait to slip into one again. Standing on her world is even more beautiful than flying above it.

If only she could send Abel a video—even a picture—but he’s gone now. All Genesis’s scans have failed to find any trace of their nameless ship anywhere in the system. Abel had the sense to take the chance she gave him.

“Sometimes,” Akide begins, in his deep voice, “traveling to new places feels strange, but coming home feels even stranger. You don’t expect the familiar to become unfamiliar, and yet it does.”

Other people feel that way, too? Noemi resists a sigh of relief. “It’s quiet here. In good ways, mostly—”

“But not entirely.” When Akide sees her expression, he laughs. “Yes, even members of the Elder Council sometimes criticize Genesis. We’ve gained so much on this world by claiming our independence, but only zealots believe we didn’t lose a lot, too.”

“Is that why you guys want to talk to me? To find out what we’ve lost?”

“Partly. But, I admit… there was one topic I wanted to discuss with you personally. Not as a member of the Council. I wanted to talk about Abel.”

Of course, Noemi realizes. One of the reasons Darius Akide is legendary even among the elders is the same reason he’s the one who teaches military courses about mechs: He was, in his youth, a cyberneticist like Mansfield. According to their histories, Akide was considered Mansfield’s greatest student and closest collaborator. But when the Liberty War broke out, Akide chose Genesis. That doesn’t mean he lost interest in what he’d studied and built for so long. “What do you need to know about him?”

Akide chuckles. “I know all there is to know. I helped Mansfield design him.”

Shock silences her, makes her take a step back. Why didn’t she realize that Mansfield’s top student would have played a role in Abel’s creation? It makes so much sense, and infuriates her at the same time. Once, she could never have imagined talking back to a member of the Elder Council, but now her voice rises as she says, “You agreed to build a machine as intelligent as a human? With the same feelings and thoughts—”

“No, never,” Akide says gently, soothing her temper. “It was a theoretical exercise only—one of our final projects together. I had no idea he intended to carry the plans out; even now, I can’t entirely believe the Abel model truly fulfilled the ambition of those plans. Now I want to know exactly what Abel is capable of.”

“He has a soul. I know that as surely as I know I have one.”

Akide shakes his head. “That’s only an illusion, Vidal. A convincing illusion, and I don’t blame you for being fooled. Model One A is already extraordinary without going to any… fanciful extremes.”

He speaks kindly. Means well. Unlike Kaminski, Darius Akide doesn’t intend to shame Noemi for her beliefs about Abel; he simply believes his last cybernetics project with Burton Mansfield was only that, tinkering with metal and circuits.

However, Noemi didn’t put everything in her report. She hasn’t told them how crushed Abel was by Mansfield’s betrayal, or even what Mansfield truly intended, because God forbid anyone else should ever get the same idea. She hasn’t told them about Abel’s declaration of love either. That’s too personal. It belongs to him and her alone.

Besides, if she’d reported that Abel loved her, they might’ve wanted to ask how she felt about him. Noemi can’t answer that, because she isn’t sure.

Is it love? Maybe it would’ve been, given only a little more time. All she knows is that she still wants to hear what Abel would make of everything she sees. What he might do if he were here beside her. He’s the one she wants to talk to about everything that’s happening, even though she knows she’ll never get the chance. She doesn’t feel as safe here on her own planet, under the protection of an elder on the Council, as she did with Abel beside her. This is her home, and yet it feels incomplete without him.

If that’s not love… surely it’s where love begins.

“Tell me,” Akide says. “Where do you think Abel’s gone? What is he likely to do next?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. And in some ways, that’s the most wonderful truth of all. Abel’s potential is as limitless as any human being’s. The entire galaxy has opened to him, and she wants him to find someplace he can build a good life—if such a place exists in this galaxy anywhere besides Genesis. Noemi’s not sure about that anymore.

But as she looks up into the darkening night sky, she knows she’ll never stop hoping. Never stop searching the stars, wondering whether any of them could be the one Abel someday calls home.