There, ten full stories tall in the underground cavern, two massive ships loom before me. I'm struck with their vastness. One is orbicular and slate gray. It rests on its edge like a ring propped vertically. Human workers in gray militia jumpsuits meander in and out of the platform, checking their PAHLMs, pointing at the ship, and speaking to one another over the roar of machinery around us. The ten people orbiting the spacecraft seem to be too busy to notice us. They carry on.

As we crane our necks to view the top, Hayomo identifies key features about ARC9 and the Grays.

"This," she states, "is the confiscated ship from nearly a century ago. The technology is dated. Recent efforts to update the craft have been successful. Captain Freyer, Major Birgar, you will find that the ship is in excellent working order and will suit your team's needs well."

While everyone gawks at the ship to the left, my eyes wander around the enormous room with beams of light shining on the metal platforms, lifts, machinery, and workers. Streaks of white lighting burn stripes in the deep, rusted sides of the room.

I scan the room until my eyes land on a supreme hodgepodge of metal to the right. It lurks in a darkened corner of the room. No one is moving in or out. The lump sits it the cave like a rotting snaggletooth.

I am no longer able to hear the others as they drift into the distance behind me. Moyra has even slipped my mind as blaring curiosity about the blob of metal before enshrouds it. The disfigured art project is barely recognizable from the hours of scrutiny over its design plans.

As I approach the machine, I smell the galaxy on it. The alloy isn't sleek and dark gray as ARC9's. It's red and corroded and bent in places that I'm sure weren't bent at some point in its history. Or it might be bent for design purposes, I'm not sure because this mound of metal still evades logic.

Orange slime oozes from black pustules that cover the bottom half of the ship. The sight of this monstrosity dries my throat.

This is my ship. This is ARC10.

I reach out, inches away from brushing the strange alloy with my gloved fingertips.

A low hissing noise similar to air released from a slashed tire jolts me from my fascination. It's coming from under the ship within the abstract shadows made by the lights above. The push of air brings a bulky form to the ground through an intricately complicated hydraulics system of gages and levers.

My fascination roots me in place, and I wonder if the ship is communicating with me. Does it realize I'm here to be part of its epic voyage?

The strange form settles on the ground. I can hear clinks and clanks of metal clicking into place. To my absolute horror, it charges me. I don't even have time to switch my military mind focused to defense. Vulnerable, I stare as it scuttles rapidly forward. When it emerges from the shadows, I bring my hand to my chest and choke on my fear.

It's the same creature I'd seen in my nightmares.

Similar to the ship, the thing is made from a collection of materials that don't seem to fit together naturally. With six thin spearlike legs, it scurries and then stops in front me, rearing up to display the two sharp blades it uses for front legs.

I freeze.

Placed directly on the bed of mechanical parts and pieces that spin, spit, and whiz is a strange, flaky, yellow material. It's in the shape of a man's torso. He is lying on his back, and his head is staring wide-eyed at me. He's upside-down with his mouth hanging open and orange slime bleeding out around it. His mechanical legs hiss louder while his twisted face rises to mine. The eyeless sockets created by the filmy paper skin gush orange blobs. I slowly back away, never disengaging what I guess might be eye-contact with it.

Focusing on its empty eye sockets, I lose track of the world around me. I'm stuck in place, unable to to react, to kill it. It hisses through its mechanisms as it rises higher to meet me, face to upside-down, orange-drooling, open-mouthed face.

It's front blades rotate on either side of my head. Its neck cracks as it bends closer.

I want to run. The terror in my gut finally takes control, and I must remind myself—I am part of Earth's Militia. I am not afraid. I am armed.

The creature pauses an inch away. Our noses nearly touch. The whirring sound of the blades isolate me from all other noises.

It tilts its head to the side.

I jump back and draw the weapon at my hip with one swift motion.

It halts before jittering its mechanical legs and curling toward me, crackling the humanistic back in what I sense is fury.

"Lorn. Drop your weapon," Hayomo commands from behind.The panic in her voice carries a slightly note higher than her normal distrusting baritone. "It's the aluminum in your handgun. Drop it slowly."

I drop my arms but never let the gun leave my hand. With slow caution, I move it behind my back and hope that putting it out of immediate sight will get this vile aberration back on the ground. It hisses and clanks, lowering as the orange, dripping head cocks and cracks from one side to the other. It stares at the hand behind my back as it descends. After a few terse seconds, it titters at us from a calmer state.

Hayomo's shoulder collides with my arm as she passes. I reholster my gun.

"Captain," she articulates through clenched teeth, "if you continue to act on impulse, you're going to get us all killed."

Her words sting, but I can't rip my attention away from the creature. "What is it?" I ask, my eyes locked on its head as it twists on its neck.

"That is one of the Xani."