It had taken me the rest of the afternoon to finish mopping the rover hangar. The water had fallen from the end of the mop in slow, methodical droplets as it slipped free and splashed onto the concrete floor. It mesmerized me and occupied my thoughts. The mixture wafted to me as fresh and woodsy. As it became dirty, it changed to soiled and unpleasant. I had learned in school that water flowed faster on Earth because of the increased gravity. Here, the slow movement is all I've ever known. A few more tears had dripped to the floor during that mopping session, but I decided once I had finished, I would cry no more.

As I meander into the air hangar in the graduation's aftermath, I discover the giant room empty, the decorative curtains removed, and the platform lowered back into its original space, even with the floor. The quietness of the hangar reminds me, for an unknown reason, that the Kry hadn't attacked us since the day I had ventured into space, and I wonder why. Why hadn't they swooped down and pulverized us by now? Is it possible that us discovering their space station had made them reconsider their battle strategy? Maybe. But just as we plan to attack them, so they must be planning to do the same to us.

Mop handle in hand, I roll the bucket to the storage room and stop. It's too quiet. Like a calm before a dust storm. The Kry must be scheming something disastrous for us, possibly a plan to put an end to us once and for all with a heavy aerial bombardment followed by an all-out invasion. Wipe us off the face of the red planet. As long as they allow us to exist, we will present a threat to their control of Earth.

Of course, they had failed to eradicate us over the last hundred years. The history books tell of a time after we crashed on Mars that the Kry left us alone, thought us destroyed and extinct. That's how we built the colony. Then they discovered we were still alive, and the war started again. After we had stood our ground for a century, why would they think they could destroy us now? But according to Admiral Sky, we've been losing the battle recently, thus the need to recruit more starfighters, even having to reach deeper into the dry dust of a Martian orphanage to fill seats in Flight School.

The question is... how desperate is Admiral Sky?

"Hey star girl." I hear Crank's youthful voice.

I whip around, still clutching the end of the mop handle. "My call sign is..." I clear my throat, "was... Starlight."

"I can see how that fits you." He gestures toward the mop and bucket. "I think Sarge hammered you with mop duty to break you down. In his mind, he can't have you thinking you're above us, seeing you came from Flight School."

"That sounds like an accurate assessment, but I don't think I'm above you. I just loved being a pilot. Sucks having your dreams shattered." I hand him the mop handle while stepping aside so he can pour out the dirty water.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Sarge wants to see you. He's down the side hall, past the room where pilots change into their pressure suits. He's the first office on the right."

I watch him empty the bucket, water pouring into the sink like molasses, a thick syrup I know flows slow even on Earth.

As I turn to leave, he says, "I like Starlight." He throws in a smile.

"Thank you. I appreciate that," I say and then exit the storage room. It occurs to me I hadn't noticed Crank until today, like I didn't know he existed. My world had been so focused on one thing: becoming a starfighter, nothing else. Well, that's not entirely true. But still, my goal of becoming a pilot is gone.

I figure the ground forces start their newbies with grunt work. This MDF division works alongside the starfighters in maintenance, as well as providing troops to defend the airbase in the event of an invasion. One day is enough for me, but it seems the choice isn't mine. After passing the locker, which holds what used to be my pressure suit—my gaze lingering on the glass door and the helmet and suit behind it—I enter the hallway and stop at Sergeant Steele's office. I lean against the door frame, every pore on my body screaming with the agony of pure exhaustion.

"There you are." The sergeant sticks an unlit cigar into his mouth and talks between his teeth. "You should be ready for a regular workday tomorrow."

My eyes widen, and I brush my hair away from my face. "Learning how to work on X22s? Or helping line them up on the platform for takeoff?"

"Nah." He grunts. "Polishing pressure suits."

I force a smile.

"It'll be good for you. Help you appreciate the little things." He removes the cigar from between his teeth. "But that's for tomorrow. Something else has come up."

"Yes, sir?"

"Seems Admiral Sky wants to see you in Mission Control. Don't know why. Just go." He waves me away. "Report back here first thing in the morning. 0600 sharp."

I give the sergeant a nod and hurry down the hallway back into the air hangar, where I take the main corridor toward the elevators. As I pass by the flight classrooms, I notice through open doors, pilots, now graduated with their wings on their suits, sitting upright in their seats, as if awaiting orders from their flight leaders. I approach my old classroom and see Perseus, Cassie, and Darius, along with two new pilots sitting in my seat and Zane's. Apollo isn't in the room, so I continue down the hall, hoping they haven't seen me. I pass Apollo's office. It's empty, but I see him standing outside the door of Captain Grey's office.

He straightens when he sees me. "Kiera."

"I can't talk. Admiral Sky wants to see me, probably wants to give me my official transfer papers to the ground crew."

"You need to talk to Captain Grey." He jerks his head toward her door. "It's important, and she needs to tell you now. It can't wait."

"What could be more important than reporting to the admiral?" I frown. "What's this about?"

"She wouldn't tell me, but I know it's something big by the look on her face and the tone of her voice. Something heavy." He places a hand on my shoulder. The simple touch reminds me of our encounter in the air hangar, where we almost kissed again. It doesn't reach secret cave levels, but that rendezvous still permeates the back of my mind. I stare up at him, a solemnness filling my gaze with gloom. He nods. "Go. She says you need to hear this."

I lay my hand on his arm, the one touching my shoulder, and try to convey something between us that only we share, an intimacy. I know how he feels about me, and I think he knows how I feel about him. I give his arm a squeeze, and he returns the gesture, his palm applying a slight amount of pressure to my shoulder.

He smiles softly. Nods again.

When I enter Captain Grey's office, she's sitting at her desk, appearing as regal as ever, her hair pulled back in a bun, flight jacket draped over the back of her chair. She sees me and rises, clears her throat and sniffs.

I narrow my eyes, wondering what's wrong with her.

"I have something important to tell you," the captain says. "Not sure how to begin, so I'll just dive right in."

I feel a dark curiosity tugging at the corners of my mind. "Okay. Do I need to sit?"

"Probably, but no." She paces around the room, a hand on her hip and the other rubbing her forehead. She stops, drops her hand. "I lied to you."

"What?"

"About the boy who died during a flight training exercise, when the Kry attacked and caught their team by surprise, similar to the day when Commander Chopra and I sent you cadets back to the base so we could fight them."

"We ended up in a skirmish on the way back."

"I know. I told you a cadet got killed in an attack similar to that one. My son. I lied."

"So, your son didn't get killed?"

"I came up with that story because I didn't know how to tell you the truth."

"About what?"

"I wanted to let you know how dangerous it is to be a starfighter." She grabs my hand, and I want to rip it away, but she clutches it like she doesn't want to let go. "I made up the story about having a son that I had transferred from my body to an artificial womb, to cover up the truth. The basis of that lie is true. I had a child that way... and I followed that wonderful and brilliant individual throughout their entire life."

As the reality of what she's trying to tell me sinks in, I feel dizzy, like I could faint. What is she trying to say?

"I wanted you to think my son had died because I wanted you to realize the dangers. The lie was no one had died, but I knew someone could, at any moment. And I didn't want that person to be you, Kiera."

The wet gleam in her eyes strikes me. I remember now, every time we had a serious conversation, every time she tried to talk me into quitting Flight School. The dizziness swirls around me as I realize what she's trying to say.

"Kiera." She clutches my hand tighter. Her gaze locks onto mine. "I have to tell you this. The next mission begins tonight at sundown; we're going to attack the space station. I may not come back from this. And I have to tell you this while I still can. I never had a son... I had a daughter." My eyes meet hers. "I have a daughter."