The charred ceiling tiles have caved in, exposing the drab concrete foundation of the level above. My tentative steps into the room maneuver  around the debris and burnt pieces of my family's past. A majority of the bar still stands. I walk behind it and lean against the wall, just like I used to when it was so clean that the steel top reflected my face back to me every single night. I keep trying to say goodbye to it, but it's difficult when pieces of it are still here in front of me.

"It's interesting that we keep running into each other here." Hayomo appears from behind the opened entrance doors and steps around sheets of burnt metal.

I burst to attention. "Yes, General."

She sighs. "Calm down, Lorn. You don't have to put up the pretenses with me here."

I slowly fold my arms across my chest and resume my previous lean against the wall.

"I came to level with you." She stands ramrod straight and crosses her hands behind her back. "We need to learn to work together if we are to be commanding the same vessel for five years."

I don't have a response. Every piece of my body shrinks in insignificance while standing in the presence of this woman.

"Once we leave Earth," she says, looking me dead in the eye, "the only position that will hold any value is that of the President of the URE." She walks closer to the bar until we're in the exact same positions we were when we first met. It feels like eons ago. "His compliance is critical. The alien races—each and every one of them—follow a system of hierarchy. They need to know who is in charge and who is not. Which is why he has now been briefed on our operation."

She pauses to allow me a second to let that sink in.

"We need him. There is only one in charge of everything. For us, that will continue to be the President."

I clutch my arms tighter over my chest. The President. The one who was once deemed enlightened, the beacon of hope for our failing race who promised to deliver us from the smear of our existence to one that is greater and far more plentiful.

The poster hangs just beyond the entrance to the Sink, the bolts pinning it down add to the menacing permanency of the little-drawn representative of our President. This is the closest I've ever come to knowing him—this squared and shadowed figure and his silhouetted minions around him. Safety and Equality for Unity, he says.

It was this shadow person who created the Human Hope Project. This was the man who took us out of the air and stuffed us into the ground.

But he's just a shape in the darkness. Maybe he has been many men.

How would we be able to tell? We only get his voice like second-hand smoke.

"How will we know what he wants?"

Hayomo smiles at me. "We have the general orders outlined in the OPLAN. Because we've found no viable way to communicate between ships that are out of range of our network, we will be independent. From there, you and I are in charge. This is why our partnership is crucial—especially in regard to the Xani. They see us as the leaders of our refugees. We need to be systematically united."

Her sentences are to the point, but I can tell she's trying to be casual with me. Her attempt puts me slightly at ease. "So what do we do first to get on equal footing? Because honestly, you scare the shit out of me."

"Follow me."

She strides out of the rubble. I remain against the wall for a brief second because no matter how equal we may be on-file, I feel that I'm going to need to get used to being ordered around.

We stride through the halls and around the Rotunda until we land at Level 9. At first, I'm confused. All this thinking about the President has me hoping for a fleeting moment that Hayomo has actually brought me down here to meet the guy himself.

When we turn down Ward 3 toward the tunnel system, I shrink. We're headed to the ships. The entrance is crowded as the very next section is Ward 4, one with the staircase that leads to Level 10 where the President resides day in and day out. Does he ever get bored, lonely, miserable in his section of our underground world? I stare at the door.

A strange tickling pricks at my neck, and all my little hairs rise on end.

I feel eyes on me. Somewhere down here, someone is watching.

I check behind and catch nothing. Glancing around, I'm not even sure I'm entirely visible as my presence is overlooked. Even Hayomo is busy with the checkpoint guard, her hand clasped in his. I throw tentative glances over my shoulder, trying to gauge which part of this enormous floor is host to the eyes that I know are following me. It's my turn to scan. The feeling disappears as abruptly as it came.

We stand before the tunnels that are open mouths before us. The wind bites at my skin, and I shake off the cold shiver that rips through my body.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready." I rub my hands together and blow a last burst of hot air on them before we go. The two of us, a strange rag-tag couple comprised of immense strength and unlimited ambition, take off at a steady jog down the tunnels.

Nearly an hour later, we're at the fork between the different ships. When we arrive at the door to ARC9 and ARC10, I'm startled by by the stiff stance of the soldier before us. It's as if she hadn't moved since the last time I was there months ago. The need to speak to her is so deep and so forceful, that I stumble forward. I catch the words before they're launched from me.

I want to tell her everything.

Her dark eyes find Hayomo's.

"Lorn, you remember White, correct?"

"Yeah, I do." The response comes out like it's a possibility.

"White will be working with us on ARC10. She will be part of our special forces."

I remember memorizing the names of the special forces recruits who would be assigned to ARC10. Moyra's name was not on there at all.

"Great," I say with enthusiasm as we pass a stone-faced girl with her hands firmly on her rifle in tactical position. She looks like she is made of bedrock. Her eyes are wide and alert, her lips are closed tightly together, and her chin is raised above the terrain. She looks like how I imagine the Lady of the Impenetrable Heap would have looked if she were made of flesh. "It'll be just like old times."

There's no response. I don't really expect to have one. Hayomo and I might as well have been talking to the pipes.

When we arrive at the cavernous room, the sight of ARC10 throws me sideways. I forgot how ugly the thing is. We take a few turns around the parameter of the ship. While on our tour, Hayomo waves her hand and spits out mundane statistics.

". . . much needed, the third door was installed in Quad-Three. Is this making any sense?" She pauses and turns to me.

I wasn't paying attention at all. I'm hyper-focused on the shadows. I was imagining the Xani and how they might crawl from underneath every crevice of the awkwardly shaped ship.

"General," I begin, not even acknowledging her question, "where will the Xani be during all of this? I saw one the other—"

"Stay away from them," she says, "because we are all on tenuous ground. They want to be on this planet as much as we want to be in their ship. They have promised not to harm us, but I'm not entirely sure we can trust them." She resumes our meandering pace. "Currently, I've only seen the Xani in three states—passive, excited, and dead."

"You've seen a dead one?"

"Unfortunately, it was one single moment when all three presented themselves to me."

I gawk at her.

"It was years ago when we first began negotiations. It was on the initial walk-through of this harbor once the ARCs were first docked underground."

A question bursts at my lips, but she cuts me off quickly.

"There were two Xani with me. In no more than ten seconds, one became agitated and pierced the other through what I assumed was the abdomen. It was so quick. I didn't see it coming, nor did I understand what to do with this knowledge until recently."

"General," comes a sharp voice from our side. Moyra halted to a stiff salute behind us. "There is someone to see you at the entrance."

It doesn't even sound like her. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not her at all.

As I watch Hayomo's retreat, I slide a little closer to Moyra and attempt to restrain myself from throwing my arms around her and squeezing the breath from her lungs, most likely killing her for real this time.

"Moyra, I can't believe it's you. Do you understand that everyone has thought—no, fully believed—that you've been dead all this time? I wish I could tell them." I whisper that last bit more to myself than to the stone-faced girl.

Turning back to her, I beg her to answer. "What have you been doing? How long have you known about this operation?" My mouth keeps forming words, and I don't see that she is still holding her body as stiff as steel.

"You can drop it, Mo, it's just me."

She doesn't budge.

"Mo? It's me. Do you recognize me?"

She gives no indication.

"We grew up together. Remember when Simon and your brother Jacob were an item there for a bit? And you basically came to live with us? Is this ringing any bells?"

She doesn't blink an eye. Her face is attached to the body of a beautiful gargoyle. She may have been standing guard here for centuries.

"Do you remember anything from our past?" I am practically gagging on my need for a response. When one doesn't come, my arms drop with annoyance, slapping my sides.

I want answers. "Did they do this against your will?" I whisper to her, hovering over her ear so that no one could hear me. "Because I don't believe you'd ever be," here I step back and look her up and down, "whatever it is that this is. This isn't you." I wait for that to do something.

No response.

"How did this happen to you?"

At her despondency, I want to grab her, shake her, slap her, kick her, do something to have her move or acknowledge human emotion.

Hayomo appears again. "Thank you, White."

With a sharp pivot, she exits the room.

Maybe she did die. Maybe they have her ghost chained to that doorway, and it's only her shade that has come to see me off into the darkness.