“All this time we’ve been scrambling, trying to walk this line between being in the crownchase and keeping our lives the same as they’ve always been, and it’s . . . it’s the stupidest thing, H.M. Why the hell am I running around after a throne I don’t even want? Just because my uncle wanted me to? Screw Atar. He’s dead.” I pull my hand back and hook my thumbs into the straps of my bag. “It doesn’t matter who wins. One idiot or another sits on the throne. I just want to go back to doing what we do best, and the easiest way to do that is to not play this game at all.”
I walk off down the tunnel, and as soon as I step through the airlock on the other side, I breathe in all the way down to the bottoms of my lungs. All the smells that make up the scent of Shisso—metal, oil, cooking food, synthetic earth. There’s a figure waiting for us as we disembark, an older human woman with russet brown skin and silvered hair, dressed in layers of worn, jewel-toned clothes. She moves toward us with a smile and open arms.
I drop my bag and step right up to her. I never turn down a hug offer from Gemi. She gives the best hugs, and I sure as hell need one right now.
Her arms close around me, strong and firm, and she says in a low voice, “Welcome back, Alyssa.”
Something about the hug and the warmth in her voice hits a trigger. My breath catches in my chest, and I just about choke on the tears that flood up into my throat. My jaw aches with the effort to hold them back. I feel weeks of grief and guilt fill me up, right to my edges. I don’t think there’s enough space between my bones to hold it all in.
If I step away right now, would I even be able to keep my shape? Or would I just expand and expand like the universe?
Heavy footsteps behind me. Then the soft touch of a calloused hand between my shoulder blades.
Hell Monkey.
He won’t let me float away.
I step back from Gemi’s hug and feel him like a wall at my back. Solid enough to lean on. Swiping tears from my vision, I try to smile as Gemi searches my face with a concerned expression.
“There’s been a lot of shit happening lately, Gemi,” Hell Monkey says.
She nods. “Yes, we have been watching. I’m quite surprised to see you here in the middle of everything.” She reaches out, touches my arm and then Hell Monkey’s. “You are, of course, always welcome, though. Come.”
We don’t exactly need an escort around Shisso—I know my way around almost as well as I know my ship—but Gemi is the senior leader on this space station in a lot of ways. So if she wants to walk you to your room, you let her. I expect her to ask questions about the crownchase, about what we’re doing showing up on her doorstep, but that’s not really giving her a lot of credit. Gemi has seen a lot more of life than either of us, and she knows when not talking is the better option.
We walk through the cargo section of the station, gathered around the most prominent docking ports, though Shisso only engages in some basic trade relationships. The majority of the residential spaces are several levels up, so we get to pass through the engineering section, the market and maker sections, and the agricultural level, all before we get to the quieter floors above. The sun-side sections up here house the school, and you can hear the distant, muffled shouts and laughter of kids out in the corridors. Our quarters are on the other end, planet side, and Gemi walks us to mine first.
She pauses outside the door, puts her hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eye. “This was always going to be a painful process for you. But you haven’t been given any burden too heavy for you to carry.”
I’m not sure I really agree with her. This all feels too heavy, and I have some narrow fricking shoulders. But she leaves before I can pull a response out. Which is probably for the best. I just would’ve said something stupid.
I press my hand against the doorpad, and it unlocks, sliding open with a little beep. I stand frozen in the corridor, staring at the small, cozy quarters that look cold and empty and claustrophobic right now. Like a coffin. The coffin they’re lowering Owyn Mega into. The coffin that shot Uncle Atar’s body across the stars and into a sun.
Hell Monkey shifts his weight, starting to move off to his own quarters farther down the corridor, but I reach out and grab his hand before he can take half a step.
“I don’t . . . don’t want to be in there. By myself.” I look up into his face. The big hazel eyes. The heavy expressive brows. The scruff all along his jaw. “Can you . . . would you . . .”
“Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t make me finish, stars love him. His lips quirk up a little as he steps past me. “But I get to be little spoon.”
Thirty-One
Stardate: 0.05.27 in the Year 4031
Location: Station Shisso
I SLEEP TEN HOURS THAT FIRST NIGHT, AND IT feels like the first time I’ve really slept since Uncle Atar died.
Hell Monkey is there when I wake up, crammed in beside me on the bunk, snoring. We’ve never done this before. Just slept next to each other. I kind of expected not to like it. I’ve always slept on my own, sprawled out wherever the hell I want. But right now, when I’m worried that the edges of me might bleed outward until I’m nothing, having him here grounds me. Keeps me from scattering into a million pieces.
I nudge him until he flips over on his side, then I curl up against his back. And I sleep again.
Another full day passes as I slip in and out, sometimes deep into dreams, sometimes dozing and half-aware. Hell Monkey isn’t always there when I come out of it, but he’s usually nearby, moving around the room or reading or fiddling with specs or parts from the Vagabond that he’s trying to make improvements to.
On the third morning we’re on Shisso, Hell Monkey shakes me out of a really good dream, and I scowl at him from just over the covers.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m wallowing here.”
He shakes his head, pulling on my arms until I’m sitting upright. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to actually function. You’ve got an incoming message. On a secure channel.”
Uh-oh. “Coy?”
“Nope. She’s either busy or hasn’t tracked us down yet. It’s your uncle Charlie.”
Well. That’s much worse. I pat at my matted, tangled hair and am suddenly very glad that transspace communications don’t include smell because I’m definitely a bit on the aromatic side. Slinking across the room, I take a seat at the little desk against the wall and swipe open the blinking message light on my visual display.
Uncle Charlie’s face appears immediately, looking a little older, a little more strained, and his shoulders drop visibly when he sees me.
“Alyssa . . .” His voice is heavy with relief. “I’m so glad . . . I wasn’t sure . . . It’s good to see you.”
The sting hits the backs of my eyes, and I blink hard. “Sorry, Uncle Charlie. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
He presses his mouth into a grim smile. “Well, to be fair, that’s hardly a difficult thing to do. It takes very little to worry me. Atar always said—” The next words get stuck in his throat, and he looks away.
Seeing Charlie stumble on his tears triggers my own. The whole world goes a bit blurry as they spill over my eyelashes. “I let him down, Charlie. Uncle Atar—he wanted me to do this, to live up to him and my mother, and I couldn’t do it. I don’t want it enough. I don’t want it at all—”
He waves a hand through the rest of my words. “Your uncle loved you, Alyssa. If he were with me right now, seeing what I’m seeing, he would be proud of you. You’ve never failed either of us. Do you understand?”
I can’t respond. I’m afraid all that will come out are a bunch of ugly sobs. So I swipe at my eyes and nod.
Charlie takes a breath and shoots a quick look over his shoulder. “Alyssa,” he says quietly, stepping closer to the display. “I can’t tell you the choices you should make. And time is running out before someone catches me talking to a crownchaser. But you should know the stakes for this crownchase are higher than you think. Many are still fighting the old war in their hear
ts, and this chase is just an extension of it. There’s no telling what certain factions might do to win.”
A cold feeling trickles down my back. “You’re saying—?”
He cuts me off, sweeping another glance around him. “I can’t confirm anything, Alyssa. But . . . Nathalia Coyenne has always seemed to be a very good sort of person. She might need friends in this more than it seems.”
I’m opening my mouth to respond—though I’m not totally sure with what—when Charlie says quickly, “I have to go. Be safe, Alyssa.”
And then the communication goes dead.
I swing around to look at Hell Monkey, who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m not sure I like any of what just happened.”
He snorts. “What’s there to like?”
I scrub at my face, my gaze wandering back to my bunk. I just want to hide again. The blast wound in my shoulder still hurts like hell. I’ve lost half of what’s left of my family. And I’ve got a sleep deficit that it feels like I’ll never catch up on. My only friend is my dear, beloved pillow, which wants absolutely nothing from me.
Hell Monkey catches me before I can disappear under the covers again. “How about we try something new, Farshot? Hear me out. I’ve got a radical idea called ‘shower and food.’”
Actually, now that he mentions it, that doesn’t sound half-bad. I’m feeling grimy as hell, and all I’ve had to eat since we got here are some basic nutrient bars. So I nod, and he steps out into the corridor while I pull myself together.
A half hour later, we’re walking together toward Shisso’s main restaurant and bar—a place called the Watering Hole. I see several familiar faces as we move down toward the market levels, and they all wave when I wave, say hi when I say hi, and all that. But something is . . . off. They don’t always quite meet my eyes. Larg, who’s never been tentative in her life, pats me awkwardly on the shoulder when we run into her instead of giving either of us her usual bone-shattering hug.
“What the hell is wrong with everybody?” I mutter to Hell Monkey after Larg shuffles off. “They’re all acting weird.”
He grimaces, like he’s been dreading this question. “Things are different, Alyssa. Before, it didn’t matter if you wanted to come here, pretend to be just another station resident. But you’re a crownchaser now. You can’t pretend you’re just like everyone else—and they can’t either.”
I stop short, mouth half-open, ready to object—that’s bullshit, I’m the same Alyssa, nothing’s changed, nothing has to change—but there’s a ping from my wristband and I hear Gemi’s voice.
“Alyssa and Hell Monkey, could you join me up in station control?”
Dammit. No way this could be a good sign.
Station control is a circular structure at the top of Shisso surrounded by windows, giving the people on deck a full view all around them. When we get there, Gemi is standing at a podium on the starboard side of the room, staring outward into the emptiness of space. Or . . . what’s usually the emptiness of space.
Instead, I count a dozen ships arrayed in a semicircle around the station. A couple of cruiser-type ships, maybe five or six smaller personal transports, and a handful of hyperlight-capable drones.
I spot the words “THE DAILY WORLDS” emblazoned on one of the cruisers.
Son of a bitch.
Gemi waves me over. Her eyes are very dark and sad. “Alyssa, we seem to have become very popular all of a sudden.”
“I see that.” I go over to her but wrap my arms tight around my stomach. I’m worried she’ll try to hug me or comfort me or something, and I really don’t feel like I deserve any of that right now. “I didn’t think they’d follow me here. I thought if I was out of the crownchase, they wouldn’t care.”
She touches my shoulder, very light. “I’m not sure you can count on the benefit of anonymity anymore.” Her gaze turns back to all the media circling like vultures. “This is not where we ever wanted Shisso to be. We all came here to build quiet lives away from . . . all of this.”
Hell Monkey moves up behind me, and I glance at him. His expression is calm and flat, and I know from experience that’s way worse than him looking outright angry. The calmer he gets, the more he’s likely to mow someone down.
“Have they contacted you?” he asks Gemi.
“Oh yes,” she says, folding wrinkled hands in front of her. “They’ve all been sending one hail after another. I had to mute them.”
“What do they say they want?”
“They want Alyssa.” Gemi’s eyes land on me again, but I can’t meet her gaze. “They want to dock, but we don’t have enough ports for half of them, even if I felt inclined to grant their requests. Which I don’t.”
I take Gemi’s hand. “Let me have the podium for a second, okay?” She steps down, and I take her place, using the touch panel in front of me to open a broadband communication. I make sure every ship out there has accepted it before I clear my throat and speak.
“This is Captain Alyssa Farshot of the Vagabond Quick. As a fully vested agent of the crownchase, I am ordering you to cease any and all attempts at communicating with or docking at this station. Disperse immediately and allow Station Shisso to resume its normal trade and transport activities. If you fail to comply with this, I will be lodging a harassment complaint with kingship officials—and you can bet your sweet ass that will not go well for you.”
I terminate the channel and step back, heart pounding. Hell Monkey slides over next to me and puts a hand on my back. “You think that’ll work?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe. I’ve pulled off worse bluffs than this before.”
I have, too. But I don’t think this will be one of them. In fact, all I can think right now is how my enormous, beautiful universe—the one that used to be my boundless playground—is starting to get real small, real quick.
Thirty-Two
I ESCAPE BACK TO MY QUARTERS.
That’s what I’m good at, right? Escaping. Running. That’s my best and truest skill. If this crownchase was a race to get away from responsibility, I would’ve had it in the bag on day one.
Stand aside, folks! No one outruns Farshot!
I’m sitting on the bed, elbows propped up on my knees, when the door slides open and Hell Monkey steps in. He pulls a chair over and sits down across from me, mimicking my pose.
I stare down at my feet, tapping the toes of my boots slowly against the alloy floor, one at a time. “Did any of them listen?”
“Some did. Some didn’t.” His fingers are maybe two or three inches from mine. “Cheery Coyenne’s people didn’t even flinch. You know there’s no way they’ll back down.”
“I know.” I sweep my hands through my tangled hair, yanking on the ends. “We’ll have to find somewhere else to ride this out. I’ve been thinking about some options—”
“I think we need to talk first. Before we go chasing any more options.” His voice is soft and serious, and he’s got one of those looks leveled at me that means I’m not going anywhere.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I left the chase. Decision made.”
“Is it? Even after what Charlie told you this morning? Even with Coy still out there with her ass on the line?”
“No one’s making her do that.” I press my fingertips hard against my eyelids. “You don’t understand, Hell Monkey. That throne—it destroys people. And I’m not just talking about Owyn. I’m talking about my uncle. My mother. Pretty much everyone born with the name Faroshti. Our family history is all war and knives in the back and bloodshed and people stepping on each other to sit in one stupid chair.”
He nods. “Sure. But then there’s also the power and influence and privilege that most people in this quadrant can’t even dream of.”
Anger licks up my spine like a solar flare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t lean away. He meets my glare straight on. “It means you’re not the only person in the universe
who’s lost family, Alyssa. Hell, you’re not even the only person in this room. The difference is that when the dust cleared, you were still heir to a godsdamned prime family. And the rest of us had nothing.”
I jerk away, scooting backward on my bed until I’m as far away from him as possible. I curl my legs into my chest. Just to put a little more distance between us. My heart ricochets against my rib cage, and the anger and resentment in the back of my throat are starting to get a sour taste. Like maybe I don’t have quite the legs to stand on in this argument that I thought I did.
Hell Monkey sighs and leans back in his chair. “Usually when I make a reference to my past, you just about bust out of your skin wanting to know more.”
He’s right. Usually I do. But the way this conversation has been going so far, I’m not sure I want to now.
But it’s Hell Monkey, and he’s waiting for me to respond. So I say, “Tell me about your family, H.M.”
His mouth tilts upward in a sad kind of half smile. “They were great. I had three sisters, one brother, and two parents who sang us to sleep every night no matter how tired they were. And I lost them all when I was ten years old.”
“Shit.” I drop my face onto my knees. Is it possible to feel so awful that the floor would actually open and swallow you up to spare everyone the trouble? “I’m sorry, H.M. I’m so sorry.”
There’s silence, and I’m terrified to look up. What if he left? What if he decided my self-centered ass wasn’t worth it anymore? Then the mattress shifts, and I feel his big body settle in next to me, close enough to touch.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. You didn’t kill them.”
I pick my head up off my legs. His profile is almost all shadows, but I can see the shine of his eyes. They’re staring at the far wall, but they’re not really here. He’s not totally here.
“What happened to them?” I ask.
“We lived on the planet Homestead. You probably know it.”
I do know it. It’s a sister planet to the Voleses’ homeworld, Helix. The people on Helix like to refer to Homestead as their “better, simpler half” and their “bread basket,” but the truth is that it’s where they put all the work they don’t want to see. A lot of manufacturing and high-output agriculture and all the factories and refineries that go with it. It’s a terraformed planet, so basically Helix custom-built the place to produce all kinds of stuff for themselves and then trucked a bunch of warm bodies over there to do the hard work.
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