“I intend to try,” I tell him, and sink the shunt.
In a vast wash of swirling light, the world dissolves; and then it’s all darkness. But grimspace coils through my veins, tiny cations that render the negative void my seductive, irresistible opposite. It can no more refuse me than I, it.
Though he mutters a little, Hon jacks in beside me. To my relief, he’s fully partitioned, granting me nothing. It’s an impersonal touch, no more than what we must share to get the job done. After enough loss, most pilots develop that ability. Too many scars, and they don’t want to give a fragile navigator anything they can’t bear to lose.
His shunt offers only a neural link between him, the ship, and me, not the full virtual submersion my connection requires. Now, thanks to Dina, we’ve brought the phase drive into the nav computer that both Hon and I jack into. Combined with Constance, the separate units comprise a sort of ship consciousness that I dub the ship-net. At Hon’s command, I sense it powering up. Instead of darkness, silver threads web the array in my mind’s eye, and I find myself admiring the pattern: arachnid, like the Morgut spin for their prey.
Mary. I shudder at the alien touch of the phase drive. I’ve never felt it in quite this way before. Is it possible that the ancients who seeded this technology across the galaxy also bred the Morgut? But for what purpose? Regardless, here I glimpse the familiarity of design.
You doing all right?
Fine. I send him a vague reassurance because I can’t afford distraction right now. I feel my way through the pattern, learning the twists and unnatural coils inside the ship-net. Constance walks me through it, showing me all the pertinent connections. At last I see we’re missing a necessary, cation-rich link between the nav computer and the phase drive. The Morgut must have a complete, self-sustaining web. I can see now that despite the numbers and theories our mechanics posited, they couldn’t complete the design on their own.
That’s why we can’t jump unless we’re inside a known jump zone. And without that connection, the phase drive can’t open a corridor to grimspace unless we reach a section of straight space where the cations gather naturally. I lack the mechanical knowledge to know how it needs to be built—how to get these necessary cations inside the wires—but I think I can jump-start it on my end.
There’s not much actual energy, I tell myself. And there’s a certain amount in my blood from my conception in grimspace. So I can channel it. There’s no danger. Focusing, I push the wildfire in my veins toward the phase drive, willing it to quicken as if for a jump. I’m the vessel; I’m the missing link in the pattern—organic phase-drive component. We’re here, I tell it. I am the jump. Get ready.
At distance I feel my body start to shake. There’s wetness on my face, but I can’t tell if it’s sweat or blood. Beside me, Hon is cursing, but he’s doing so out loud, staying out of my head as much as he can. I know there’s self-interest in that because he doesn’t want to die if I barbecue my brain.
When I think I can’t hold the connection any longer, as I think I’ll fry as Dina predicted, the phase drive roars to life. The power of the beacons blazes through me, as if I’ve channeled the corridor. I feel every particle of me glowing, burning from the inside out. It’s bigger than pain—bright, hot, and profound.
Mother Mary. It’s Hon inside me now, overflowing with awe. We’re through.
Grimspace floods through me, cascading in all its glorious colors. My blood quickens in answer. In some fashion we are one. We always will be.
And thank Mary, I’m home.
This is going to hurt. Progress always does.
I’m not aiming for the nearest beacon anymore. I’m shooting for Perlas Station itself, using the beacons to move us, not navigate. The difference is miniscule to a layman, but I have a feeling it’s going to be rough the first time. Best analogy I can offer: We’re entering the stream of energy they emit and dissolving to reappear in another part of the galaxy. That’s not exactly right, of course, but I don’t know more than that. I’m riding on intuition here and hoping I don’t kill us all.
For an instant Kai’s face swims up from my consciousness, and he’s smiling. I get the sense he’s proud of me. Oddly, I feel closer to him here, as if grimspace could be the never-never that lies before the great and final gate. But it’s not time for me to pass through, not unless I fail.
I can do this. I will. I have to. My work isn’t done yet.
Though I’m intoxicated as always by the pulsation of energy, the wildfire blazing against our hull, I train my senses on one thing only: my goal. I’ll do this or die trying. Mary, I’m glad we have a small crew.
My will alone must carry us through. I don’t think about the far horizon, or what lurks beyond. I don’t think about doors into infinite mystery. Instead, I find the beacon nearest Perlas.
Easy, I’ve made this jump before. But not there.
Here.
It’s a twist, a wrinkle, and a fierce pain stabbing through my brain, but we pass through like a camel through the eye of a needle and sling wide. For me it’s more than a little like giving birth. Agony blazes along my nerve endings in a merciless loop.
Hon’s hands move furiously on the ship’s controls. I can hear him struggling to interpret my signals. He’s not trained for this, either, the poor bastard. Nobody is.
What the frag are you doing? he demands. I can’t do that. The ship doesn’t—
I am the jump. And you will take me there. There’s titanium inside me. I will not be denied. This is my world, and here, I am queen. I feel the signal coursing through me once more, and to my astonishment, Hon obeys.
In defiance of what we used to believe was possible, the phase drive roars. The world goes dark again.
We’re out of grimspace now, wherever I jumped us. My hands shake too badly to get the shunt out, so I reach out blind and manage to tap his shoulder. His fingers brush my wrist as he helps me, and my vision shudders back into focus. Everything looks filmy, and then I realize it’s because I’m viewing the cockpit through a veil of tears.
“Where are we?” I rasp.
In answer he points out the view screen, unable to find his voice. Rising before us, just a few thousand klicks away, I see the lights of Perlas Station.
CHAPTER 19
Hon can’t seem to meet my eyes.
There used to be playful camaraderie in his manner, but now his expression is edged with superstitious fear. As we’re completing the docking protocol necessary for them to let us disembark on station, he keeps sliding me looks that I catch in my peripheral vision.
“What?” I demand.
Before he can respond, the port authority pings us. “Dauntless, what’s your purpose at Perlas?”
“Just a little R and R,” Hon answers smoothly. “We come off a salvage run, and the boys want to drink and spend a few credits.”
The dock officer laughs. “I’m sure the vendors will be just fine with that.” He follows with a list of questions of about hazardous materials and communicable diseases, which Hon answers by rote. “It’ll take a few moments to complete the scan, but you should be good to go shortly.”
“You were about to tell me why you keep staring at me like that.” Courtesy of our pilot/jumper link, I think I already know. But I want him to say it.
“Was I?”
“Were you staring . . . or about to tell me? Yes, to both.” Otherwise, we could go on like this all day.
“In the Outskirts, we tell this story,” he says uneasily. “About one who holds in her body the key to the hidden ways, life into death and back again. But when she comes, it is not a blessing, for it means the end of all things.”
“And you think that has something to do with me?” I can see that he does.
“I don’t know.”
“Dauntless, you’re clear. Enjoy your stay.” The dock officer saves us an argument. It won’t do our mission any good if I tell Hon he’s full of crap.
“Let’s get the lay of the land first. If we need Dina or Loras, we’ll beep the ship for them.” Without further discussion, I push out of the nav chair and am pleased to find the shakes have stopped enough for me to walk. I thread my way past the pilot seat and step into the hallway.
To my surprise, Hon follows quietly. At my look, he shrugs. “We still have a job to do, don’t we?”
I grin, grateful for his pragmatism. I’m sure once he thinks about it logically, he’ll realize there’s nothing metaphysical or ominous in what I did. It’s unique among humans, I’ll grant you, but the Morgut have been twisting like that for Mary knows how long, and they haven’t brought anything to an end.
Not yet, at least—and they won’t if I have anything to say about it.
Though I don’t know this ship as well as some, I find the hatch without trouble. Maybe it would’ve made more sense for Hon to lead, but I wasn’t sure he was still on board until a few seconds ago. I didn’t know how badly I unnerved him.
Good thing he’s not Psi. I’d have really pissed him off, there.
The station looks different. It’s lost some of the Farwan homogeny, replaced with more grime and more character. Each docking ship has brought its own flavor, and nobody has made the san-bots erase it. Nonregulation lights bedeck the corridors leading into the promenade, and on the dull gray wall, some budding artist has painted vivid designs in azure and citrine. Characters beside the picture draw my eye.
“It’s Tarnusian,” Hon answers. Mary, the last thing I need is another pilot doing that, but at least he’s just predicting my thought-path instead of sharing it.
“Can you read it?”
He shakes his head. I make a mental note to bring Dina by here, and we walk on. The promenade has turned into a long strip of bars, chem stands, and sex shops—some with live shows inside, others with toys and accoutrements offered boldly on display. Though I call myself an experienced woman, even I’m not sure what that two-pronged tasseled device is used for.
“Farwan would have a fit,” I murmur, more to myself than to Hon.
My CO used to froth at the mouth on a regular basis at the way my moral turpitude reflected on the Corp. I wonder how he’d feel about Perlas’s being chic with raider couture. Me, I kind of like the place. It exudes an energy that Farwan outposts always lacked.
“I dig it.” Hon gazes around, breathing deep.
I realize it must remind him a little of the station-home he lost. Like everyone, the war has cost him dearly. No wonder he’s looking for a little payback.
We continue on, exploring.
In the time since I escaped from a cell here, everything has changed. What used to be the officers’ serenity garden has been turned into a marketplace. There’s precious little tranquillity now, but all kinds of action.
“This is where we split, pretty. I can find out more without you sticking to me.”
Personally, I think he just likes the look of the woman selling soy cheeses, but I don’t protest. Since there’s no danger I can see, it makes sense for us to cover twice the ground separately.
