Chapter 6 – The Leap - almost

  Aurelion Prime Hangar, Drift 4

  ?

  The inside of the rusty ship looked even worse than the outside. David kept quiet, worried that if he spoke up, he’d be thrown out the hatch. He focused on a deep crack in the floor, the length of his arm. It was soldered, badly, and through it, faint light shone. He thought for a brief moment it was the outside, then remembered the ship's size and knew it was impossible: the engine room had to be below where he stood. But his mind had seen the crack, catalogued it, and now was obsessing over it.

  Remulus, the pilot, stood straight, his boots creaking as he shifted his weight. He tossed something small and metallic from one hand to the other, a tubular key, maybe, or just something to fidget with. Or to hit David over the head with. He looked undecided.

  Behind him, a narrow corridor led toward what looked like the cockpit. David tried to look past him, but Remulus’s shoulders blocked the way.

  “So,” Remulus said, voice dry. “A Librarian runt, running away from the Library. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

  David knew, or at least guessed, that this wouldn’t be easy. Finding the siren had been simple. Convincing this huge man to take him across Lyra was something else entirely. He had to convince Remulus; Emma’s fate depended on this pilot and this ship.

  I also don't have a permit," he said quickly. Leap Gate travel was thoroughly regulated — without the right digital signature, you risked denial, or worse. There were stories about failed leaps: disintegration upon exit, disappearing into the vacuum between gates. He hadn't checked whether those were true. He didn't want to know.

  Remulus’s mouth twisted down. His gaze shifted over David’s head, locking on Iliana. “Is this it? The favor I owe you?”

  She pursed her lips tightly and looked down at her feet, kicking at the grating of the landing strip.

  “No,” he said sharply. Then he stepped forward, past David and towered over the siren, pausing a foot away from her.

  David turned to look at them. One was tall and muscular, the other slim and wiry, a clear contrast. She had a warm, soft brown look, while he seemed dark and stormy. They looked like a wave about to crash, violence just beneath the surface. Remulus’s fists had turned white-knuckled, and Iliana lifted her chin, ready to speak, but closed her mouth without a word.

  For a moment, David hoped she would use her voice on the pilot. But she didn’t, and she didn’t owe him anything. She had brought him this far. That should have been enough. Still, he kept hoping.

  She took off her gloves, unfazed by Remulus’s stare, and picked at a frayed seam near her fingertip. A few loose threads were coming apart, ready to unravel with one more pull.

  Two officers from the Accord passed by the hangar door, and Remulus turned slightly, hiding his face. David ducked inside the corridor and started hyperventilating.

  “I know what I’m asking,” Iliana said, pulling him out of rumination. “But he needs help. The kind of help I believe only you can offer. Your digital signature allows access to more gates than anyone I know, and no one else can offer the safety you can.”

  “Right,” Remulus muttered. “Because no one else is stupid enough to smuggle a Librarian across the gates… and because I told you I’d repay you.”

  That wasn’t a no. Not yet. He didn’t know why she was helping him. He’d been foolish and naive. But since the siren was trying, he had to try too. He had no choice.

  “Please,” he said, stepping into the light. “I can’t get a permit. I’m a minor. I don’t even own myself. But if we get back on time, no one will know I was gone. I have forty-two drifts. And enough value. We can do it. Please!”

  He had no choice. There was no other way. If he had to search for another lead, he might lose too much time. Someone might even catch him; his searches might get flagged. This was his only chance. Her only chance. Begging was nothing compared to losing Emma to the Archive. He’d get on his knees if that’s what it took.

  Remulus stared intently. First at him. Then at Iliana. Now at the open hangar door, like he might bolt through it, and finally at the officers doing their rounds on the other side of the platform.

  Then the ship chimed. A short, high-pitched sound, like a solitary musical note.

  The man sighed so deeply that David felt his own breath leave him.

  “Goddamn it,” Remulus muttered. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving as soon as I can deactivate your ID. And if you have a comm ring, throw it down the air filter chute.”

  “I don’t have any stuff,” David said quietly. And I’m not old enough to carry a ring yet.”

  Remulus got halfway down the corridor, then stopped, as if realizing who he was about to smuggle. He looked back at Iliana, who stood with her arms crossed, inspecting her nails and not looking at anyone. “You coming too, or what?” he called to her.

  She shrugged slowly, as if he’d asked about the weather. “Yeah. Sure,” she said, then paused. A small smile appeared on her lips, gone too quickly to be certain. “Let me just send a message.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She flicked open her wristband and typed fast. A holograph blinked in the air between them, reversed from his angle:

  !TIUQ I

  She closed the message without blinking, walked up the ramp, and disappeared inside. She didn’t seem to have any belongings either.

  David’s hand hovered at his side, empty.

  He hadn’t packed. Hadn’t even told Emma. Hadn't told anyone, really.

  Guilt rose in his chest and made his face burn. But there was no time for that now. He was moving, and so was she.

  He felt something shift in his gut, as if a lock had turned.

  He was really doing this.

  ?Inside the ship, Remulus slammed something into the console. Sparks flew, and he cursed under his breath. One of the panel doors hung crooked, its top hinge broken. Inside, data crystals were stacked like frozen protein packs. A few flickered with light, but the rest looked dead or dormant.

  David stood by the hatch, not sure where to go. Iliana leaned against the bulkhead, looking calm and distant, as if she belonged there.

  “You’re really coming?” David asked her.

  She didn’t even look up. “Already inside, aren’t I?”

  “…You quit your job.”

  “Bar work is overrated.”

  He blinked. “So you just up and go?”

  She finally looked at him, her expression softer. “Don’t look at me like that. How often does a Mnemonic Heir ask for my help?” She pushed off the wall and walked to a seat. “If it makes you feel better,” she said quietly so only he could hear, “I might have my own reasons. So let’s go save some damsels, shall we?”

  Remulus banged the console again and muttered, “If you two could just shut up for a moment, I might figure out what’s making that noise.”

  “That would be me,” the ship’s digital voice answered, calm and unimpressed. “If you’d changed the air filter as I asked, that sound would be undetectable.”

  “If I had extra value for a new air filter, I wouldn’t be lugging runts across multiple solar systems, now would I? Kindly run the program to make his ID null. Twice.”

  Both Iliana and David went quiet.

  The engine coughed. The lights flickered. And the ship, finally, groaned to life. “Fine,” the ship, Dice, said. “I can go a few more drifts. But not more than five.”

  He stared at the glowing console, frozen in place. The hull looked ancient, like an old fuel transporter that hadn’t been used in thirty cycles.

  He was insane.

  He was inside a talking, half-sentient, almost rusted-out ship. Transport AIs weren’t supposed to talk like this. Modern ships only spoke to gates, not to their pilots. And definitely not with attitude.

  “I can pay,” he blurted out before he lost his nerve and ran back down the ramp. Better to say it now than during the leap. Better while he was still breathing.

  The console chirped, and Remulus groaned. “Why’d you have to say that?” he muttered, banging a panel. “Now she won’t fly without a filter change. I told her that the rattle was superficial.”

  “Superficial?” Dice replied, sweetly offended. “That rattle is four ticks from catastrophic.”

  “More like cosmetic,” Remulus growled.

  David blinked. “Sorry?”

  “You should be,” Dice answered cheerfully. “Now hand over the value, kid.”

  Requesting payment from: Unnamed Vessel 1916, Operating Designation: Eurydice.

  His hand hovered over the screen. The amount flashing at him was absurd. When his value was gone, he’d have nothing left and no way back. He’d have to figure it out.

  The air tasted like metal and burnt plastic. Something organic underneath. Mildew, maybe. He looked over the walls, the bolts, and the floor seams. The hull appeared intact, but it had numerous scratches and old welds. A patch of rubbery material was painted the same dull gray as everything else. One of the overhead vents dripped something green onto the metal. He took a slow step forward, his boot thudding on the worn floor. No stabilizers yet. No hum of gravity adjusting. Not yet.

  “I think I made a mistake,” he whispered to himself.

  Iliana didn’t respond. She was already strapping herself in, looking calm, maybe even bored. Remulus was swearing in the pilot’s chair, elbow-deep in the console’s wiring.

  And the ship… Dice… let out a cheerful beep. “Nullified,” she announced.

  He tensed up again. What kind of designation did Remulus’s digital signature have? How had Dice nullified his ID? Could it be reactivated? Why hadn’t his Vault firewall flagged the action? He had so many more questions, but he was afraid that if he started asking, he’d get off the ship and never leave Aurelion.

  “She likes you,” Iliana said dryly. “Probably. It took her a full drift to deactivate my ID.”

  “Probably?”

  “She didn’t lock you in the airlock, did she?”

  Remulus slammed the side panel shut. “Dice likes attention. Don’t feed it. And the Sulei ID is child’s play.”

  “She asked for new air filters,” David muttered. “I thought I was helping.”

  “Yeah, well, now she’s going to be a pain,” Remulus said, glaring at the readout. “Hope you weren’t saving that value for food.”

  He looked down at his wristband. The requested payment was still blinking. He hesitated. “You would have asked for payment anyway, right?” Then, before Remulus could answer, he authorised the transaction and the ship purred. That was the only word for it.

  Iliana snorted softly. “Remulus would have probably asked for more.”

  David sat down slowly in a seat that had clearly seen better days. The belt was frayed, and the buckle was stiff, but he fastened it and tried to calm down. Outside, the hangar gates opened. Inside, the lights dimmed to launch mode, turning pale violet, too soft for his eyes to focus on anything.

  He was in the air now, inside a talking ship, next to a woman who could charm smugglers and a man strong enough to lift the ship but not able to stop it from sparking.

  He was heading into the void to find a plant that might not exist and to save a sister who might not want to be saved.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, gripped his seat as hard as he could, and prayed for the first time to Gods he didn’t know the names of but hoped were listening.