His gaze drops to the sliver of skin where my trousers and shirt don’t quite meet, and I become aware of my hip bone riding above the fabric. With a tug, I fix that and step back so he can come in, if he wants.
But he shakes his head. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“What for?”
“Making me do the right thing.” He glances down with some expression I can’t begin to interpret.
But I know he didn’t mean it, those first frantic moments gazing at the thing stuck to his hand. Didn’t mean it when he muttered we should leave it. Through our interference, the little guy was born out of season, and none of the mature Mareq will stir until it warms up. Far too late—and March would never hurt something that couldn’t fend for itself, not even with neglect.
“You’ve never needed me for that,” I say softly. “And you never will.”
He’s smiling as I close the door in his face.
CHAPTER 24
We’re two standard days out of Marakeq, cruising straight space, when Keri’s reply reaches us.
Stupid to jump until we know where we’re going, since by some miracle the gray men haven’t descended on us yet. Maybe Zelaco didn’t make contact with the Corp after all. Maybe that was just March and me relaxing with a round of worst-case scenario. That’d be a nice fragging change.
Evidently her encryption ware isn’t compatible with ours because the message plays in skips and hisses: “…wish I knew what the…but anyway…Lex…exploded. Why do you…Farr’s last-known location…Hon-Durren’s Kingdom.”
I think I speak for everyone when I say, “Shit.”
Loras plays it twice more, coaxing a few more words from it, but nothing that adds to overall coherence. Everyone’s oddly subdued, and for once, I know why. Doc mumbles and heads off to medical, probably to record his will or something.
“So how bad is this guy, really?” I ask Dina, who sighs.
“Put it this way,” she answers. “He calls that shit hole on the Outskirts his kingdom. Seriously. Do you need to hear more?”
“Long haul in straight space,” March says, sounding thoughtful.
I sigh. “No shit. Why don’t we just let Doc do his best and get on with our mission? We need more samples, don’t we? This training academy isn’t going to build itself.”
For once Dina agrees with me. “Sounds good. Let’s give Hon a wide berth and say a Hail Mary for baby-it.”
Wearing his “captain” expression, March says, “Look, it’s my fault this thing hatched early. I can’t in good conscience proceed without doing everything possible to ensure it thrives. Let’s ask Doc what he thinks.”
Loras studies March with an impassive mien. If this comes to a vote, I suspect he’ll be the tiebreaker. Then he beeps Doc in medical to ask, “If we choose not to seek out the Mareq expert, what are the chances we can successfully raise the hatchling to an age where you can obtain viable amounts of genetic material for your research?”
Even through the screen, Doc seems startled. “I thought this was decided. Very well, let me run the numbers.” He taps some figures into his handheld and sighs. “Highly probable we’ll kill it within the first month without expert guidance. If it lives that long, I can take some decent samples, but for the sake of my research, I prefer we take the route that benefits the specimen.”
“I say we go, too,” March puts in. “You and Dina vote against?”
I glance at her. Doc’s detachment has made me twitchy. How ironic that Doc is arguing for the benefit of the creature, though not for purely humanitarian reasons. On the whole, this side junket seems like a waste of time.
With an apologetic look at March’s chest, I mutter, “Yeah. Let’s keep working toward the original goal.”
Dina nods. So yep, it’s up to Loras now. Everyone turns toward him to see which way he’ll swing.
“We should go,” he says at last. “Nobody will die if we push back our schedule, but the little one might if we fail to learn how to care for him properly. And I won’t be party to devaluing his existence because he’s nonhuman.”
Ouch. That cuts deep on so many levels. As a humanoid alien, Loras would know all about being made to feel lesser.
Though nobody else would notice, I see the way March relaxes. His shoulders lose a tension I hadn’t registered consciously until it dissipates. This meant a lot to him, and I need to find out why.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He makes some effort to shake it off, apparently registering my concern.
In two days, he seems to have gotten used to having baby-Z attached to his chest. I’m not sure what Z stands for, but the name stuck. I’ve caught March whispering a few times, trying to mimic the only recorded example of Mareq speech among Farr’s work. And, of course, I’ve played surrogate twice more while March was in the san-shower. Nobody else will touch the thing, not even Doc. He said he’d done enough, between the food source and the patch on its skin that provides other necessary chemicals not naturally present in our environment.
“If we’re going,” I say, “let’s combine what we know about the place.” I wrack my brain for a moment. “It was built as a supply station before certain beacons were discovered. Since then, trade routes changed.”
I don’t want them thinking I’m ignorant; I know why Hon-Durren rules that corner of space. Nobody else wants it. But still, the man isn’t someone you cross lightly. He styles himself a raider, though nobody knows how many ships comprise his “armada,” because he tends to kill people who come calling, bad for us and worse for Canton Farr.
“Farr might be all right.” March answers me without seeming to realize I haven’t spoken. For the first time I wonder if the others know. Obviously Mair did, but what about the crew? “He’s a Fugitive, after all, and if he was in deep shit after pirate-publishing his work on a Corp-restricted world, where better to hide out?”
Dina nods. “And Hon-Durren hates few things more than authority.”
I’m familiar with the Fugitives as well, scientists who flout Corp regulations regarding restricted worlds. Every now and then, they orchestrate an impassioned protest, shouting that the Corp has no right to limit knowledge. Though I used to see them as a fringe faction, rabble-rousers and dissidents, I don’t disagree with their ideas anymore.
And technically, we’re worse than Fugitives, who are so careful when they study on class-P worlds. Under no circumstances would one of their scientists reveal himself; in fact, a few have died of some simple illness rather than compromise an alien culture. As for us, we’re more like Freak Show Talent Scouts, although I don’t know of any that have kidnapped a Mareq hatchling. Maybe we’re just in a class by ourselves.
“Come on,” March says then. “Time to jump, Jax.”
“It’s still going to be thirteen days in straight space, even from the nearest beacon,” I tell his back, and he waves in acknowledgment over his shoulder.
As we settle in the cockpit, he gets on the comm. “Head to the hub and strap in, people. We’re going to pay an old friend a visit.”
“Acknowledged,” Loras returns.
I pause in checking the port to slide him a glance. Looks like the nav chair escaped damage in the crash, but Dina probably already inspected it. She really is good at her job.
“You know him?”
“Long time ago,” he mutters.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” I gaze at him, incredulous.
He nods. “Right now. We have work to do.”
Sighing, I realize I can’t argue that. The sooner we leave this system, the better. We’ve probably been here too long already.
The comm crackles, and Dina announces, “We’re ready.”
March taps a few panels, and I feel the comforting throb of the phase drive powering up. The whine that accompanied its use last time translates to low purr instead, so I know we’re good. “Let me see the locus of a long haul between our current position and Hon-Durren’s Kingdom,” I tell the nav computer.
“No match,” it answers, sounding almost smug.
Fragging AIs.
March thinks a moment, then suggests, “Try DuPont Station.”
Shit, nobody’s used that name in…well, forever, but…of course, that’s where we find the file. According to official record, DuPont Station is derelict, but anyone taking these maps verbatim would receive a rude awakening. I study the coordinates and realize I’ve made this run before, maybe five turns back, although my final destination differed.
“Hate the Outskirts, but at least there’s minimal Corp presence.” If there’s a place where lawlessness is the rule, rather than the exception, then we’re headed right for it.
March grins at me. “Truer words were never spoken, Jax.”
Not until after I plug in do I realize I don’t feel the same nausea and dread as the first two jumps. Whatever else he is, he’s my pilot now. And part of me feels like I’ve made the adjustment too fast, as if I’m betraying Kai in some fashion.
“He’s gone,” March reminds me gently. “And I’m all you’ve got.”
Hearing those words doesn’t hurt as much this time. I know I’m never going to kiss Kai for luck again, never going to wake in his arms, never going to see him smile, never hear his laughter ring out. He’s gone, and I’m alive, whether I want to be or not. Only the ache remains.
When March jacks in beside me, he doesn’t bring up the mental partition. He’s still compartmentalized, just like me, but he’s not hiding anymore. Among other things, he lets me see that he needs me to see this thing through. I wonder if he’d let me rummage through his mind, as he seems to do with me or whether he’d slap my metaphysical hands.
Then I register his unmistakable amusement as the seat vibrates beneath me. Make yourself at home, Jax.
I’m starting to do just that as the trembling increases, and I decide that the way we’re rocking isn’t right. That slinging side-to-side motion almost feels like we’ve been hit—and then I hear Dina shouting via comm: “Make the Mary-sucking leap already! Since when does the Corp hire bounty hunters…?”
With a flick of his palm, March shuts Dina up, and the world explodes in color, scintillating, dazzling patterns that form and fold in on themselves. My whole body aches because this is homecoming, and I’ll never belong anywhere more than I do here. Grimspace steals my soul a sliver at a time, and I love it too much to mind. Each time I leave, I forget a little of the majesty, or I wouldn’t survive the loss.
I can’t worry about the ship that fired on us as we made the leap, can’t let myself wonder whether they had a jumper on board and if they’re giving chase. It takes every ounce of concentration to make the mental translation from straight space, then feel my mind’s eye spinning like an old world compass.
But this is different, different than flying with Kai, different than the first two jumps with March. Because I can feel what it’s like inside his skin, each breath he takes and how his heart beats. I feel the steady pulse of baby-Z against his chest, the faint stickiness of the nutri-gel that March no longer notices. And I’m aware of his hands on the controls as I never have been. I could almost fly the ship if I had to, because we’re not him and me, we’re…we, then I sense his astonishment, sharing my mind’s eye as we gaze outward to grimspace.