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Part of him was certain this was all a dream.

Ryker stared distractedly out the glass panel encasing him, ignoring the intermittent hammering that arose from different areas of the ship. He wanted to make sense of what was happening, but the only sound conclusion he reached was this was all a dream. The events of the past two days swirled in his head, jumbled and hazy and very likely all made up. After all, he was Richard Kennedy—dullest boy on the station, according to his cousin. There was no way he could have been incarcerated. No way he would have done anything that would only end up breaking his mother's heart. No way he would have been roped along into boarding an unauthorized ship. 

And yet, here he was. Confined within glass walls, surrounded by fellow delinquents, on the ship going god knows where. Ryker bit down on his lip until the skin cracked and he tasted blood. This wasn't a dream, but he wished it was.

After minutes of only pounding noises from other pods, a voice boomed from the intercom. [i]I apologize,[/i] the voice says. [i]Go north,[/i] the voice says.

Then they were whirling and spinning and his stomach lurched. His heart pounded against his chest, faster and faster, as though ready to leap out of it completely. For the first time, Ryker was glad he was the coward he was. Ever faint of heart, his consciousness began to slip away the moment the lights powered down, and he all but welcomed the darkness consuming his mind. Like this, he could pretend he was just going to sleep. He didn't have to be frightened of what would happen next.

Except, it wasn't death that greeted them below.

Before he passed out completely, the ship stopped thrashing and the hatches of his pod were released, jolting him back into alertness. Ryker followed the others as they slipped out of their pods, passed through a causeway, and headed toward the heavy metal door, a lump in his throat and weight in his heart. The others were eager to disembark, to see what lay beyond, but a thousand worries plagued him, preventing him from taking that final step. Unfamiliar lands, unknown atmosphere, unparalleled dangers. From where he stood, he glimpsed the wonders awaiting him outside—lush green everywhere, a welcome change from the blackness he was used to—but there were so many things that could go wrong, that he was almost certain would go wrong.

And--

[color=00aeef]"Fuck the Inquisitors."[/color]

[color=FFEF00]"Fuck, yeah! We're free!"[/color]

Ryker's head snapped to the side, so fast he nearly had a whiplash. For all his histrionics about the dangers of leaving the ship, he was all but running toward the source of the familiar voice before he could stop himself. [i]Of course[/i] Emerson would be one of them! Although he had hoped and prayed that his cousin remained safe in Port Hope, where she could wait until her rebel friends broke her out of prison, he was glad his prayers had been left unheeded. She'd always dreamed of seeing land like this, of finding bigger grounds to explore.

And, selfishly, he was grateful to no longer be alone.

Emerson was cheering on one of the more keyed up delinquents—the one who had just stripped off his shirt and let it burn on the ground (because getting rid of what little possession you had in this land wasn't foolish at all)—when Ryker found her. Relief washed over him to see her completely unaffected and unharmed. Like always, she seemed to be taking things in stride. Her boisterous laughter pealed through the air as she recklessly hopped onto the boy's back, legs hooking around his waist for balance. She was singing a song about freedom at the top of her lungs, and from the way she grabbed fistfuls of her shirt, it was clear she was about to follow the delinquent boy's suit and make a kindling out of her shirt.

But then her eyes happened to sweep over where he stood, and she froze on the spot, all color drained from her face.

Ryker swallowed nervously. [i]Oh, crap.[/i] Emerson didn't know he was thrown in prison, did she?