Chapter One

In space, everyone can hear you scream.

Especially when we have cameras on you. Your scream gets piped through subspace at post-lightspeed, reformulated on at least thirty-two planets, beamed across the airwaves, and plopped onto holoscreens or handhelds or plain old-fashioned retinaplants or goggles by the millions. It’s even translated into Goorish, or Mitzelsplainian, or Shin’shau, or my personal favorite: Irish.

God, you should hear your scream in Irish.

Well, not you. The royal you, by which I mean the hot, not-too-bothered-with-talent, properly grizzled and perfectly coiffed crew of my current assignment.

Welcome to the USS Butterfly.

Who am I? I’m glad you asked. But I’m not the one sitting for this testimonial. The cameras aren’t pointed at me. I’m not even the one in charge.

“The Forvians saw us coming,” Doctor Bentley Brusher was saying, brushing a lock of curly blonde hair back delicately. “So that ion blast to the starboard hull? Yeah, that took out a good hundred of the crew. It’s a good thing I’m a miracle worker.” She flashed a smile to the camera.

I checked my notes. There had been a hundred injuries, not deaths. I opened my mouth to say something, but Doctor Brusher was already continuing.

“But the captain had an ace up his sleeve,” she said. “You know how he always likes to formulize mint tea? Never could stand the stuff, myself. Anyway, he turns to me, and—no joke—he says: ‘Brusher, leave the tea in my ready room.’ Which was, of course, code for sex.”

She winked.

I did my best not to roll my eyes.

Diz glanced at me from behind her camera, doing the rolling for me. The doctor was still rambling on, something about how the captain had deftly ridden the blastwave from the ion cannons, sweeping behind the Forvians and catching them unprepared. Then he’d done unspeakable things to the doctor, in a scene our cameras had unfortunately caught but our producer had immediately vetoed.

We’d have to edit all this out later.

I’d never been a big fan of Doctor Brusher, but I couldn’t deny she had talent. She’d risen far, even if she was a bit annoying. I knew I’d never succeed like her. Especially if I didn’t really like tea.

“Well, that was useless,” Diz said after the doctor finally left. “You coming to the mess hall, Cal?”

I hated when she called me that. “Callie. And no. Actually, neither are you. We’re supposed to get some B-roll from the bridge. An establishing shot, too.” I checked my notes.

Diz sighed all too loudly, glaring at me and grabbing her gear. “Fine. But let’s make it fast.”

I tried to glare my hardest back, but couldn’t hold the gaze. Damn Diz, always glaring and sighing and grabbing things. Maybe some day I’d actually manage to be as strong as her.

I tried not to look at her ass as she walked out ahead of me.

The bridge was done up in golds and blues, typical for an Ender Class starship, although they’d maybe put a bit more extra work into the lighting. We had to hit the cameras with lens flares as much as possible, of course—it was central to the whole experience. I motioned for Diz to do her standard opening shot, twirling one finger in the air.

She got the idea.

Captain Deckard Shane walked out onto the bridge as if on cue—which he was—brilliant, perfect teeth reflecting the white lights in the corners of the room. Diz’s camera flew up into the air, doing a perfect circle around him as he strode toward the captain’s chair. I checked my handheld, watching the shot. He was beautiful, the camera perfectly capturing his square chin, the flinty sparkle of his bright blue eyes, the way his navy uniform clung to his perfectly sculpted body, the set of his jaw as he stood there and surveyed the crew. The camera finished rotating, coming to rest on his beautifully lit face. No lens flares. Okay, just one. Maybe two.

I blushed, took a breath, and tried to stop staring.

Diz was glaring at me again.

“Ensign,” Captain Shane said, “set a course for Tavo V, maximum speed.”

The ensign, a twenty-something by the name of Kelly Pow who was prettier than I would ever be, smiled brightly at the captain. “Course laid in, sir.” She was a bit overeager, if you asked me, and her uniform was far too tight. Maybe she liked tea, too.

The captain turned, Diz’s camera following him perfectly, even picking up a new lens flare. Nice. I think we were doing this correctly. I’d never actually spent much time on the bridge before. The showrunner was always keeping me occupied elsewhere on the ship.

“We’ve just received word from Command,” Shane said. “They’ve picked up a distress call originating from right outside of Tavo V. It’s a Star Corps ship, and the timestamp indicates that they’ve been there for over a month.”

“Why haven’t we caught the signal before?”

It was First Officer Stryker, all bearded chin and chiseled chest. Stryker Hotly. I was reasonably sure that was a stage name. Comes with the territory, I guess. Reality show and all.

Captain Deckard Shane turned to him. “It was masked by interference from the Aganomnon Nebula. Star Corps only just managed to pick it up as Tavo V shifted in its orbit.”

“So the ship is in orbit around the planet?” Stryker’s chest swelled as he spoke.

“Unclear. In any case, our orders are to—”

The bridge rocked with a sudden blast, sending me nearly off my feet. As I stumbled, I couldn’t help but smile. This was what we lived for on the show. Nothing too out of the ordinary—just your typical run-of-the-mill alien attack where everyone might actually die. It happened literally all the time. How else do you think we were supposed to make a show?

Danger was just part of the job.

But this was the first time I’d been on the bridge when it happened.

Diz’s camera went off course, veering toward navigation and getting a quick upskirt on the overeager ensign Kelly. I wasn’t sure if Diz had done that on purpose. Her camera was always doing things like that, it seemed. But I was too busy fumbling with my notes. What was I supposed to be doing here, exactly?

Maybe Burnett had kept me away from things like this for a reason.

“Report!” Shane said, but another blast hit the ship, sparks flying from the navigation desk. I fell this time, my knee hitting the minimally carpeted floor rather hard. Damn danger. Damn job.

I really hoped I’d manage to live through this.

“It’s the Forvians!” Security Officer Jenna Storm said, rapidly tapping at her console. “They’ve brought reinforcements!”

“Red alert!” Captain Shane shouted.

I checked my handheld, stumbling to my feet. I needed to do something. I needed to prove myself. If I did end up dying here today, I needed to end with my best work. So I looked around, checking the shots. We had three static cameras in the room, plus Diz’s, and now my producer was in my ear.

“Mark! Tambika! Where in the hell are you? Why is Callie on the bridge?”

Shit. Burnett sounded furious.

Now I really needed to do well.

I imagined the other camera operators running as fast as their little legs could take them, careening down passageways and dodging past the crew. But for now, this was my shot. I was the only producer here. Third production assistant, to be precise, but hey. At least production was in my name.

I had finally found myself an opportunity.

“Diz!” I shouted as the bridge buckled yet again. Flames burst out behind the captain’s chair, and I couldn’t help but jump away in fear. Sure, I’d seen all this on TV, but it was a very different thing to experience it in real life.

But I had to do this. I had to.

I had to make Burnett like me somehow.

“Let’s get a testimonial,” I shouted at Diz, barely able to keep my feet. Testimonials were good. Viewers always want to know what the characters are thinking.

“What, now?” Diz shouted back. “We’re all, like, actually about to die.” There was a hint of a smile on her face, almost as if she was enjoying this.

I tried my glare again, and this time it actually worked.

“Fine,” Diz said, sighing, pointing her camera at the captain.

“Captain,” I said, hearing a slight quiver in my voice, “can you tell us what’s going through your head?” Dammit. I needed to sound more confident. I cleared my throat.

There was a loud zap, an explosion in the distance, and the viewscreen at the front of the bridge changed to show a massive Forvian warship bearing down on us, ion cannons blazing. It was just as scary as it seems on TV, but I didn’t have time to be any more afraid.

I had a job to do.

Captain Deckard Shane smiled, perfect teeth glistening, lights hitting his face just beautifully. He beamed his blue eyes right into the camera, all else forgotten.

For a moment, he was mine.

“Our first course of action must be to contain the threat,” he said. “And, of course, evade total destruction by the enemy’s hand.” His smile was gratuitous. I felt my stomach rolling. “The Forvians always have been a bit of a problem.”

“So you’re calm?” I asked. He probably didn’t even knew who I was.

“Calm as a daisy in a grassfield,” he said. I blinked, remembering my father’s voice saying the exact same words. I must have only been five at the time. God, I missed him so much, but now was not the time to cry. So I gritted my teeth instead, stumbling as yet another blast hit the ship.

“Are we going to actually make it out of this?” I tried to ask the captain.

But he was already elsewhere, directing his crew to push this, to switch that, to maneuver using algorithm Evasive Alpha Seven, which was undoubtedly something they had all learned in Star Academy. It was impressive. It was effective. All I could do was watch the viewscreen and hope Diz was getting the right footage as the Butterfly shot its slipstream lasers, bright lights permeating the hull of the Forvian ship. There was a bunch of technospeak, stuff I didn’t understand but sounded amazing, and then it was all over. The Forvians were destroyed, their ship erupting in a burst of flames. They were gone. We were safe.

Captain Deckard Shane had saved us once again.

And I had managed to document it all.

Mark and Tambika had never actually arrived.

Shane’s jaw was a jutting smile as he hit cameras two and three, then Diz’s, then the fourth one in the wall, then walked with a perfectly perfected swagger toward his ready room. “Have Brusher bring my tea,” he said, as the other crew members straightened their blue jumpsuits.

I could still feel the adrenaline coursing through me. Orion’s Belt, I could actually get used to this. Was this how all producers felt when they covered a firefight? Was this how the Captain felt? I wanted to ask him, but he was already long gone.

“Did you get it?” Burnett howled in my earpiece, and I jolted in surprise. “Did you get good coverage? Orion, I can’t believe it was you on the bridge.”

I sighed, but didn’t respond just yet. It was always like this. I was always the last pick. So instead of speaking to Burnett, I approached Diz. I even managed to look her in the face.

“Nice job,” I said. “Your shots looked good.”

It grated me to say it. She had never treated me well, even back when we were in school. She didn’t deserve my compliments now, but she had done a good job.

“Thanks, Cal,” she said, swinging her pouch across her shoulder. The camera zoomed smoothly into her hand, and she mouthed me a kiss. “See you in the mess?”

“Fine,” I said, turning away. I couldn’t look at her anymore. “And it’s Callie.”

I know what you’re thinking. Wait.

I turned to camera three.

I know what you’re thinking. All this reality show nonsense is bullshit, right? Even if Space Dogs is the most popular show on thirty-two planets, does that make it good? Is it art? Does anybody care if the advertising money rolls in? Right. I get it.

I turned to camera two.

See, I’d always wanted to be a starship captain. Doesn’t everybody? My father got the closest to managing it, but even he fell short. Me? I was destined for poorer things. Like third assistant PA for the stupidest reality show to ever grace the airwaves. Sure, it was also the most popular show. Sure, it was actually pretty dangerous. And sure, you’d think I was young enough to change careers, do something else if I really hated this that bad. But I had no future. Not really.

Getting kicked out of Star Academy will do that to you.

But enough backstory.

I left the cameras, heading for the mess hall, where I was sure that Diz and the rest of the crew were waiting. I headed that way, taking deep breaths as the adrenaline subsided. Would the others congratulate me if I joined them there? Would they say it was a job well done? Or would they mock me, keep me off to the side like they always did?

I didn’t know. But I did need to eat.

Motion distracted me as I trudged down deck twelve aft. A dark room was there, its door inexplicably open to the ship, whirling lights and shapes inside. It was an edit bay. Usually off-limits to assistants like me, but I was feeling particularly fierce.

I stepped inside.

Burnett was there, face stark against the glowing glass. “What do you want?”

He didn’t shout, but I imagined it as such, and I cringed before such force. I managed to lift my head, gathering some semblance of wit, and clenched my teeth and said, “How did the coverage look?”

He relaxed, shifting backward in his chair. “Better than expected. Your camerawoman—Diz, is it?—is actually quite good.”

No mention of me, but I figured I’d take that as a win. He wasn’t yelling at me, which was a distinct step up from usual.

I glanced at his screens, which were showing various angles on the action with the Forvians. The explosions popped, the fire bright, the expressions on the nearly-wounded crew members sufficiently dramatic. It would play well, I knew. This would be an episode to remember.

I wondered how the Forvians were taking their defeat. Oh, wait—they weren’t alive to take anything.

I grinned at my own internal joke, turning to leave. “Looks good,” I said.

“Thank you,” Burnett said, clutching my arm suddenly. His fingers were like a vice.

I turned to look at him, but before I could I saw something else on the screens. Camera three had caught it, text on the Security Officer’s console. I skimmed the words, not sure if I could believe what I was seeing.

FORVIAN SIMULATION X7 TO COORDINATES 197.32.42763

EXPLOSION

EXPLOSION

REACT FOR 5 SECONDS

FIRE SLIPSTREAM LASERS

REACT FOR 3 SECONDS

No. It couldn’t be.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s a script,” Burnett said, and when he saw the shock on my face he burst out laughing. “What? Did you think any of this was actually real?”