“What?” Flynn’s voice is sharp.

“These images, they’re from LRI Headquarters—or where it used to be. See, there—that block, that’s where the Applied Sciences division was.” It’s only rubble now, but as the smoke shifts, we get a glimpse of something that should be impossible—at least one structure still standing, amid the pieces of wreckage from ship and building alike. I know the area by heart, after a year spent researching ways to infiltrate it, and I know it even on fire. My mind’s scrambling, trying to understand. “She crashed the Daedalus into LaRoux Industries Headquarters.”

The feed cuts back to a shot of the reporter, whose wild-eyed gaze—from someone used to being stoic in the face of galaxy-rocking news—makes me want to run and hide. “Breaking news—our reporter on the ground has located a pocket of survivors at the heart of the crash site, including LaRoux Industries CEO Roderick LaRoux and his daughter, Lilac LaRoux. There is no sign of her fiancé. We’ll go now to the scene.”

The feed cuts to two-dimensional footage, projected flat like a screen from the palm pad. The shot is shaky, like it’s being filmed from a handheld device, probably not too different from the one Gideon’s using to show us the feed. It’s dark, the scene lit only by generator-powered floodlights. But despite the nausea-inducing sway of the camera, despite the throngs of people milling here and there, despite the bloodied injuries in the background, all of us are staring at what’s in the foreground.

It’s Monsieur LaRoux, without a scratch, and at his side, her arm through his, leaning close as though taking comfort from her father’s presence, is Lilac.

And her eyes are blue.

Jubilee gasps aloud, leaning closer as though she might magnify the image. “She’s—she’s herself? Look at her eyes.”

“She couldn’t be—she’d be trying to find Tarver.…” Flynn’s always been good at debate, and though he sounds certain, his eyes are troubled. “There’s no way she stands by that man if she’s not being controlled.”

We all start talking at once, even Mori, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Everybody shut up.” Tarver’s voice cuts through the argument, his eyes never leaving the projected image of the girl he loves. “Listen.”

She’s talking. “I don’t know what happened to him,” Lilac is saying in response to a question from the person holding the camera. One hand is smoothing down the skirts of the black dress she wore on the Daedalus, as immaculate as it was the first time I saw it. “We got separated. But, truth be told…maybe it’s better we did.”

“Better?” The interviewer’s voice comes from behind the camera, unseen but loud in the device’s microphone.

“Major Merendsen…he’s a nice boy, and I’ll always be grateful that he saved my life after the Icarus crashed. But I think I just got carried away with that gratitude. I never really wanted to marry him.” She shuts her eyes, as if this is difficult for her, as though the words she’s speaking do cause her pain. “I hope he’s okay, I truly do. But I’m glad I’m here, with my father, trying to help.”

I find my gaze going toward Tarver, who’s watching the feed without expression. He might as well be carved from stone for all Lilac’s confession seems to affect him.

“That’s not her.” Jubilee’s the one who speaks, and this time her tone brooks no opposition. “Even if she did think that—and trust me, she doesn’t—she’d never say so on the news. She’d never do that to Tarver. Somehow, the whisper’s learned to fake it—to make it seem like it’s the real Lilac.”

“To that end,” LaRoux is speaking now, putting an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze, “I’m making a plea to all the planetary delegations, wherever you are, whoever is left, that we carry on with the Galactic Summit despite this great tragedy. Peace is too important to be put on hold—we must find a way for all people, across the galaxy, to live safe, happy, pain-free lives. I’ve devoted every resource at my disposal to the rescue operations taking place here, but I would like to extend an invitation to all surviving planetary delegations to come to my personal home tomorrow to meet. While we do not yet know what caused the Daedalus to fall, we cannot discount the possibility of rebel terrorist interference, which makes this summit of peace ever more vital. The Galactic Council chambers might have crumbled and been destroyed, but the spirit of peace must continue.”

I even find myself wavering, wondering if he’s doing something noble after all, despite the loathing I ought to feel for him. Even knowing that it wasn’t rebels who brought down the Daedalus, I find myself wanting to listen to him. I may have spent the last year learning to talk people into doing what I needed them to do, but LaRoux is a master at it. My heart shrivels at the thought that I could have anything in common with this monster.

Flynn, though, is shaking—his voice is fierce. “This is wrong,” he whispers. “It’s impossible for every senator to have made it off the Daedalus alive…any resolution passed would need elected officials to vote on it. He’s planning something.”

The camera jolts, then swings dizzyingly to the side, showing only a jumble of ruined buildings and oddly green lawn from the LRI courtyard; then it comes to rest again, and the air goes out of the room.

It’s the rift. It’s being moved, painstakingly slowly, by a crew of two dozen people, only some of whom are in LRI uniforms. And it’s active, casting its blue glow across the grass, across the faces of the people moving it.

“Ah, yes.” The camera swings back to show LaRoux, turning to monitor the rift’s progress. From this angle, the device over his ear is clearly visible, masquerading in plain sight as a hands-free comm unit—the little bit of tech, all that’s standing between him and domination by the whisper inhabiting Lilac. “I’d hoped to wait to unveil this new technology until after speaking to the planetary delegates, but in light of this disaster, I think it’s needed now, more than ever.”

He pauses, glancing to the side, eyes finding Lilac—who’s smiling back at him, every inch the adoring daughter. I search her face, trying to find some sign of what’s inside, some hint of the horrifying creature we glimpsed on the Daedalus. But she just smiles, giving her father an encouraging nod. And she never lets go of his arm.

“At LaRoux Industries, we’ve been attempting to tap into a source of clean, renewable power for decades. And finally, at long last…we’ve perfected it.”

The camera shakes, then steadies. Then, the voice behind it stammers, “E-excuse me, Monsieur LaRoux. But are you saying…”

LaRoux nods, his face grave but determined. “Before you is the galaxy’s first stable, safe hyperspace generator. We’ve long been aware of the vast, infinite reserves of energy on the other side of the dimensional fabric separating us from hyperspace—indeed, one of the challenges we face in ship design is how to safely skim through hyperspace to shorten interstellar journeys, without that energy harming us or our vessels. But after decades of experimentation, we’ve finally perfected the process.”