To Save a Broken Nebula (United Planetary Systems: Gemma #2)

Chapter One

The once-pristine corridors of Zion now bore the scars of war.

And it was all her sister’s fault.

Six weeks ago, the Dissent descended on Zion and staged a simultaneous revolt on the Oranos Space Station.

Scores of Systems civilians, soldiers, and employees had been killed in the skirmishes before the Systems finally regained control.

Afterward, a decision had been made to send the civilians and employees on the space station to Zion while the Systems soldiers sought the remaining Dissent operatives.

It had taken the refugees three weeks to get to Zion—the tall, white, massive structure that loomed over Reva’s surface and served as the site for the Trials and the delivery of off-world goods.

And now, hundreds of refugees packed into every available space on Zion’s residential floors, their faces pale and eyes hollow.

Makeshift bedding lined the walls, tangled with the few possessions people had managed to bring. The air reeked of sweat, fear, and the faint tang of blood. Somewhere, a child sobbed, their cries lost in the din of adults arguing and the hum of an overworked ventilation system.

Gemma stood at the edge of it all, her back pressed against a scuffed, white, metal wall, her hands trembling as she gripped the strap of her medbag, her chest tight with a familiar, unwelcome weight:

Panic.

Not from the crowds or the heat or the hunger. But from the constant, clawing awareness beneath her skin that it was still inside her.

The alien presence had gone silent after the implant but hadn’t vanished. Not really. It haunted her dreams and waited, patient and deliberate, curling in her bones. And sometimes, like now, she felt it shift. Not in pain, but in readiness.

Gemma closed her eyes, placed a hand on her chest, and breathed deeply on repeat. Everything’s okay. I have no reason to panic.

Before she could stop it, her mind replayed last night’s nightmare. She’d lost control again. Her limbs had moved with a strength she hadn’t been able to control; her voice had spoken words she hadn’t been able to understand, and her eyes had reflected something foreign and cold.

Gemma had felt the surge of power, an unnatural rightness that wasn’t hers, and it terrified her. Even now, the sensation lingered—quiet but insistent, a coiled predator waiting for her to slip.

Her pulse raced. Sweat formed at her brow. Nausea churned in her gut—

A scream pierced the air, wrenching Gemma back to reality. She shot her gaze from side to side, praying there hadn’t been another outbreak of violence amongst the refugees over bedding. But all seemed normal.

Well, as normal as a building full of war-ravaged people could be.

Gemma dropped her head back against the wall and took a few steadying breaths, readying herself to return to the fray and make sure everyone was healthy, nourished, and hydrated. Rami had given her the position of chief medical officer. She couldn’t fail him.

“Gemma!”

She turned to find Imara limping toward her, dressed in her civil protection officer uniform.

Imara’s prosthetic leg clicked softly against the floor, the sleek, black, metal limb moving with precision.

Only those as close to Imara as Gemma could detect the slight flinch every time Imara’s prosthetic touched the ground. Imara would never admit it though.

“They’re about to riot in the south wing,” Imara said when she’d reached Gemma’s side. “Some genius told the refugees that the food ration distribution was delayed again.”

Gemma’s stomach twisted. Supply chains had fractured since the battle on the Oranos Space Station, and interruptions were becoming the norm. Rami did his best to make sure those in Zion had enough food and medical supplies, but refugees didn’t care about logistics.

They cared about survival.

“How bad is it?” Gemma asked.

“Bad. It’s already loud enough to make my ears bleed, and I don’t exactly have the bedside manner to calm them down.”

Gemma grimaced. “What about Christian?” He was much better with these types of situations than even she was. All they did was remind her that these people were stuck here, waiting on a transport to stars knew where, because of her sister.

“Christian’s training the new soldiers. You know that.”

Gemma sighed. Of course he was. He’d been training Gemma every morning since the doctors had cleared her four-and-a-half weeks ago, and he was so good at it.

It hadn’t taken long for Rami to notice; when individuals from amongst the refugees had signed up to fight the Dissent, Christian had been excited to train them too.

Gemma couldn’t complain about something that had been making him happy just because she was terrified to confront the chaos her sister had created.

“They’ll listen to you,” Imara said, matter of fact. “You’ve been healing their kids, their parents—blast, half the people in Zion owe you for something by now. Me?” She gestured to herself. “I’m great at fucking and bossing people around. Playing mediator is definitely not in my skill set.”

Gemma rubbed her temple, tension building behind her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m—”

“You are,” Imara interrupted. Her expression softened. “Look, I know you’re tired, and you’re carrying way more than anyone should. But you’re exactly who they need. Just go remind them that everything’s not falling apart, even if it feels like it is.”

Gemma ground her teeth and held the strap of her medbag tighter to keep her hands from shaking. She took a deep breath then nodded. “Fine, lead the way.”

The south wing buzzed with tension. A crowd of refugees had gathered, and their shouts echoed throughout the corridor. At the center of the commotion stood a civil protections officer, his black uniform rumpled and stained. He clutched an electropad like a tether.

“I’m telling you,” the officer barked, his tone defensive, “we’re doing everything we can. Supplies are coming. They’re just delayed.”

“Delayed?” a man in the crowd snapped, trembling with rage, fists clenched at his sides. “We haven’t eaten in two days. My daughter is starving.” He pointed to an emaciated girl in the corner. “What are we supposed to do? Wait until she dies?”

The officer opened his mouth to respond, but the spark had already been lit. The crowd surged forward, their voices overlapping in a chorus of fury. The officer took a step back, his ebony hand inching toward his holstered weapon.

“Enough!” Imara’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.

The crowd hesitated. Heads turned toward them. Imara bumped Gemma’s elbow, encouraging her to step forward. Swallowing the massive lump in her throat, Gemma pushed her way through the mob and planted herself between the refugees and the officer.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her voice to steady. “Attacking this soldier won’t help anybody.”

The man who had spoken earlier turned his anger on her. “Yeah, but it’ll make us feel better. How come he never seems to be hungry?”

The crowd voiced their agreement.

“And why can’t we just leave with the supply ships?” another added.

Gemma’s legs trembled, but she met his gaze and held up her hands. “I assure you—we’re just as hungry as you are. And the supplies come on cargo planes, not large passenger ships.”

Something stirred beneath her skin, familiar and electric. Her eyesight sharpened, a slight purple haze infiltrating her vision, and for a split second, time seemed to slow. The breaths of those around her grew louder, their movements lagged, and the ultralights’ luminosities grew brighter.

Her hands shook at her sides. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

The alien part of her seemed to obey. A wave of calm washed over her like cool rain on a scorching day.

Gemma tightened her fists to steady herself and continued. “I know how desperate things are. But I also know this officer isn’t your enemy. What do you think would happen if you attacked him? Hasn’t there been enough violence already?”

The man’s scowl deepened as his gaze flicked toward his frail daughter in the corner. Behind him, murmurs rippled through the crowd, uncertainty breaking through the fury.

Gemma spoke again before she lost her resolve.

“Look, I’ve been in your shoes. I’ve gone hungry, wondering when the next meal would come, and I’ve hated the people in charge for not having answers.

But tearing each other apart isn’t going to fix this.

We can’t make the rations come any faster than you can. ”

The man’s hands unclenched, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words.

Gemma turned to the civil protection officer. “When are rations expected?”

“Fourteen hours. Maybe less.”

She faced the crowd again. “You hear that? Fourteen hours. Let’s give them the time they need. Meanwhile, we’ll distribute what we have left. We’ll make sure no one goes hungry tonight.”

Slowly, the tension dissipated, and the crowd retreated in uneasy waves, their anger still simmering but no longer boiling over. Exhaustion threatened to seep into Gemma’s bones. Imara limped forward and began offering commands to those assisting the civil protection officers.

Delegation came naturally to Gemma’s best friend.

It was heartwarming to watch Imara find joy in the role she’d been assigned, just like Christian had.

Even Hawk was excelling in his apprenticeship with Rami, coordinating with other Systems’ space stations, ship captains, and planetary governments to get essentials and disaster assistance.

All three of her friends seemed to have found contentment in their positions. Why couldn’t she?

The biochip buried beneath the skin behind her ear chirped, signaling an incoming message. Sighing, Gemma tapped on the comm device secured around her wrist. She smiled as the eyepiece over her cornea projected Christian’s message for her alone to see.

MEET ME IN THE GYM? I COULD USE A GOOD SPARRING PARTNER.

Apparently, his day with the recruits was over, and—admittedly—she was burned out from playing doctor all day. She could use a good workout.

“Send message to Christian Holm,” she commanded her comm. “On my way.”

Satisfied that Imara had everything handled, Gemma pushed off the wall and jogged toward the stairs. Several flights later, she exited the stairwell onto the floor where the gymnasium was located.

The gun range was on the same level, and it was here that Christian had been teaching her how to handle firearms almost every day—whatever she needed to ensure she never again had to rely on her “abilities” to protect herself. Or someone she cared about.

Gemma hurried into the locker room that adjoined the gym, slipped out of her medic uniform and into her exercise clothes, and grabbed her hand wraps. She’d gotten great at putting them on over the past six weeks. It never took more than a minute now.

Christian was in the middle of planking when she found him in the massive gym. Smirking, she waited until he noticed her and then sat on his back.

He laughed, his form barely faltering. “Every time.”

She giggled. “I’m just checking for consistency.”

He bucked her off before tackling her to the floor, his legs straddling hers, his breath tickling her forehead. “After last night, I’m honestly surprised I have any strength left.”

Christian’s hazel-green eyes gleamed with mischief, sparking a furious heat in her cheeks. Last night had been amazing. Chills ran down her spine just thinking about it.

Gemma hooked his arm and ankle and thrust her hips upward. Christian swore as he tipped forward, and Gemma drove her hips into his, rolling him onto his back. She planted her hands on his chest as his laughter filled the empty room. She grinned as his heart beat against her palms.

“You are getting really good at that,” he said, smiling.

“I had a good teacher.” She winked.

Christian kissed her so hard and fast that she forgot how to breathe.

His lips opened hers with a furious hunger, and a voracious longing built low in her belly.

Fighting the urge to give in and rock her hips against his, she gently pushed off his chest and rolled onto the floor next to him.

The mat was cool against her warming skin.

Christian let out a playful groan.

“We’re here to spar, Holm. Remember?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing.” There was laughter in his voice.

Gemma opened her mouth to respond when her biochip chimed. She tapped on her comm, and a message from Rami appeared on her eyepiece.

MEET ME IN MY OFFICE. 10 MINS.

She sighed. Life always seemed to excel at interrupting her moments of happiness.

“You get the message too?” Christian asked.

She met his stare. He looked just as annoyed as she did. “From Rami?”

His brows furrowed. “No, from Hawk. We’re meeting in the war room.”

Gemma frowned. Why hadn’t she been included? Why was Rami pulling her aside?

“Oh, then I guess not,” she said.

Concern pierced Christian’s face, but he got onto his feet and helped Gemma onto hers. “I’m sure it’s just another stupid logistics meeting.”

Without Rami? Doubtful.

“Pause our workout until after, then?” she asked.

Christian stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You bet.”

Gemma returned to the locker room, grabbed her medbag, and then headed for Rami’s office with a pit in her stomach.