I’m the happiest junkie who ever burned chem, because this is where I belong. Kaleidoscopic fire burns against the hull, seeming as though it should consume us, but we are the only solid things in this realm of ghosts and echoes. Sometimes I think this place holds all the potential for everything that ever was, everything that ever shall be. It’s a possibility vortex, and thus lacks any shape of its own.

I glory in the endorphins pounding through me. Cations sparkle in my blood, marking me as unique even among thrill seekers. You see, my life started here.

Unfortunately the rush is fleeting, and I need to carry us safely through. I focus on the beacons; they pulse as if in answer to my command. Here, I feel powerful, damn near invincible, however much a lie that proves to be. Jumpers almost never die old and gray.

March—my pilot and lover—swells inside me, filling my head with warmth. He feels natural there. Anybody else would wonder at that, but if you’re a jumper, you get used to sharing mind space. In fact, I’m lonely without him there.

He manipulates the ship so we can jump. The phase drum hums, all juiced up, and we swing out of grimspace. Homesickness floods me at once, but I battle it back. No point in dwelling in what can never be—staying in grimspace would kill me. At least I’m jumping again. Not too long ago, I thought I’d have to choose between my addiction and my life. The decision isn’t as obvious as you might think.

I unplug, still savoring the boost, and check the star charts. Oh, nice, a clean jump.

“Good work.” March grins at me and steals a kiss.

I’m so happy that he wants to.

He’s not as pretty as the men I’ve been with before. I used to have an eye for the lovely androgynous ones, but I guess deep down, I don’t mind a bit of the brute. March has strong, angular features and a nose that’s obviously been broken. But his eyes . . . his eyes shine like sun through amber. I could spend hours looking at him.

But business before pleasure—I have an important message to send. With a jaunty wave, I leave the cockpit and head for my quarters. I share the space with March. Despite that, it’s an austere environment: plain berth, terminal, lighting fortified by solar simulators to compensate for lack of nutrient D₃, in case you spend too much time on board.

Constance greets me, flickering into a 3-D image projected from my terminal. She’s everywhere and nowhere, blazing her way through the ship from terminal to terminal. I don’t know whether we’ll ever convince her to come back to a physical shell now that she’s tasted the power and freedom a starship can offer. She’s either fused with the vessel’s limited AI or overridden it. Regardless, I suspect there’s something illegal in what we’ve done, and I couldn’t care less.

“All systems indicate a smooth arrival, Sirantha Jax.”

I smile. “You got that right.”

Since we jumped from Ithiss-Tor to the beacon closest to New Terra, the crew could be forgiven for thinking we intend to land there. That’s what our orders demand. Instead we’re heading away from the planet. We’re not operating on the Conglomerate’s credits, and this is a vessel out of Lachion, so I can do something I’ve been longing for since the minute I acceded to that rock-and-a-hard-place decision. Jael was right about one thing: People seem to think it’s all right to force me into choices that range from bad to worse.

No longer.

I add, “Activate comm. I need to bounce a message to Chancellor Tarn.”

“Acknowledged.”

The system glimmers to life before me, and I sit down to record. This won’t take long. Constance zips through the protocols, leaving the proper software in place. In the shadowy light, I can see myself in the terminal, and it’s an eerie feeling—alone but not.

I could make this a lot more detailed. Instead I go with blunt, which is my favorite style of communication. If I never have to dissemble again, that will be wonderful. My time on Ithiss-Tor damn near killed me, figuratively and literally.

I imagine Tarn playing this message and smile. Then I deliver two words: “I quit.” Satisfied, I stop the program and tell Constance, “Send it right away, please.”

“My pleasure, Sirantha Jax. Do you require anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Feel free to go back to exploring the ship.”

Standing, I consider the consequences of what I just did.

Tarn may reply with bluster and words of obligation; he might say I have a duty during mankind’s darkest hour. Maybe he’ll even accuse me of turning tail when the chips are down. Once, those accusations might have even been true.

Now my skin is too thick with scars for such barbs to draw blood. I know my own mettle. I’ve glimpsed my breaking point. And Tarn will never, ever have my measure.

I choose not to serve the Conglomerate as an ambassador, but that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on humanity. Surrender isn’t a word in my personal lexicon; there are other ways and means. If nothing else, Ithiss-Tor taught me there’s always a choice.

Now we’re heading for the last place anyone would ever look for us: Emry Station. It will be a long haul in straight space, but this isn’t a frequently traveled trade route, and there’s nothing here to attract pirates and raiders. We should pass unnoticed.

I awaken to the sound of sirens. Next to me, March bounds to his feet and starts scrambling into his clothes. His face seems all hard planes in the half-light, softened by the shock of dark hair and his hawk’s eyes. Though this is new to me, I recognize the warning even without Constance on the comm.

“This is not a drill or a technical malfunction. Your vessel is under attack.” She sounds so polite and unruffled that I cannot help but smile.

My hands feel clumsy as I tug up my black jumpsuit. Mary, it feels good to be back in familiar gear. “What do you want me to do? We can’t jump from here.”

“Check in with Dina at weapons,” March says over his shoulder, already on his way out.

No time for other niceties.

The ship rocks. In a vessel this size, that can’t be good. Even without seeing it, I know we’re taking heavy damage. It doesn’t make sense, though. We’re not a merchantman or a freighter. We’re not hauling contraband and we’re well off the beaten path.

I take off at a dead run for the gunnery bay. Dina’s already there when I burst in. She’s got lasers, but she can’t work those as well as the particle cannons. We also have old-fashioned projectiles from an ancient rail gun, but those are best directed at personnel attempting to board, not ships.

“I’ll take cannons,” she snaps. “Get your ass in the chair. Besides March and me, you’re the only one with any inter-stellar combat experience.”

“Is that why you’re not trying to keep this thing in one piece up in engineering?”

“The only reason,” she mutters. “I hope those clansmen know what they’re doing.”

“How’re we holding up?”

“Better than expected. Our hull’s been reinforced.”

I bring the sighting apparatus down over my head, and suddenly I’m out in space, part of the fight in a way that scares the shit out of me. I tap the panel and the system whines, telling me it needs time to power up. This is a hell of a cutter we’re fighting, slim but fast, and outfitted with enough ordnance to destroy a small planet. Whoever these assholes are, they’re serious. To my eyes it looks like a Silverfish adapted for space flight, but I don’t know if that’s possible.

Their shots nearly blind me, but they soar wide, striking the Gunnar-Dahlgren vessel far starboard. I don’t know what they were aiming at, but they missed weapons. Maybe our engines?

I can see but not hear Dina’s first volley; she hits the other vessel in a clean blow that takes out the aft shields. This is more advanced than the technology on the Folly. For a second I can’t breathe because of all the black space around me. There’s no air here.

With sheer will, I choke it back and tell myself this is only a sim. Focus on the other ship. The system cycles and then shows readiness. I just have to point and shoot.

“Do we want to disable or disintegrate them?”

Before her next shot, Dina taps the comm. “Use deadly force?”

March’s voice fills the room, giving me courage as if he’s beside me. “Confirmed. We are at war.”

That’s all I need to know. I spin the sight and target the panel where they’re trying to restore shields. A tap magnifies my target; then I fire until the lasers whine, telling me they’re out of juice for the time being.

It’s oddly pretty.

And there’s no boom.

But a panel flies wide. They have a hull breach. We probably do too, but we’ve given them something to think about.

Muffled through my headgear, I hear Constance on the comm. “I have identified the vessel. According to the registration on the hull, this is the Blue Danube out of Gehenna. Data on the ship is scarce, but I found reference to an unpaid tariff on trade goods.”

“Speak plainly,” I mutter.

“In its hold, the crew had concealed four human females, two Rodeisians, and three male humanoids of unknown origin, possibly from some class-P world.”

Slavers. Well, shit.

It makes sense they’d be getting bolder along with everyone else, and Gehenna does a brisk business in the flesh trade. I just didn’t realize they do it literally. I thought it was more of a rental than a purchase.

“Did they have slaves on Tarnus?” I ask.

“Yes.” Dina is too distracted to care I’m prying. “Aren’t those lasers ready to go yet?” She lets fly another burst from the particle cannon, focusing on the weak spot. More bits of metal break off in slow, graceful chunks.

Our ship spins. How much damage have we taken? I can tell it’s March or Hit in the pilot seat because we’re taking evasive action that has us rolling and twirling. If nothing else, our fliers outclass theirs.

“Almost. Is there anything critical where we’re aiming?”

I can hear the evil grin in her voice. “Only little things like power and life support.”

“No wonder we’re shooting that way.”

Slavers. Random evil. They’re not part of any grand conspiracy. They just want to buy and sell us like livestock.

I’m ready for round two. Red beams burst forth, slicing the dark between the pearly gleam of our hulls. Luck or Dina’s calculations—either way, I hit a stress point and the back half of the ship cracks wide, the stern going dark, adrift in space. At that point, the Blue Danube starts trying to pull away from the fight. Their engines are crippled, which is a good thing; otherwise, they’d leave us sniffing their trail.

There could be slaves on that ship.

I wonder whether March has thought of that. It reminds me unpleasantly of Hon’s Station, where he tried to save people who were beyond hope of rescue. In doing so, he proved himself a hero, but he also endangered all of us. It never would’ve even occurred to me to look. But now here I sit, worried that we might be blowing innocent people to cosmic dust.

My breath skitters. I shouldn’t say anything. I absolutely should not.

Even as I think it, there’s a warm tingle at the back of my neck. He’s there. The gun bay must be just below the cockpit or he wouldn’t be able to do this. His gift has limits.

No turning back now. There could be innocents aboard.

His surprise crackles through me like footsteps on fresh snow. I know what I’ve done. Seconds later, I hear his voice on the comm. “Dina, belay the order for deadly force. We have to board.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she snarls.

“No,” he answers. “Take out engines and weapons array if you can. I’ll get the tow cables on them to hold ’em still.”

“You heard the man,” she says, yanking the headgear off me. “He wants precision, and for that I need lasers. I guess you’re done here.”

“I’ll go prepare the boarding party.”

“You’ll need me,” Dina calls. “Don’t leave without me.”

I’m already thinking about who else we should take. Hit, March, and Vel for their hand-to-hand skill, Doc in case anyone is wounded. Dina and I round out the group. Of them all, I’m the most expendable. That’s an interesting sensation.

Once I’d have protested at the stupidity of this. We should’ve just blown them to atoms and went on to Emry Station. For good or ill, I don’t think that way anymore.

It doesn’t take me long to assemble my gear: shockstick, torch-tube, a few packets of paste. You never know when that will come in handy. If we manage to save anyone over there, they might be starving. Slavers aren’t known for their kindness.

Once prepared, I head over to the hatch to wait. With the tow cables in place, we’ll launch the boarding apparatus and connect to their hatch doors. Vel has the expertise to get us in, even from the outside. I pull on the full compression suit, but leave the helmet off. It gets sweaty in there fast, and I don’t want to wear it longer than I have to.

I’m slightly queasy over the idea of entering the boarding array. It’s no more than a few thin centimeters of an alloy allegedly perfected for use in space. Seeing how Far-wan “perfected” other technology, it leaves some room for concern.

One by one, I notify everybody who’ll be going with us. I don’t need to check with March on that. I know he’ll agree with my call. Too many, and we’ll hinder one another in the close confines of the smaller ship. Too few, and we won’t have the skills we need to make this work. It’s a delicate balance.

Maybe that’s the mistake we made on Hon’s Kingdom. We tried to do it on our own. I just hope history’s not repeating itself, because it was my idea this time.