Petrichor
The atmosphere on Antuu is thin, but not unbreathable. I carry an oxygen mask just in case, but for as long as I can, I plan to breathe the air I’m given. It seems like the better way to go; more confident, and with an appearance of poise and self-control I don’t actually feel. Everyone knows Antuusians don’t have a physical form: they are only air and mist and a damned powerful, clairvoyant mind. Everyone on the surrounding planets says they can know what your motivations are within a single glance; they say they can take the shape of whoever is at the forefront of your mind—whoever can have the most control over you.
That’s what they say.
And that’s why they sent me. They could have sent Aidin or Yara or anyone with more experience and less doubt. But they figured mousy little Sofi would get them out of this one. She’s too shy, too meek to have any motivations worth exploiting. They can’t tempt her innocence, and they can’t unseat her logic, being part of the science division and all.
Send Sofi in.
I cross the threshold of the antechamber and out into the mist. This part of the planet is chilly and moist, and covered in thick, dark trees. For a moment I stumble in the entryway, reminded of how Earth used to be when I was almost too young to remember. The crisp air even smells like the Northwest coast of the Americas—at least, what I knew of it before it dried up. Like soft earth and distant rain, and flowering greens.
But maybe the air itself is an illusion, the combined forces of Antuusians trying to play with my head and make me pliable. Weak. That’s what Commander Dennison said they’d do. And that was the irony in their decision; any higher-ranking officer could be tempted by illusions, but me—I’m a nobody from nowhere, so there’s not much the Antuusians could possibly do with my mind. All the team required was that I go in, listen, and report.
They know I’m here the moment I step onto the soil; the mist flows and comes together in front of me. Somewhere at the front of my mind a spark ignites, and within the mist a pair of dark eyes flash; a sharp set of lips curves into a smile.
“Of course,” I breathe, and then my words bubble with helpless laughter. “Of course it would be you.”
My body hits the ground.
