“And what will you do with this ship?” Bishar asked. He kept an eye on Edison, who had backed to Anlyn’s side. “Do you think I’ll unblock the rift for you?”

“Yes, I think you will. Feel free to tell the Circle we were on my ship when it blew, if such will protect your job. And if you think your soul is better served by blasting us out of the cosmos and living with your family’s blood on your hands—that is your decision to make. The other option is to allow us to depart and face our deaths in our own manner. Choose this, and no harm will come to your people.”

Bishar continued to show Anlyn his palms. He glanced at the lance.

“Very well,” he said. “My men will escort you to your end. We had an interior barrier patch upcoming, anyway. I’ll move it up the schedule. I’ll even use the attack on your ship as an excuse for having done so. But know this: any sign of a breach, and your ship will not prevent us from firing. Also, I will not chance discriminating between Bern craft if things get ugly.”

Bishar looked at her sternly. “One more thing,” he said. “Your mission will not pass back through here, no matter what happens. You’ll not be allowed through. Ever. Understand that I am doing this not for you, but to get you out of my tunics so I may perform my duties. You leave this galaxy never to return, because even if you did, you would not find your Empire welcoming you home as they did the last time. I’ll make sure of that, Cousin.”

6

The starship Parsona roared a dozen meters above the prairies of Lok, low enough to scatter wild game and part the tall grasses. It was nearly dawn, and the stars over the eastern horizon had disappeared as the black gradually melted into blue. With her lights off and altitude low—clinging to the cover of a slipping night—the old ship flew with a mind of not being seen. More importantly, she flew herself for just the second time.

“Feel any better?” Molly asked. She looked up from her reader to the instruments arrayed across the dash.

“It’s not quite as sluggish as before,” Parsona said through the radio speakers. “Firing the thrusters myself feels better than updating waypoints and letting the autopilot do the rest. Of course, I wouldn’t trust me in a dogfight or in a tight canyon.”

Molly laughed. “Neither would I. You know, we have a few relays left—I’m pretty sure I could interface you with the hyperdrive. It’s the same basic hook-up we did with the laser cannons, and the nav computer has a ton of electrical triggers left—”

“I’m not sure about that,” Parsona said.

“Why? It’s no different than firing the lasers or operating the thruster solenoids.”

“I know,” Parsona said. “It’s not that. It’s just that—I’m not sure I want to be in control of the hyperdrive. I don’t know that I’d trust myself.”

Molly nodded. “Okay. I understand.”

And she did. Ever since she found out her father and boyfriend were probably stuck in hyperspace, the temptation to just jump to the center of Lok had become unbearable. She felt a shiver of panic every time she considered it, followed by a pang of cowardice each time she did nothing.

“Another contact on SADAR,” her mom said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I see it,” Molly said. “Looks like one of the big models.” She watched the blip intently, having become something of an expert on recognizing the signatures of the Bern ships. The flashing indicator moved away from the rift situated over her home village and slowly worked its way toward a low-altitude orbit. Leaning forward, Molly peered up through the carboglass at the glimmer of orbiting hulls overhead. The fleet moved smoothly, like an animated constellation against the backdrop of fading stars. One of the vessels, a potato-shaped monster the size of a decent moonlet, was usually visible even during the daytime. All the ships did was shuffle around in various formations, almost as if drilling for upcoming maneuvers.

“What are they waiting on?” she asked her mom. “Why don’t they attack us or just move on to someplace else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re just being methodical. Or perhaps they’re waiting on something. I know as little of the Bern as you do.”

Molly looked down at her lap; her Wadi was stretched out along her thigh, its gleaming scales catching the first rays of dawn. She stroked the animal’s back, right between the two nubs rising from its shoulder blades, and fretted over her mounting concerns.

“Between the Bern up there and news of the Drenard invasion, even if we do get to hyperspace, will there be any reason to come back? I mean, will there be anything left to come back to?”

“We need to plan as if there will be,” her mother said.

“And you’re sure this Cat person can help?”

“She knows the people who can. She’ll remember me.”

“You, the ship? Or the old you?”

Molly still had a difficult time separating the experiences of her mothers—the personality copied to the ship’s computer and the husk of a woman she’d met, virtually, on Dakura. Somehow, the former had become more real to her than the latter. And that was true even before she found out Walter and Cole had pulled the plug on her mom’s physical body.

“She knows of the old me, not as I am now.”

“And she was part of the group you and dad were sent to investigate? The source of the illegal fusion fuel?”

“She did some work for them, yes. It took your father and myself a long time and a spot of luck to get an introduction. Unless we go through her, it’ll take just as long if not longer to make contact again. Especially with everything else that’s going on.”

“You mean the Bern?”

“Partly. More the elections, though. Callites are tolerated seven out of eight years. Ignored, really. But come polling time, their numbers—the amount of votes they can wrangle together—it creates tension. Contacting and dealing with the Underground would be easier any other time.”

Molly sighed and looked back to her lap. Her new reader rested on her other thigh, opposite the Wadi. The creature pawed at the device playfully, almost as if it knew Molly was about to redirect her attention away from scratching its back and return to the letter she was writing Cole. She patted the animal’s head and looked over the first line of the note, wondering why she was bothering with writing it. It wasn’t like she could send it to him, or even be sure he was still alive. Her thoughts drifted to her father—and the same nagging doubts arose for him as well.

As her chest grew heavy, the Wadi gave up its jealous jousting and crawled from her thigh to her shoulder; it wrapped its tail around Molly’s neck and flicked its tongue against her cheek. It did stuff like that, and always in response to the same few moods, almost as if it could sense how she felt. Molly was cautious, however, about reading too much into its idiosyncrasies. She tilted her head to nuzzle the animal and wished, not for the first time, they could somehow communicate with each other, mostly to find out what was wrong with the alien creature. No matter how much she fed it, or how much water it drank, the poor thing kept getting smaller and smaller.

It had taken a few days to be sure, but by now there wasn’t any doubt. Except for some plumpness around its belly, the colorful lizard had gone from iguana-sized to something half that, like a big gecko. The troubling part was not being able to ask anyone about the species or research it any way. There was little enough out there on the Drenard planet and even less on its fauna. All Molly knew was that the strange animal had taken to eating and drinking more than a Glemot—but despite all that intake, it continued to waste away . . .

ѻѻѻѻ

Walter’s door slid open, recessing into the jamb with a quiet hiss. The young Palan exited his room and peeked across the cargo bay. Up in the cockpit, he could see one of Molly’s elbows sticking out over the flight controls. The ship was dark and silent, the barest glow of dawn lighting up the sky beyond the canopy. Walter tip-toed across the hallway and unlocked Molly’s cabin door with her Captain’s codes. He kept an eye forward as he waited for her room to slide open.

Slipping inside, Walter forced down the panicked feeling that gets Junior Pirates in trouble—the “heist shakes” that’ll get someone busted faster than the floods. You have to think clearly, he always reminded himself. Stay focused on the loot. Remember what you’re after.

It helped that he’d done this several times in the past weeks.

He went to her dresser, dropped down to one knee, and opened the narrow drawer at the bottom. Two stacks of clothes: the white tanks she wears under her flightsuit on one side and the plain cotton underwear on the other.

Walter reached under the latter, feeling for his treasure. His.

He wrapped his fingers around the small piece of fabric and pulled it out. Rubbing it with one thumb, he realized how unnecessary this charade was. She should just give it to him. Willingly.

Bending close to the carpet, he looked for the single hair he knew would be there and found it. He slid the drawer closed, holding the hair in place until it caught in the dresser. Walter shook his head at the ancient trick, resolving to love her even though she did stupid stuff like this.

He keyed open her door and bent down low, his palms on the ship’s decking. Slowly, he peeked around the corner of the doorway, keeping his head in a spot people rarely looked. Molly’s elbow was still visible sticking out over the controls. Walter pushed up from the deck and darted across the hall, back to his own room. As he ran, he clutched his new favorite thing to his chest, eager to get alone with it.

He left the lights out in his room and went straight to the bed, jumping under the covers. Feeling with his fingers, he found the seam in the piece of cloth and made sure it was in the back. With a shiver of anticipation, he lowered the red band down over his forehead.

“Hello?” he thought.

Silence. He waited, growing impatient. Several minutes seemed to go by, but it could’ve been a fraction of that—

“Ah! Walter, it’ss been a while.”

“Yeah,” he thought, “I haven’t had the time. Been bussy.” It was a lie. Truth was, Molly hadn’t been off the ship long enough to do any proper snooping in almost three days.

“Well, I can’t wait to hear about what you’ve been up to.”

“Ssure, but not now. I, uh, can’t talk long thiss time.”

“I undersstand. Hey, I meant to assk you about ssomething lasst time, but you had to run before I could bring it up. You know thosse two armss you have? The oness in the bottom of the tool chesst?”

Walter cringed at the incessant hissing from the stranger’s choice of words, the red band relaying everything in his own voice.

“Arms?” he thought aloud. “I—how did you know about thosse?”

“You were thinking about them the firsst time we sspoke. Don’t you remember? I heard it quite clearly.”

“Oh.” Walter forgot it worked that way. But why would he have been thinking about those stupid things?

“Ssurely you know the armss I’m talking about. Unlesss you jusst have armss sstrewn all over the sship—”

“What? No. No. They’re the only oness. But I wanted to talk about—”

“Right, right. The gold. Well here’ss the deal, Walter, I really would love to help you claim it, but firsst I’m going to need a favor from you.”

“Okay, but it better not get me in trouble.”

“Of coursse, of coursse. All I need you to do iss get me thosse armss. Do you think you could do that?”

“What? Why?”

“Doess it matter? I could jusst asss eassily assk you what you want with thoussandss of barrelss of gold.”

“I don’t know.” Walter rubbed his head, thinking. His coppery hair felt soft under his hand; it was getting too long and needed another pass with the shaver. He tried to picture himself with it grown out and what Molly would think about it. “How do I get them to you?” he asked. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way to a little planet called Lok. Do you know it?”

Walter nodded. “Yeah.”

“Exscellent. Wait, you’re not there now, are you?”

“Am I thinking that?” Walter asked.

“Why don’t you tell me where you are?” the voice asked. “I’ll come right to you. Quick as I can.”

Walter shook his head. He knew how these transactions went down. It was always best to get information, never a good idea to give it.

“I’ll bring them to you,” Walter thought. “Jusst pick a sspot.”

“And you can deliver them? You have a sship?”

“Yess,” Walter hissed.

It was another lie, but he kept those thoughts deep. Palan deep. The truth was: it didn’t matter that he had no ship of his own, nor did it matter he couldn’t even fly one. What he could do was reprogram hyperdrives to go wherever he wanted, just like how he’d sent Cole into a star and what he’d done back on Palan. With that kind of talent, every ship was practically his, and he may as well be the one flying them.

ѻѻѻѻ

Molly checked the instruments on the dash one more time, making sure her mom was on course and holding steady, before she leaned over her reader. Typing on the thing was quite painful with the current state of her fingers, all of which were scabbed and blistered with dozens of votes. And yet, the writing was psychologically soothing, somehow, even though she couldn’t properly phrase an ounce of what she was feeling. It didn’t seem to matter; just attempting to do so—to reach out to Cole in some tangible way—eased the pressing weight off her chest, allowing her to breathe a little.