Dedicated to miracles.

Abriana's outburst blanketed the office, the air turning stuffy and thick. Though the others continued as normal, I knew they felt it too.

Eventually, my daughter (ugh) began answering questions for me. I was about to protest, as it was my trial, but ultimately did not interfere. She had better replies than I had.

The meeting wound down to an end when Miranda passed me an envelope. It was a classy creme paper that was weighted and felt expensive. A red wax seal bearing a stylized design of the KND was stamped on the back.

"These are the official details of your trial," she said. "You won't need to open it or give it to anyone unless prompted by someone who's at least a centurion or a Nine. Don't lose it."

"A Nine?" I asked as I turned the envelope in my hand.

"A person in the Squad Nine," she unhelpfully expained.

"There's sort of a caste system around here," Marty supplied, "based off of position. A One is like a traitor or prisoner. Two is a cadet. Three is an intern. Skip to Nine, which is a a sector leader. It goes on like that until Twelve, which is the Soopreme Leaduh."

"As in Ren," I said.

"As in Ren," he agreed.

Or a king. I'm basically going to face a king. Prior to today, meeting the Leaduh wasn't so intimidating. What changed? Oh, yeah. My chances of returning home rides on this.

"What does that make you guys?" I found myself asking.

"Because I work on the Moonbase justice system," said Miranda, "I'm a Ten. Bri is a Nine, as are the rest of Sector V. They should be Eights as sector operatives, but because of their great contributions and acclaim, they were bumped."

Ethan feigned a blush. "Aw, Miranda—"

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"Anyway," she continued, "trial's in two days at noon sharp. Be appropriate and meet me on the third floor. Clear?"

"Crystal," I replied.

"Good." She extended her hand across her polished desk, and I took it. "Nice working with you."

"As to you." Sector V and I rose. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." We started towards the door when she added, "Can I talk to you real quick, Numbuh 1362?"

If Abriana was surprised, she didn't show it. "Of course." She turned to us. "Kylie is with Numbuh 312. Go join her."

The heavy wood door slammed in my face before I could protest.


Flipping her honey blond hair over her shoulder, Abriana took her father's vacant seat. She looked her friend in the eye as she sat down herself.

"For starters," Miranda said, "I'd like to apologize for earlier."

Abriana waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

"Well, I shouldn't have questioned you."

"Your reaction was understandable," she responded calmly. "It is an unusual situation."

"Oh, I'll say. This is going down in the books, The People v. Nigel Uno."

The two girls let out hearty laughs before settling into a mutual silence.

Perhaps a minute a passed before Abriana said, "All jokes aside, though. What're our chances?"

"Brutal honesty?" Miranda asked, to which she received a nod. "Dang near impossible."

She waited several beats. She expected her companion to deny it, but all she did was cast her eyes down in resignation. It seemed that the lawyer's words only confirmed her belief.

"You know how Ren is," Miranda elaborated. "Rational in every way possible."

"If it isn't logical, it's nothing." She threw her head back onto her seat, eyes fluttering closed. "Our case and reputations won't mean jack to him."

"It might," came the empty attempt at consolation. "Nines and a Ten. You know how it works. The higher up you are, the more valuable and trustworthy your words get."

"Yeah, I guess." Her voice was offhanded and lofty. Nearly wishful.

They said nothing for an undeterminable amount of time. They simply sat there in amicable silence, almost forgetting the impending court case and what was at stake.

"Miranda?"

"Mm?"

"Legally, what is my dad?"

There was no response for so long, Abriana thought her question fell on deaf ears. When her friend finally spoke, she sounded defeated. It chilled her inside and out.

"A One."


The envelope felt like a rock in my hands. Or perhaps a hot potato—if I hold it for too long, I'm out. Marty seemed to sense my discomfort. Wordlessly, he took it from me and delicately slid it into his sweater pocket.

The three of us boarded an elevator, and Ethan punched a button with a l engraved upon it. I watched the various floors fly past me as we sank. I couldn't help but feel as if I was descending into the depths of an inescapable hell. I should not have. After all, I was in my beloved Moonbase—albeit physically altered. It was a home that would always welcome me. Always. At least, I hoped so.