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thought—Ritan was exploding around her. Destra blinked spots out of her eyes and forced herself to focus on the bright and shining hull of the shell which had been her home for the past three years. It shouldn’t have been bright or shining in the perpetual darkness of Ritan, but now the mirror-clear hull of the fighter’s “shell” was glowing as bright as a sun—not that she could remember what suns looked like. Besides that hallucination, there was also the loud roaring in her ears which grew louder and nearer by the second.
    Suddenly her mind seemed to grasp what was happening and she realized that both the light and sound were coming from behind her. She spun around to look and saw a bright point of light drawing steadily closer and larger on the horizon. It was the meteor she’d been watching earlier, except that it was no meteor. It’s impossible, she thought. I’m dreaming. Wake up, Destra! Damn you, wake up! The worst dreams were the ones where a rescue came, because when she finally woke up, she was still alone in the dark on Ritan. Those dreams haunted her more than any nightmare of Sythians, rictans, or bats—they were just another reminder of a rescue that would never come.
    The light became so bright and all-consuming that Destra couldn’t watch it anymore. The sound was horrendous, but now growing softer. She heard a th-thunk as the ship settled to the ground in front of her, and she just stood there, shaking her head. It wasn’t real. Don’t believe it, Destra! Don’t! It’s not real. It’s never real. Don’t fall for this again. . . .
    Then she felt someone shaking her by her shoulders, and she opened her eyes to see a man—a very familiar man—gazing at her with fire burning in his gray eyes. “Where is Hoff?” he asked.
    Destra shook her head. She tried to work enough moisture into her mouth so that she could speak, but no words came out when her lips moved. She hadn’t had to use her voice in over a month.
    “Where is the admiral?” the man demanded, shaking her again.
    It was impossible. I must be dreaming, she thought as she stared into the lovely gray eyes of a ghost. Her gaze flicked over his decorated black ISSF uniform with white piping and gold stars’ insignia, and then back up to his rugged face. She wasn’t sure why he was looking for the admiral. He was the admiral.
    “Oh, Hoff, you died,” she said. She reached out to cup his cheek with a dirty hand, and tears welled in her eyes.
    Hoff’s gaze softened. “Who are you?”
    It couldn’t be him. He didn’t even remember her. “I’m Destra . . . Destra Ortane,” she said, wiping her cheeks as her tears fell. “Don’t you remember me, Hoff?”
    “Are there any others here with you?”
    Destra shook her head.
    “Well, let’s go. At least I didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Hoff said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the light.
    Destra went willingly, still wondering when she was going to wake up, but so far this was unlike any dream she’d ever had. When she stepped aboard the waiting corvette and followed Hoff’s ghost to the ship’s med bay, she began to wonder. She reached the med bay in a daze and was forced to sit while the doctor checked her over. When he stepped in front of her to examine her more closely, she saw that one of his eyes was red and glowing, and she jumped up from the table. “Stay away from me, Sythian!”
    The doctor frowned and Hoff turned to watch her backing away with his eyebrows raised. “It’s an artificial eye. Sit down.”
    Destra stared at the doctor for a long while, her chest rising and falling quickly, fists clenched and shaking. The man smiled reassuringly at her. “Come on,” he said, and patted the examination table beside him. “Let’s finish checking you over.”
    After another moment, she walked hesitantly back to the examination table, but her eyes never left his face. When he didn’t suddenly turn into a hissing Sythian,