“But now they have a stealth ship headed for the crownchase. Perhaps they are not apolitical anymore?”
“Perhaps.”
NL7 swivels its head to look at him. “Would you like to open a communications channel to the other crownchasers? Inform them they are not alone in the asteroid belt?”
Edgar turns this over in his head as he watches the prow of the stealth ship nose past its first asteroid. Handing them information like this would give him no strategic advantage. They might “owe” him, but that could so often be brushed away later when the danger to themselves had passed.
They might . . . like him more.
He wanted that once, a long time ago when he was young and they’d all seemed like bright, vibrant suns that he’d circled endlessly, always at a distance, never allowed to get close enough to discover if he had a light of his own to cast.
But he’s not a little kid anymore. And neither are the other crownchasers. They knew the risks when they went into this.
“We stay silent,” he says to NL7. “I will not jeopardize our position.”
FOUR YEARS AGO . . .
WESTERN HANGAR BAY, THE KINGSHIP, APEX
MY NECK HURTS FROM CRANING AT THIS ANGLE FOR so long, but I think I’ve finally got it. I’d dented the bottom of this waveskimmer my last round out with it—flew a little too close to a big breaker and got clipped—and the hangar supervisor had given me hell for it and grounded me until I fixed it. I hadn’t done body work on any of these before, so it was a messy kind of learning curve trying to sort out the best way to handle it. But I’ve finally managed to bolt everything into place, fix the paint job, put a high polish on the alloy. This is it. The hangar supervisor has gotta let me back into the cockpit now.
I slide out from under the waveskimmer, wiping polish off my hands with an already-dirty rag, and nearly walk right into a column of bright yellow.
“Miss Faroshti, may I have a moment of your time?”
It takes everything I’ve got not to wrinkle my nose at the sound of that voice. Stepping back, I look up into the face of Enkindler Ilysium Wythe. He looms over me with a placid smile. His eyes are always sharp, though. That’s where he gets you.
“I’m actually a little busy right now, Wythe,” I say, trying to step around him. I just want to find the supervisor and get cleared. Maybe I can get a quick flight in before they close down the hangar for the day. “Can you come back tomorrow? I’m running a two-for-one special on moments.”
Wythe moves very subtly to stay in front of me. “I’m afraid it must be now. I need your assistance. I invited your uncle to a Solari service tonight in my quarters, with a dinner to follow, but he declined, saying he already has plans with you.”
I shrug, still scanning for the supervisor. “Yeah, we blocked it off weeks ago. Family bonding stuff.”
“Surely it’s something that can be postponed in favor of more . . . important things.”
Irritation flickers through me, and I snap my head back to him. “Look, my uncle is a grown-ass man. He makes his own schedule. And it sounds like he already decided which event was more important.”
I spin around, twisting the polish rag between my fists, but Wythe’s voice stops me before I get too far.
“I find young people like you very troubling, Miss Faroshti.”
I turn back to him, my eyebrows shooting upward. “Young people like me?”
He nods, his face drawn and grave, his eyes glittering. “Disrespectful. Unfettered. Unguided by any sort of higher power or purpose. It makes me very concerned about the future of our great empire.”
Anger squeezes my chest. I can taste the sharpness of it on my tongue as I step into Wythe’s space. “Well, good news! Atar Faroshti is the one who has to worry about the future of the empire. Not you. You just have to worry about which shade of yellow makes you look less like a walking condiment bottle.”
Wythe smiles, and my stomach sinks a little. I don’t like that smile. It’s the one people get on their face when they know they’re gonna win a game or score on a bet.
“One of these days, Alyssa Faroshti,” he says, “you’re going to prove that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. And I look forward to that day.”
Twenty-Five
Stardate: 0.05.22 in the Year 4031
Location: Running a blockade of heavily armed warships. Must be a Tuesday.
I DON’T THINK THE MEGA SHIPS WILL ACTUALLY fire on me.
I don’t think . . .
But in case anyone has an itchy trigger finger, I make sure Coy and her ship are fully in the Vagabond’s shadow before I punch it for the blockade. I’m the one who pissed them off—they’ll go for me first if they’re feeling feisty, and then Coy can break off and find another way through.
I glance over at Hell Monkey, and there’s an edge in his grin and a glint in his eyes. He nods without looking at me.
Full throttle it is, then.
My heart throbs at the back of my throat as I push the Vagabond Quick to full sublight speed, racing toward a spot on the blockade where a battleship and gunship are squatting, side by side.
They don’t move.
I keep going. Faster . . . faster . . .
Nothing.
I open a comms channel to both ships. “This is Captain Alyssa Farshot, and I will absolutely ram this ship so far up your asses that you will be able to taste my shampoo. Make way.”
We’re less than a parsec away. They’re still not moving.
“H.M.?”
“On it.” Hell Monkey brings up the gun controls, the Vagabond’s front-mount cannons already primed and ready to go.
I don’t want to fire on them. I don’t want to start anything big like that.
Move, come on, move . . .
My ears are filled with the whir of the ship’s engines and the thud of my own pulse. I’m really wondering about my life choices right now—
—and then it’s all clear.
At the last possible second, both ships scramble, engaging thrusters to push up out of our way, leaving a big hole in the blockade. We zoom through it, Coy right on our ass, and nothing is in front of us now but the asteroid belt and the signal of a crownchaser beacon beckoning to us from the middle of it.
I throw my hands in the air, crowing with triumph.
Forget everything I said. My life choices are amazing. My job is the best damn one in the universe.
I flip open a comms channel to Coy. “You good back there, Coy?”
She’s laughing as she answers. “You’re killing me, Farshot.”
“Exactly the opposite, actually.”
“Shut up and let’s go get that beacon.”
“Roger that,” says Hell Monkey. “Approaching Ships’ Graveyard.”
We enter the shadow of the nearest asteroid, which is twice the size of our worldcruiser, and something about it makes all of us go quiet. Even the mediabot. Judging by our sensor scans, it’s not even the biggest one we’ll be passing as we work our way inward.
The Ships’ Graveyard is one of the most massive asteroid belts in the quadrant. It’s also ridiculously rich in ores used in constructing warships, which explains the Mega family’s major corner on that market. But there are no signs of mining operations in this section of the belt, not even abandoned facilities.
“Captain Farshot,” Rose says. “We’re picking up transmissions.”
I frown as we slide beneath the rocky, lumpy surface of a smaller asteroid. “Transmissions—as in, plural? Are they coming from the blockade?”
“No, Captain Farshot. They’re originating from the asteroids.”
I look over at Hell Monkey. His hazel eyes are spooked, and he just raises an eyebrow.
“Play it, Rose.”
I immediately regret that order. The sounds that fill the Vagabond are like something out of a nightmare. A mishmash of static and the fire of laser cannons and broken-up voices and screams. Distress signals. Cries for aid. Calls to evacuate.
“Alyssa.” Hell Monkey’s voice startles me, and I follow his gaze to the viewscreen as we come around the asteroid and see several more arrayed before us.
They’re all bigger, pockmarked with craters and laser-sharp slashes.
And there are ships sticking out of them.
They’re not full ships and don’t look functional, but they’re unmistakably entire sections of old ships fused into the rock and ice of these massive asteroids. There’s the prow of a howler; there’s the aft section and engine of a gunner. It’s not easy to tell where the ships end and the asteroids begin.
“Rose, confirm. Are these transmissions coming from these ships?”
“Affirmative, Captain Farshot.”
“That’s impossible.” Hell Monkey’s voice is no louder than a murmur. “These ship designs are centuries old. What the hell even happened here?”
“Rose, cut transmissions.” The ship goes quiet. I can’t tear my eyes from the horrific fusions of construct and mineral. “History wasn’t really my forte. I don’t remember everything. Just that there was a major battle here, right, Rose?”
“Correct, Captain Farshot. An inter-system dispute over the rights to the ore in the asteroid belt. There were multiple skirmishes, but this was the site of the final battle. A ship called the Defiant implemented an experimental weapon that wiped out itself and all surrounding ships, ally and enemy alike. A truce was reached soon after.”
I rub at my sternum. My chest feels really hollow and achy. “Nothing brings us to the negotiating table quite like nearly destroying ourselves, huh.”
Hell Monkey drops his eyes down to the conn. “I’m not a big fan of ghost stories. Let’s get this done as quickly as possible. We’ve almost got a lock on the beacon.”
I swing out of my jump seat. “I’m going to go suit up. I got a feeling I’m going to need to put boots on one of these asteroids before we’re through here.”
We’ve got a locker room toward the aft of the ship—a little room above the aft bay and right next to the escape pods. It’s got everything a girl needs to head down to an oxygen-unfriendly planet and not immediately choke and die. Full survival suits. Gravity boots. Harpoons and blasters outfitted to work in all kinds of atmospheric conditions. I’m not sure what to expect on these asteroids, so I put on a full getup and grab a blaster too.
Something about this scenario makes me want a weapon close by. I don’t know if you can shoot a ghost—I don’t even know if I believe in ghosts—but it doesn’t hurt to try.
“Captain?” Hell Monkey calls over the comms. “You’d better come see this.”
I book it back to the bridge, and when I get there, the viewscreen is showing the biggest asteroid yet. A few dozen kilometers across at least. Big enough for us and several other worldcruisers to land on. It’s not just one ship fused with rock here; there look to be parts from half a dozen ships sticking out from it.
And at the top of it is the outline of an almost fully intact warship. The tip of its prow protrudes from the crystalline minerals spreading like a fungus around it, and you can still read its call sign.
SU7100 Defiant.
“Lemme guess,” I say, standing near Hell Monkey’s shoulder. “That’s where our beacon is.”
“Do you even need me to answer that one?”
He doesn’t. Because of course it is.
I pull in a deep breath, filling my lungs right up to the brink. Until they stretch and push against the insides of my rib cage. And then I let it all out and spin on my heel, heading for the airlock.
“Park it, H.M. I’m going in.”
Twenty-Six
COY MEETS ME ON THE SURFACE OF THE ASTEROID, blaster in hand, camera drone hovering over her shoulder. Her green eyes glitter behind the clear plastic of her helmet, which has been specially designed to accommodate foarian horns, and the smile she gives me has a little more nerves behind it than I usually see in her.
“I’m picking up a static atmosphere inside it,” she says, nodding at where the Defiant sits underneath layers of rock beneath our feet. “There’s an airlock about fifteen meters away from here that we should be able to use to get inside.”
Drinn’s grumbling voice comes on over her wristband. “Approaching signatures, Captain. Three worldcruisers.”
“All three? Already?” Coy sighs. “I thought we’d have a bit more time than that.”
“Someone’s getting chatty about our coordinates. We’d better get moving.” I turn to my own camera drone and poke a gloved finger into its lens. “Come on, Whizzy. Try to keep up.”
The airlock is easy enough to find, if a little tricky to get open since it’s been forever and a day since it functioned at all. But there are still manual controls, and between Coy and me, we wrench it open. She jumps right in, but I pause for just a second and look back at the Vagabond. And Hell Monkey. He’s watching me from the bridge—I can feel it—and I give him a little wave. Kinda pathetic, really, but it’s all I got.
And then I slide down the ladder after Coy.
We clear the airlock, sealing it shut behind us, and she’s right. There’s breathable air in here. No gravity, though, so I can take my helmet off, but my boots gotta stay on.
It’s dead dark, and I activate the embedded lighting in my survival suit, shedding a halo of illumination all around me. Coy blinks in the sudden brightness; foarians have got pretty sharp vision even in complete darkness, but I don’t have that advantage, so she’s just going to have to deal. She’s taken out a hand scanner, a small device with sensors a bit more powerful than the ones built into our suits, and she moves out ahead of me, swinging the scanner this way and that. I follow slowly on her heels, staring at the scene around me.
If I thought the outside of the Defiant was creepy, it’s got nothing on the inside. Whatever weapon they set off seems to have frozen half the ship in an instant. A crystalline formation, mixed here and there with the darker ore of the asteroid, crawls up the walls, making the tunnels narrow and hard to navigate, and the air is full of strange ringing notes and echoes.
It’s when I spot the first body that I really jump.
“Oh, holy shit!”
“What?” Coy had been moving in the opposite direction, but she comes scrambling back, pulling up short when she sees what I’m looking at.
The perfectly preserved body of an otari, frozen in crystal, still in his ship’s uniform, staring into the darkness.
Coy whispers something under her breath. It sounds like a prayer to the otari war gods. I didn’t know she even knew any prayers.
She sees my expression and shrugs. “Seems appropriate here. What the hell even did this?”
I shudder, turning away, and ease my blaster out of its holster. Just in case. “I don’t know, but let’s make this quick, okay? Which way to the beacon?”
“I’m not sure.” She brings her scanner back up. “The signal seems to be shifting a little, and the layout isn’t what I expected. It’s like the insides got all moved around and nothing is quite where it’s supposed to be.”
There’s a scraping noise over our heads and the sound of voices.
“The airlock.” Coy pulls another scanner out of a pocket on her suit and shoves it into my chest. “You go right, I’ll go left. First one to find it gives a holler, okay?”
And then she disappears into the darkness before I have time to object.
“No, no, that’s fine . . .” I mutter. “I’m fine. This is all fine.”
I move off down the corridor, blaster up, fumbling with the hand scanner to try and get a lock on this signal. I’m not one to get wigged, but this place is throwing me off my game. I keep jumping at little noises, and the halls are full of them. Pings and sighs and footfalls and drips—I don’t even think there’s any damn liquid in this place. What the hell would be dripping? And every now and then I pass another former crew member of the Defiant, trapped forever inside a strange ringing crystal.
Hell Monkey’s quiet voice comes through
on my wristband. “How are you doing, Captain?”
This guy has good timing. “This place is terrible and everything is terrible. How are you?”
He chuckles, and it’s like having a little ball of sunlight put inside my chest. “Just watching your ass as always. Mega, Orso, and Roy all made it inside, so keep your eyes peeled.”
I ease around a corner and yelp, jumping about a foot in the air.
“What?” Hell Monkey sounds panicked. “What is it?”
I try to catch my breath. “Nothing. I just . . . I thought I saw someone.”
“Another crownchaser?”
I frown. “I don’t think so. It was just like a shadow or something. I don’t even know. This place is throwing me off. I swear I thought I was a lot more chill than this.”
He’s quiet for a bit, but I can hear his soft breathing so I know the channel is still open. And that helps a little. To have him right there, even if it’s just to listen. I steady my hands a bit, settle my pulse and my lungs down, find firmer footing. The hand scanner seems to still be having trouble getting a solid lock on the beacon, but I keep moving around twists and turns in this maze of a crystallized graveyard.
At a four-point intersection, I pause, pressing myself against a wall. I can hear soft footsteps coming from the right corridor, getting closer. So I wait . . .
And then I swing out, blaster up, and find myself barrel to barrel with Faye Orso.
She grins. “This feels familiar.”
I relax my shoulders a little, relieved, but I also don’t drop my blaster because that’d just be stupid. “Thought you were an asteroid ghost.”
Her laugh rings against every facet around us. “They’ll make ghosts out of all of us yet.”
Heavy boots thud against the ground, and as one, Faye and I swing around to face the sound, weapons up.
Owyn comes around the corner and skids to a stop, his hands up, looking a little rattled. He’s got a gun on him, but it’s still holstered. “Okay, easy,” he says. “None of you win anything by shooting me.”
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