Examining the cost objectively, I’m not sure I believe in this project anymore. With the bodies piling up in our wake—Jor, Mair, so many Gunnars, Loras, baby-Z—I don’t think I can justify continuing this course. I can’t imagine that it’s worth it.

So what if the Corp continues to dominate jump-travel, so what if they own all interstellar commerce and travel? They always have—status quo.

But before I can tell them that I’m out, I don’t want to do this anymore, the computer advises us, “I have detected two ships on intersect course, Sirantha Jax. Since they have powered up their weapon systems, I believe their intentions may be hostile.”

And maybe I’m bad juju, dark luck.

CHAPTER 36

Dina scrambles for the gun pit.

I figure if March were awake, he’d be in the cockpit, so that’s where I head, even though I know perfectly well we’re better off on autopilot. At least the computer will continue to move us in the direction of Gehenna. Based on my performance getting us off station, the same cannot be said of me.

Regardless, as a good proxy, I take my place in the pilot’s chair, even though I’ve got no clue what I’m supposed to do. I peer at various screens and panels until I get visual on the two ships. At this distance I can’t tell where they hail from, but I’m willing to bet they’ve been sent from the kingdom formerly known as DuPont Station.

“Can you take evasive action?” I ask the computer.

“The autopilot is programmed with the standard S-68 dodge and 410 spiral. Please state your preference.”

Shit, I have no damn idea.

I tap the comm, hoping she won’t laugh at me. “Dina, what’s the difference between the S-68 dodge and a 410 spiral?”

“Huh?”

I get the feeling that encapsulates her knowledge on the subject. “Never mind. All weapons online?”

“Affirmative,” she comes back. “We’re going to be in range soon. Get the shields up if you haven’t already.”

Double shit.

“Computer, enable S-68 dodge with autocorrection based on trajectory of incoming enemy fire,” I say, hoping that’s possible.

Hoping it makes sense and the computer won’t argue with me or call me an idiot. I certainly feel like one.

“Acknowledged. At current cruising speed, the pursuing vessels will overtake us in approximately five minutes.”

“Shields online, extra power to aft section.” That’s where Doc and March are, and I don’t want a hull breach back there.

The computer objects, “Insufficient energy, Sirantha Jax.”

“Reroute power from secondary systems. I want stronger shields aft,” I insist.

Maybe that’s not the right thing to do, but I’m not trained for this. I’m not a pilot and certainly not one seasoned in space combat. Apart from the time I’ve been on the Folly, I’ve never had ship guns fired at me. I was Corp, for frag’s sake—people rolled out the red carpet for Kai and me. How am I supposed to know this shit?

And the computer starts beeping and humming, hopefully doing as I ask. Don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t because I’m not March. I can’t program this by hand. I just hope my best is good enough up here.

After a moment, it announces, “All shields online, aft operating at one hundred thirty-five percent. Is that satisfactory?”

“We’ll see.”

That’s really all I can do. So I cross my fingers and wait.

I feel the ship shudder as we take the first hit, but the shields seem to hold. And then the Folly begins what could only be standard dodge pattern S-68. Maybe the other pilots aren’t academy trained so they won’t recognize it. It’s oddly silent, except for the odd jolt where they score a hit.

The comm crackles: “What the hell are you doing up there, Jax? We’re slinging around like an old woman dancing drunk.”

“It’s called evasive action,” I grumble. “Just shut up and shoot.”

“I will if I can keep from puking.”

But I see on-screen that she’s got one of them. I hear nothing, but the ship crumbles into nothingness. It should be more dramatic, perhaps, but these are sleek, fast, one-man ships. Nothing else could’ve caught us, and they don’t quite have the durability they need to take us on. Maybe they thought two-on-one odds would do it, but they didn’t take a close look at the way the Folly is outfitted, heavy shields, hard-core guns.

And then I feel another hard lurch, just before something explodes somewhere starboard. “Imminent engine failure,” the computer tells me helpfully. “Immediate maintenance required. Danger. Primary systems compromised. Immediate—”

I launch myself out of the pilot’s chair. Shit. This pilot’s smarter; he’s not attempting to take us out by himself, just trying to cripple us. Leave us dead in space so that a larger vessel can catch up, then tow us wherever they want us.

There’s no way I can repair those engines so let’s hope I can figure out the guns. I don’t know how to transfer controls to the cockpit, so I sprint for the gun pit, where Dina’s already unbuckling. “Get your ass in there and take him out,” she tells me, running for the engine room.

The ship shudders again, and now the whole area is lit with flashing red light, as if the blaring noise wasn’t enough to alert us to the fact we’re in trouble. I look at the panel in panic, trying to figure out—

Think I get it.

Inside the pit, I seem to spin as I tap the scope, and damn, Dina’s right, this drunken lurch called dodge S-68 that we’re running makes it hard as hell to target. But I mash the button, launching a volley toward the lighter ship. It swoops around us with a grace I can’t help but envy with the autopilot driving and me on guns. If we make it out of this alive, it’ll be a miracle.

I learn to spin the scope counter to our evasive maneuverings, and I can’t help but shout when I hit the other ship. Just a glancing shot, didn’t do any real damage, but it means I’m getting the hang of this. Maybe I can take him out before he destroys our engines completely.

Two hands on the controls, spin and target, then let it go. Yes! I can see he’s crippled now, having trouble. There’s a distinct dip when he turns portside, so I focus there, continuing to fire. I’m almost surprised when the other vessel seems to crumple, then there’s a silent array of sparks. Now he’s nothing but salvage.

I’m surprised to find I’m covered in a fine layer of sweat as I pull myself out of the gun pit. I already hurt from lugging March, and now every muscle throbs as if I’ve taken these guys on in actual physical combat. No wonder Dina’s so strong; she fragging has to be.

I stagger out to the hub and don’t see anyone. Eventually, I locate Doc in the cockpit, as he took over giving the computer orders when I hit the turrets. We find Dina in the engine room, using mechanic’s tools and voodoo magic to keep us moving.

“How bad is it?” I ask, shoving the frizzy hair out of my eyes.

“Bad enough. This is just a workaround; we’re not even running on main engines, and with what I had to do, the kitchen-mate isn’t going to work, among other things. Enjoy your paste until we get to Gehenna.”

If we get to Gehenna.

I’m so fragging tired, I feel like I could sleep for a week. One thing’s for sure, though, I need to learn some shit. Because this boast of not knowing anything but grimspace isn’t a good thing, and it just may get me killed, sooner rather than later. It’s not enough to be a good navigator; I’m not a Corp celebrity anymore. I live in the real world now, like it or not, and that means expanding my repertoire.

I need to learn to pilot in case this happens again. I need to learn guns. I need to learn emergency maintenance. I need to learn—

Shit. I’m too tired to finish the list. But it’s really long. Maybe it’s to my credit that I’ve realized as much.

“Is March all right?” I roll my shoulders. Think I pulled something.

Doc nods. “I strapped him down before I went to the cockpit, but I should probably go check on him. I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

The old Jax would’ve taken his word for that, but instead I follow him to medical because I want to see with my own eyes. March has taken on greater significance than I can parse at the moment. He’s like the last hope I have, the last chance to prove I’m not a living, breathing curse.

He’s quiet and still, so fragging pale. It hurts me to see him like this, and for a moment my eyes sting because I can’t make myself believe he’ll ever wake up. I’m glad I don’t have to see the mangled meat of his left arm. Doc’s got that wrapped, and a steady burst of painkillers keeping March quiet. His vitals do look good, though, from what I know of such things.

I forget Saul’s standing there, as I step closer to the table. It seems wrong to leave him strapped, so I start unbuckling him. When I’m done, I adjust the thin synth blanket, tucking it neatly around his waist. What I wouldn’t give to have him wake up and tell me what a waste of space I am, chew me out over everything that’s gone wrong.

But he’s so fragging far away—I can’t feel him anymore. Can’t help but press my palm to his cheek, feel the too-cool skin, and trace the line of his cheekbone. I’ve lost so many people. Some I left on purpose and never looked back. Some were taken from me, and I never said good-bye.

March…he was supposed to be different, irascible but indestructible. As it turns out, he’s flesh and blood like any other man. I drop my hand, nod at Doc, and leave Med Bay without speaking. I’m so tired, all the way down to the bone. The old Jax would’ve headed to quarters to shower and crash. She would’ve figured she’d done enough.

So I head for the engine room to begin my crash course in starship repair.

CHAPTER 37

We limp into port at Gehenna, not quite trailing smoke, but it’s close.

Dina must’ve used every trick in the book to keep the Folly running. We all know we can’t afford another battle or another delay. It may have already been too long for March. I won’t speak that fear aloud, though. I put my faith in primitive gods right now, where you can keep the bad magic at bay by refusing to acknowledge it.

They say you never forget your first glimpse of Gehenna. Over the tall buildings the sky swirls with orange and red, true titian, a feature of the unique atmosphere. Of course that same air would kill human beings; hence they built the entire city inside a dome. Eternal sunset, that’s why the place is so wild. You know the feeling you get, just before full dark? Sundown makes you feel like the world burgeons with possibility, and that’s Gehenna for you.

Like any other romantic notion, it’s based on bullshit, of course. Gehenna isn’t the land of eternal sunset and infinite potential. The gas in the atmosphere just makes it impossible to see the sun.

The whole place is a rich man’s experiment, really. If Venice Minor is famed for luxury and natural beauty, then Gehenna is pure man-made vice. At the open markets near the space port, you can buy anything from exotic weapons to designer drugs to trained slaves. Twinkling marquee advertisements beg for our money and our time. This club boasts “the most beautiful girls in the galaxy” and that one promises “the biggest jackpot ever, you’ll break the bank,” the one where a pair of enormous luminous dice seem to roll themselves, again and again. It’s almost hypnotic.