CHAPTER 18

I’m a little sick at the thought of this. It’s been two weeks, and Dina has been crunching theoretical numbers with two other mechanics: Hobson from the Dauntless and the woman from the Dark Tide. I showed them the Morgut jump to Emry, then demanded they improve our phase drive, something humans have never been able to do. Constance has been helping.

I think we got limited technology from the ancients. There must be better models out there somewhere if the Morgut have it.

And now it’s time to put all our effort to the test. I don’t want Hon inside of me. As always my stomach churns at the idea of taking a new pilot. At least this time I haven’t lost the old.

But the fighting’s all done. March is furious with me, furious that I’m risking myself like this, and furious that I’m making the jump with Hon. But he’s more commander than lover right now, and he knows I’m doing the right thing, the only thing. The delay chafes me, and makes me worry that someone else may have snapped up Evelyn Dasad in the meantime. We all feel that sending a message to inquire would alarm her if she’s still hiding on what used to be Perlas Station. Better to go and plead our case in person.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Dina says, as I settle into the nav chair. Mary, it’s been a long time, and I fight a moan at the awareness I’ll soon be back in grimspace. “We made the mods, but it’s wholly untested. You could fry your brain.”

“And mine,” Hon mutters.

“If you’re afraid, there are other pilots on station,” I tell him, thinking of Hit.

“Like I’m gonna trust ’em with my ship.”

And the fact is, we don’t trust any of the other smugglers enough to run this mission with them. Even with Hon, it’s not a sure thing, but we’re banking he has some loyalty, and that he won’t decide to sell Evelyn Dasad—and her secrets—to the highest bidder. As to that, I’ll know as soon as he jacks in.

March leans down to kiss me, his mouth fierce on mine. Come back, he commands silently. Come back to me.

I’ll do my best. I love you.

His answer comes in the form of a feeling so profound I have no name for it. Love dwarfs it because it’s longing, need, desire, heat, and a complex sense of belonging coiled around one frail, strong person. Me. It brings tears to my eyes, then . . . he withdraws. I’m going to be alone in my head for the foreseeable future, and I miss him already.

“That’s it,” Hon says. “If you not a pilot or a jumper, get outta my cockpit.”

Of our people, only Dina and Vel are coming with us. We may need the Ithtorian’s deft touch with technology on station, and Dina is the only who can monitor what she did with the phase drive. Please, let this work.

Hon sits ready for clearance—when he hears that March has left the vessel, he starts the cross-check. He goes about it differently than March or Kai, but I can see he knows what he’s doing. His cockpit is well-appointed and clean; the nav computer looks to be the latest model. Sweet; I’ve never jumped with one of these.

While we wait, I examine the coordinates in straight space. For what I want to do, no known jump site will do.

Five minutes later, Surge tells us, “You’re clear, dock five. Mary guide you on.”

There’s reassurance in the way Hon maneuvers us out of the bay, smooth as s-silk. Once we’ve put some distance between the station and us, he turns to me. “Usually I’d say settle in for a long haul now, but you think you can do this another way?”

“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.