Lost

Chapter 1

She woke with a start, shuddering violently. She knew where she was, of course. The day she'd been shoved on the space station, down on the lower level with the rest of the criminals, had been seared into her mind. Glancing from side to side, she muttered a quiet, 'What the hell?' Body after body encased in cryo-pods lined the corridor, each face lit by a dim light. In any other case, it would've seemed creepy: the silent, unaging faces of her fellow survivors, but this was what humanity had been reduced to.
Nobody else was awake. Strange.
She spun, her bare feet hovering mere inches above the floor. Her teeth chattering, she built up the courage to step down, her feet landing lightly.
Footsteps. The sound of heavy boots pounding against the metal floor and she froze. There was silence for a moment, and just as she was about to take another step, the door was flung open. In marched the Head of the Guard, Harial Jones, who was by the Imperial's side every step she took, followed by a lower guard. Both their faces were covered in a sheen material that obscured their features.
Even with her face covered, Thora could tell Harial Jones was staring straight at her. The girl found herself unable to move. She'd seen the woman before, on Eye Cams, and even then she looked imposing. But now... Thora figured her life was over right then.
"Thora Pickney," she said, her voice cold and resonating on the metal walls. "You have been deemed expendable and therefore will be sent down to the ground with twenty-nine other criminals to map, scout, and find a suitable spot for a base on a new, alien planet." Thora swallowed back bile. Of course, that made sense, but why her? There were at least another fifty, older, much better-suited people that would have been a better choice than her.
She opened her mouth to protest, but the Head of the Guard held up her hand, and her words died in her throat. "This is non-negotiable. The criminals that have been chosen fall under special criteria." Criteria? What could that mean? "Besides, if you succeed, your record will be expunged. Your slate wiped clean if you will. The Imperial set this decree in motion before she was put in cryo." She stepped back and the other guard came forward, gripping her arm so tightly it hurt. "Jo Wheeler will prep you. You're dropping in an hour." Then, with a flourish and the pounding of boots, she was gone.
Thora found herself wringing her hands and forced herself to stop. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she wasn't willing to let fear show through her facade.
"How long have we been asleep?" she asked, wanting to kick herself at the waver in her voice.
Wheeler, who she found out was a woman, answered in a gruff voice, "One-hundred and thirty-seven years." Thora nodded, but already she had faded into the back recesses of her brain. One-hundred and thirty-seven years. Such a long time and yet she felt that no more time than a blink of an eye had passed. Modern science was truly a wonder, she thought.
She was taken to a cramped, all-white room with instructions to get changed into the clothes sitting on the floor; a thick, shiny pair of black pants and a shirt made of the same material, along with a dark blue jacket. Was the planet cold? She hoped not, cold was the worst. But the shirt and pants were made of incredibly insulated material so that was most likely the case.
As she went to meet up with the guard, she stopped to check her appearance for the first time in one-hundred and thirty-seven years. It was an odd thing. She looked exactly the same as the day she had gone to sleep; Long, curly black hair, near-gold eyes, and caramel-colored skin. The thick scar that ran from her neck to her collar bone was still there. Something else caught her eye. Sewn onto the jacket, right below her collar bone, was a patch with the word Commander. Probably just an old uniform, she told herself, shaking off the weird feeling the patch gave her.
After taking a deep breath, she wrenched open the door, giving Wheeler a curt nod when she asked if she was ready. This time, the guard didn't grip her as tight, and her arm thanked her for it. Wheeler guided her down one hallway and up another, stopping at a locked door. Wheeler stepped forward, blocking Thora's view as she typed in the passcode.
The door slid open with a loud whoosh and Wheeler pushed her through the door, following closely on her heels. She was standing at the front of the ship they were being dropped in. It was a circular room, filled with twenty-nine other people strapped to their seats.
They were all teenagers, just like her. There had to be a mistake, she told herself: kids like her were going to be the foundation of life down there. Why would they send them when there were so few kids left? Eventually, the pieces clicked; kid criminals whose records were expunged had more value (and time) than the older criminals, as well as a better chance of survival than old hobblers. They were also more likely to fall into place once the big-wig adults came down.
Wheeler threw her into the last available seat, beside a sniffling, bleary-eyed, red-haired girl who couldn't have been any older than thirteen.
Harial Jones walked into the dropship, her face uncovered now. She had piercing, ice-blue eyes and hair buzzed almost to her scalp. With her chin held high as she meandered passed each kid, her eyes wandered over everyone. She paused in front of Thora for a moment, eyes narrowed. After a second, her jaw clenched and she nodded, walking back toward the front of the ship.
"Children, you are now more important than you could ever imagine. You are the first humans to set foot on a newly discovered planet, which has been called Cressida. The purpose of this mission is to find a suitable place to set up a base for the human race," the Head of the Guard explained. "You're going to get tracking implants so we can be aware of your vitals." She stepped aside and a person in a white coat and long gloves. Gripped in his hands she saw a bag and she flinched. She'd never liked needles.
The man went from child to child, reaching into his bag and leaning over. She swallowed nervously when he got to her. Still, she held out her arm, and the man reached into his bag. As he pulled out a fresh needle, she shut her eyes and leaned her head back.
There was a sharp prick in her forearm and then it was over, leaving nothing but a lingering soreness. She peeked her eyes open. There was a tiny bump underneath her skin. She gave an involuntary shiver and she fought the urge to run her finger over it.
The man implanted the final kid and exited. Harial took the floor again.
"After carefully studying all of your records, we came to the careful conclusion that one of you will be "in charge" down on the ground. Almost like an Imperial. That person has a patch on their jacket with the word Commander sewn on." A silence came over the group as they glanced at each other with accusatory glances. Nobody really cared for the Imperial, especially a bunch of criminal teens who had a problem with authority, so the Commander patch already singled her out. 
Harial cleared her throat before continuing. "All of you will be put under during the trip, which is quite brief. Still, we want to avoid any unnecessary casualties."
One of the kids gave a bitter laugh and shouted, "We just woke up!" A few people chuckled. Harial glared at whoever spoke and they fell silent. Even as the Guard talked, her shoulders slumped, and keeping her eyes open was as hard as pushing a boulder up a hill.
Before her eyes shut fully she was allowed one more coherent thought. I'm doomed.