Zero Hour, Nine A.M.

Six

We dart back up the platform, racing between docked ships to take cover as best we can, but in the glimpses of the aliens I get when we dash across the open spaces they seem to grow closer each time. Like a flip book of cartoons or people dancing under a strobe light, broken views of trajectories that make their movements even odder and more terrifying than before.

But we don't have far to go, and we reach our ship surprisingly fast.

I grow giddy; I think this is going to work.

Brandon has my hand and practically drags me into our ship, but I stop short, yanking away from him at the last minute.

My elation deflates; I've seen a complication.

There's a black box on the platform that seems to connect with our ship by a laser of some kind. It's tech that I can't even begin to understand, foreign and extremely advanced, but I'm pretty sure it's what took control of our ship and is locking it to the dock.

"Gretchen, come on!"

Brandon is screaming but I block him out, crouching over the box and trying to make some sense of it.

In my peripheral vision I can see several aliens gesturing toward us, and now some of the refugees are beginning to notice that something unusual is happening, murmuring and chattering and pointing.

I have to block it all out; I have to sever this connection if we have any chance of making it out.

And there's no longer any doubt that we have to escape; the way the aliens lumber toward us, sharp weapons now visible in their hands - we have to get away, and fast.

They mean us harm.

But all the symbols on the panel are so strange that I couldn't begin to understand them with years to study. And I only have seconds.

They're closing in, the closest maybe only fifteen feet away now.

I shift my weight, ready to spring and fight. Even if it would be pointless.

Better to go down swinging, my father always used to say.

And that's when I remember - I've got Dad's knife in my boot. The aliens' only mistake so far was in feeling so utterly non-threatened by us that they didn't even search us for weapons.

So I yank the knife out and flick it open, jamming it into the box as hard as I can. Sparks and wires and sharp bits of electronics start flying out. One slices my arm, a thin red line raising to the skin, but I just keep stabbing.

A warning light flashes, there's a loud click, and then, very slowly, the ship begins drifting off into the blackness.

"Gretchen, jump!"

Brandon is leaning out of the hatch door, his arm stretched out toward me. Over my shoulder, the hordes of humans are growing louder and shifting around to watch us, becoming a swirling mass of color and confusion like a tornado of flesh. And there are aliens moving toward me from all sides, their jerky movements fast and sharp, their screeching voices now silent and far more eerie.

There's a six foot stretch of black space between myself and the ship's hatch. I don't know how the gravity system on this dock works - whether it extends beyond the platform and will pull at me, or whether my momentum will propel me into space. I also still don't know how there's oxygen to breathe here.

But I also don't have any choices. The closest alien reaches for me with arms like pincers, Brandon screams and leans as far out as possible-

-and I leap.

The gravity system's barrier ends with the platform, so I simply float through space, holding my breath.

And then Brandon has me and our ship's gravity field takes hold, slamming my boots into the floor of the cargo room. He pounds the button to close the hatch before racing to the bridge to pilot us away. I stay, my face pressed against the cold glass of the hatch window and watch as the aliens congregate around the broken black box.

They go at it with their metallic arms, trying to repair the damage.

But they can't get it to work.

The ship's engines start, shaking the floor beneath my boots. The comm system beeps and Brandon's voice is there, rough with adrenaline. "Hold onto something."

I brace myself in the hatchway and a fraction of a second later, we lurch away from the station.

I don't stay and watch it disappear.

Instead, I make my way to the bridge. It's a small room, just two chairs, a panel with the equipment needed to fly the ship, and a window that stretches the expanse of the far wall.

Brandon is in the pilot's chair, his agile hands on the controls, his neck and shoulders tense. I stand behind him and gently rest my hand at the slope where his neck meets his shoulder.

He eases under my fingers, just a fraction.

"I can't believe that just happened," he sighs when we're in the clear, switching the ship to autopilot.

"Yeah." I sound stupid, but I'm too exhausted and overwhelmed to think of anything better to say.

"It could happen again. Somewhere else, with something else. It's not safe out here."

I flex my fingers; they look bigger than they used to. Stronger.

"Didn't you say that what was happening out here, what was happening between us, was life? Well, I've learned one thing about life so far - it isn't safe." I swallow, hard. Neither one of us has parents now. "But we'll be more careful, and we'll keep watch. We'll be ready if there's a next time."

"My family..." He shakes his head, swiping at his eyes beneath his glasses.

I tell him the only thing I can.

"They made the choice that was right for them. We made the one that was right for us."

He nods, dazed. "I told Brianna I'd come back for her someday, if I could."

I look out at the blackness beyond the window. The space station and planet are somewhere behind us, growing smaller by the second. And ahead of us...who knows?

"We will go back for her. We'll find someplace safe, some part of the galaxy where we can... be okay, I guess, and then we'll rescue her."

He turns to look at me, his blue eyes older and shadowed, almost haunted.

"I don't know where to start looking."

I stand behind him and swivel his chair back to face the window. Reaching forward, I gently place my hands over his eyes. His eyelashes flutter softly on my palms.

"Trust your instincts. Just point."

He breathes in, lets it out evenly. His hand stretches ahead and a little to the right, and it's not shaking.

He's sure. Steady.

I set the navigational system to follow his directions and curl up on his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

The engines rumble beneath us; the oxygen system quietly blows through the vents overhead.

And we fly out into the quiet, dark unknown.