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temples. 
    Linsya was nowhere in sight.
    A terror seized his body at the thought of losing her. She would be here though, somewhere, Jonathas prayed. Looking for help probably. She might have even found a way through the security door, though he couldn’t see how. These doors were meant to withstand enormous blasts of energy. A failsafe measure, he supposed, in case of a pressurized explosion from the thermal processing section.
    Jonathas realized there was something tied to his wrist. Looking down he sighed in relief as he recognized Linsya’s patterned hair ribbon. The colors slowly cycled through shades of phosphorescent blue and pink. Even when she came down here to meet him in the depths of the station, she always looked pretty.
    No, more than just pretty. Jonathas closed his eyes and pictured Linsya standing there, tall and slender, her beautiful blue eyes shining through the darkness. He thought of her long brown hair and how it would fall across her face when she smiled.
    He shook his head out of the daydream. This was no time to get distracted, he reminded himself, and started down the pathway, back into the maintenance corridors. 
    Jonathas walked quickly. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a purpose. He had to find Linsya.
    Please, let her be ok.

Chapter 7
    Skyia drifted awake on the terrace, lying on the remnants of a bamboo table. Shards of wood and shattered pottery were strewn in pieces around her. 
    She winced in pain, wondering if she was dead and if this was the afterlife. Her head throbbed and the light was blinding. Her body felt like it had been been attacked by a herd of wandering Spindroth. 
    There was no pain in heaven, was there? She closed her eyes and breathed in shallow gasps, deciding she wasn’t dead after all.
    “Skyia! Are you alright? My sensors registered a severe disruption and then I heard the crash.” 
    MiLO wheeled into view, though Skyia couldn’t do anything but turn her head toward his voice.
    “This is all my fault,” he said, “I shouldn’t have told you to come down.”
    Skyia perceived the blurry shape of MiLO spinning around in circles, his rubber treads crunching over debris from her fall. Evidently, he was at a loss for words or action.
    “I think I’m alright, MiLO.” 
    She coughed, and every bone in her body protested as she tried to get up. She shrieked in pain as the pressure hit her arms.
    “Don’t move dear! Wait right there.”
    Even in her delirium she had to give a little smile. Where else was she going to go?
    At the far edge of the terrace stood the steel door that led into their home. The living quarters—hollowed out by the original settlers—were meant for the Signal Keepers, whoever they were at the time. Skyia and her mother’s home consisted of two large rooms, each with windows carved out of the south-western wall, facing the valley of Alexendia. The floors were adorned with beautiful multicoloured carpets and on the walls hung holo-pictures that her mom had collected from her years of traveling the planet with her scientific teams.
    Skyia slipped back into unconsciousness and dreamed of her favourite holo-pic, hanging in the living room. It portrayed a tall waterfall that her mother had visited in Bangalia province. Ferns and vines wound their way up either side of the falls, and if she looked closely enough, she could make out tiny winged creatures flying about in the mist where the falling water met the river. The tiny insects glistened silver and gold as they flew, swirling around each other, immortalized in the shimmering illusion of the hologram. 
    Her thoughts swirled to the handwritten diaries, kept safe in a bin below the picture. These diaries were all that remained of the first Signal Keepers, now centuries dead. Skyia always felt thrilled when she had a chance to leaf through the weathered pages and read the actual handwriting of those brave people, back in the early days when Taran was a much more