9. Daisy
Daisy
The world explodes into chaos.
I'm running before I can fully process what's happening, my bare feet pounding across the packed earth of Hakan's yard. The boys. I have to get to the boys.
"Riz! Davi!" I scream, my voice barely audible over the roar of engines and the crackling flames consuming the barn.
*We're here!* Riz's voice bursts into my mind, panicked and loud. *By the grain storage!*
I change direction, sprinting toward the cylindrical structure at the edge of the field. My heart is hammering so hard I think it might burst from my chest. Behind me, I hear Hakan shouting something, but I can't stop, can't slow down —
The boys are huddled behind the grain storage, their small bodies pressed against the curved wall. When they see me, they rush forward, and I catch them both, pulling them against me.
"It's okay, I've got you," I gasp, even though nothing about this is okay.
A Virdathian transport vessel roars overhead, so close I can feel the heat from its engines. It's massive — easily three times the size of Hakan's shuttle — and heavily armed. As I watch in horror, it banks around for another pass.
"We need to hide," I tell the boys, looking frantically for cover. The grain storage won't protect us if they start firing at it.
*Hakan says to get to the house,* Davi sends, his mental voice shaking. *He says the walls are reinforced.*
I look toward the house — it's at least fifty yards away across open ground. Between us and safety, I can see two more Virdathian craft landing, their hatches already opening to disgorge soldiers.
There are so many of them.
"Run," I order the boys. "Stay low and run as fast as you can."
We break from cover, and immediately I hear shouting. A weapon discharges, the bolt sizzling past us so close I can smell the ozone.
The boys are faster than me, their small legs pumping as they race toward the house. I'm doing my best to keep up, but my body isn't built for this — I'm a social worker, not an athlete, and my lungs are already burning.
Another weapons blast, and this one hits the ground just in front of me. I stumble, nearly falling, catching myself on my hands. Pain shoots through my palms but I push myself up, keep moving —
That's when I see Hakan.
He's a blur of motion, his body a weapon as deadly as any blade. A Virdathian soldier charges him, and Hakan doesn't even slow down — he ducks under the alien's swing, manifests a glowing blade from his hassana, and drives it up under the Virdathian's ribs in one smooth motion.
The Virdathian drops, and Hakan is already moving to the next one.
"Get inside!" he roars at me, and I don't argue.
The boys have reached the porch and are yanking open the door. I put on a final burst of speed and throw myself up the steps, practically falling through the doorway. The boys slam it shut behind me.
Through the window, I watch Hakan fight, and it's like nothing I've ever seen. He moves with lethal grace, every motion precise and economical. His hassana bands glow golden, and the blades he manifests seem to be extensions of his own body.
Three Virdathians rush him at once. He rolls under the first one's attack, comes up inside the second one's guard, and drives his blade through the alien's throat. The third one gets a hand on him, but Hakan twists, breaks the grip, and delivers a devastating strike to the Virdathian's head.
All three are down in a matter of seconds.
"He's amazing," Riz breathes beside me.
"He's going to get himself killed," I whisper, my hands pressed against the window glass.
But Hakan isn't just fighting — he's thinking tactically. I watch as he sprints toward the nearest grounded transport, firing a weapon he must have taken from a fallen Virdathian. The shots are precise, targeting something on the craft's exterior.
Suddenly, the entire vessel erupts in flames.
The explosion is massive, the shockwave strong enough to rattle the windows of the house. Debris rains down across the farm, and I see several Virdathians caught in the blast radius go flying.
*He hit the fuel cell,* Davi explains, his mental voice awed. *He knew exactly where to shoot.*
Before the flames have even begun to die down, Hakan is moving again. He's spotted the second grounded transport and is running toward it, another weapon in his hands — where is he getting all these weapons?
*From the Virdathians he's killing,* Riz answers my unspoken thought. *He takes their weapons as he goes.*
The second transport is already trying to lift off, its engines whining as it struggles to gain altitude. But Hakan is faster. He leaps — actually leaps, his powerful legs propelling him an impossible distance — and catches hold of the landing strut.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
He pulls himself up with pure upper body strength, moving hand over hand until he reaches the hatch. It's closed, but that doesn't stop him — his hassana flare brilliant gold, and he manifests something I can't quite see. Whatever it is, it tears through the hatch like it's made of paper.
Hakan disappears inside the transport.
For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. The craft continues to rise, now about twenty feet off the ground and climbing.
Then it lurches violently to one side.
Through the open hatch, I see flashes of golden light — Hakan's blades moving in deadly arcs. I hear screams, cut short.
The transport lurches again, and suddenly it's dropping, falling like a stone. It hits the ground with tremendous force, the impact crumpling its landing struts.
Hakan comes through the hatch at a run, leaping clear just before the entire craft explodes in a fireball that lights up the darkening sky.
He hits the ground in a roll, comes up running, and doesn't stop until he's at the house.
I yank open the door, and he stumbles inside, breathing hard. His blue skin is streaked with soot and what I'm sickeningly sure is blood — though whether it's his or the Virdathians', I can't tell.
"How many more?" I ask.
"One transport still in the air," he pants, moving to the window. "It's holding back, staying out of range."
As if to confirm his words, the remaining transport circles high above, its weapons systems clearly visible but not firing.
"Why isn't it attacking?" I ask.
"Because they've realized what happened to their friends," Hakan says grimly. "They're regrouping. Calling for reinforcements, most likely."
"How long do we have?"
"Not long. We need to leave. Now."
He moves through the house with swift efficiency, grabbing a pack from the storage room and stuffing it with supplies. I see him pause at the shelf where the portrait of his wife and daughter sits.
His hand hovers over it for just a moment before he wraps it in a cloth and tucks it into the pack. The small carved figure his daughter made is next.
"What can I do?" I ask, desperate to be useful.
"Grab food supplies from the kitchen. Anything that will keep. And there's a medkit under the sink — get that too."
The boys and I move quickly, following his orders. Within minutes, we have the pack loaded with everything we can carry.
"Where are we going?" Riz asks.
Hakan's expression is grim as he points out the window. "We're taking their transport."
I follow his gaze to the intact Virdathian craft still on the ground near the ruined barn. It's squat and ugly, its hull scarred and dented, but it appears functional.
"Can you fly it?" I ask.
"Virdathian craft are simple by design. I can manage it."
Another explosion shakes the house — the transport above has started firing at the farm's perimeter, systematically destroying everything.
"They're trying to trap us," Hakan says. "Time to go."
He shoulders the pack, manifests a blade in each hand, and nods toward the door. "Stay close to me. Run when I say run. Don't stop for anything."
The boys grab my hands, and I feel their fear through their touch — but also their trust. They believe Hakan will protect us.
I believe it too.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod, my heart in my throat.
He throws open the door and we burst out into the chaos.
The world outside is transformed — fires burn across the farm, the crops that Hakan so carefully tended reduced to ash and smoke.
The barn is completely destroyed, just a skeleton of blackened timber.
The beautiful home he built with his own hands is already showing scorch marks from near-miss weapons fire.
Everything he worked for, everything he built to keep himself going through his grief — destroyed in minutes.
But Hakan doesn't hesitate. He leads us in a zigzagging pattern across the open ground, constantly changing direction to make us harder targets. Above us, the circling transport fires again, but the bolts hit where we were, not where we are.
We're almost at the Virdathian craft when I see movement — a Virdathian soldier stumbling from the wreckage of the first transport Hakan destroyed, his armor smoking but still functional.
He sees us. Raises his weapon.
Hakan is faster. The blade he manifests flies from his hand like it was shot from a bow, burying itself in the Virdathian's chest.
"Go!" Hakan shouts, and we run the last few yards to the transport.
The hatch is open — left that way by the soldiers who disembarked to attack us. Hakan practically throws us inside, then follows, his hands already moving over the control panel.
"Strap in," he orders, and the boys and I scramble to find seats.
The interior of the transport is utilitarian and cramped, designed for function rather than comfort. Everything is dark metal and harsh angles. It smells of oil and something acrid that makes my nose wrinkle.
But it has seats with harnesses, and I get the boys secured before strapping myself in.
Hakan is in the pilot's seat, his hands flying over controls that look nothing like the ones in his own shuttle. But he seems to know what he's doing — the engines rumble to life, and I feel the craft shudder.
"Hold on," he warns.
We lurch into the air, rising fast. Through the viewport, I see the remaining Virdathian transport bank toward us, weapons powering up.
Hakan doesn't wait for them to fire. He slams the controls forward, and our transport shoots ahead with acceleration that presses me back into my seat. The boys yelp in surprise.
The other transport fires, but we're already out of range, climbing steeply through the atmosphere.
"Are they following?" I ask, craning to see out the viewport.
"Not anymore," Hakan says, and there's a savage satisfaction in his voice. "By the time they report back and get new orders, we'll be long gone."
The farm disappears below us, swallowed by the jungle canopy and then by distance. I feel a pang in my chest watching it vanish — it was barely two hours ago that I first saw it, but it had felt like something important. A place where we might have been safe. A place that could have been home.
Now it's gone, destroyed by the same forces that destroyed Hakan's entire world.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
Hakan glances back at me, his expression unreadable. "For what?"
"Your farm. Your home. Everything you built —"
“It was just a place," he cuts me off, but his voice is gentle. "A place I used to hide from life. From the galaxy." He holds my gaze. "You've shown me that hiding isn't living."
The boys are listening intently, their eyes moving between us.
"But you lost everything," I protest. "Again."
"No." He turns back to the controls, but I see his hands tighten on them. "I lost things. Buildings. Crops. A shuttle that can be replaced." He's quiet for a moment, then adds, "What I gained is worth infinitely more."
My throat gets tight with emotion. I want to go to him, to put my arms around him, but I'm strapped into this seat and he needs to focus on flying us to safety.
Instead, I reach out to the boys, taking their hands in mine. They squeeze back, and I feel their thoughts brushing against mine — affection, trust, the beginning of something that feels like family.
We break through the atmosphere, and the sky changes from blue to black, stars emerging like diamonds scattered across velvet. Below us, Mavorrah becomes a green-and-blue sphere, beautiful and deadly.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
“Hang on,” he says. “Hyperspace in three, two, one.”
I feel a whoosh of pressure on me as the craft accelerates. The stars become line of light and then —
“Hyperspace achieved,” Hakan says, then audibly sighs with relief.
“I assume ‘hyperspace’ is a good thing?” I ask.
“We can’t be followed through hyperspace,” he explains. “Also, in hyperspace, distances are compressed.”
I don’t want to even pretend that I understand that. Instead, I focus on our next steps. “So where are we going?”
“We need supplies.” He presses more buttons on the control panel. “We’re heading to a spaceport that’s one of safer trading hubs in this sector of the Outer Fringe.”
I nod, trying to process everything. Less than a day ago, I was a social worker in a hospital parking lot. Now I’m in a spacecraft in actual space with two telepathic children and a blue-skinned warrior who makes my heart race.
It should be terrifying. It should be overwhelming.
But as I sit here, the boys' hands in mine, watching Hakan's capable hands guide us through the void, I realize something.
Here, in this cramped and uncomfortable alien spacecraft, I have so much more than I had on Earth.