A Big Ship at the Edge of the Universe

by Alex White

  “Yeah, but that’s all over now. Lost the momentum of the winning streak. Lost my car. Lost my team.”

  Kristof took a sip of his gin while they waited for the sparkling wine to arrive. When he set the glass down, his eyes glittered conspiratorially. “You still have a teammate, you know.”

  “Two drivers can’t form a team, Kristof.”

  “Why not? According to the press, you have the money.”

  “Sure, but if I’m hiring the drivers, I need top talent. You can be a reserve driver, maybe.” She gave him a wink.

  The sparkling wine arrived, and they uncorked it to great fanfare. Their waiter filled two long-stemmed flutes with the golden liquid, trails of bubbles snaking through it like strings of pearls. Nilah held up her glass in salute to Kristof.

  “To the finish line,” she said.

  “To the finish line.”

  She’d had Drapeau Rouge a dozen times on the podium, but the dry wine took on a far sweeter character, given the trials that had brought her to this place. Her dermaluxes shone cool blue under her suit sleeves, making halos around her hands.

  Kristof pointed to her cold light. “Why so sad?”

  Nilah took a large gulp of her wine and set the glass on the table. She straightened her napkin to align it with her place setting, then looked out over the valley. She couldn’t look at Kristof as she spoke.

  “I wanted to say thank you for defending me … you know … in the interviews. After Claire rolled over on me, everyone was so sure I was guilty.”

  He plopped his own glass on the table. “I’ve never been so furious as I was listening to those journalists. I don’t like you all the time, but I know you wouldn’t murder someone.”

  A flash of gold from her tattoos. “You do like me, though.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  She glanced at him, then tapped the table absentmindedly. She wasn’t used to feeling nervous. “I’m going to miss this. Going to miss racing.”

  He laughed. “What are you talking about? You’ll get your edge back!”

  But she didn’t laugh.

  “What, you’re done?” His smile disappeared. “You’re serious?”

  She locked eyes with him, willing him to understand.

  “No. You are not quitting. That’s out of the question. You’re one of the greats, Nilah! This was your year!”

  “My year came and went, Kristof.”

  “You see, this is what I hate about you! On the track, you’re perfect, but in your life, you’re impetuous, arrogant, reactionary!” He rubbed his eyebrows, his jaw tensing. “Dramatic.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s being dramatic?”

  He held his hands out to her, almost begging. “Nilah, we’ve been together since the karting days. You’re a sister to me. You’ve been here to push me every step of the way, and you—you’re probably the reason I’m a champion now. At the beginning of the season, I was ready to throttle you, but you know … that made me fight harder, drive better.”

  Her blue faded to white. “Other champions will come, Kristof. There’s a lot of young talent in the under leagues—”

  But he stopped her with a look.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll admit it—we’re a good match. Without me in your way, you’re going to be galactic champion over and over, and no one can stop you. Is that what you want to hear?”

  He rested his chin against a palm. “I want you to say you’ll be coming back. I want to see you next season. They’re building all-new tracks! There’s new management, new rules, and—”

  “I can’t do that, Kristof. I have other matters to attend to.”

  The first course arrived: gabbar confit, with a Norlan crema sauce and sprinkled smoked sugar. The plates were tiny works of art, with the bloodred gabbar fruit swirling against the chartreuse crema. It was the perfect vegetarian cuisine, ideally suited to Nilah’s tastes, yet neither of them lifted a utensil.

  “That’s not right,” he said. “You should be making your place in racing history. You’re being stupid.”

  She gestured to the rest of the restaurant. “I’m the one getting comped for saving civilization. I think you’re forgetting that I’ve already made my place in history.”

  He picked up his fork, contemplated his food, then tossed the fork onto the plate. “Goddamn it. This is because some of those bastards got away, isn’t it?”

  “Could you rest, knowing they were out there?”

  “Yes! I mean, no, but look at you! You show up sliced to ribbons, scars on your face! You’re going to get killed, Nilah. Why can’t you let the professionals handle this?”

  She ran her fingers along the puffy slashes on her cheek—the souvenir given to her by Ranger in his last moments. They almost looked like cat’s whiskers. She’d let the surgeons and healers take all the springfly scars away from her, even replacing the missing bit of her ear, but she wondered if she’d regret it. She’d earned those marks facing down some of the deadliest bots out there, and she’d miss them.

  She wasn’t sure Kristof could understand. Racers loved to tackle ridiculous challenges, but between safety equipment and ironclad standards, real injuries were rare. Any amount of risk to the body was deemed unacceptable. How could someone from that world comprehend the choice to face danger?

  “Because,” she began, “I’ve been close to real perfection.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Racing is all about repetition. Yeah, you can have a good line on a lap, but it’s impossible to have it on all sixty or seventy. The weather changes, the track changes, they change the tire compounds, there’s too much clag on the tarmac, a wreck leaves a piece of broken fibron. You can try to adapt, but face it: what we do is memorization.”

  “That’s not true. We have to improvise.”

  She smiled. “Kristof, we get the track plan a year in advance. Our engineers pick it over with a fine-tooth comb. We drive it for five hundred hours in the simulator. Mages stream it into our dreams when we sleep. By the time we get to race day, all we care about is a mechanical failure and making sure that the other buffoons don’t crash into us.”

  He tapped his chest. “That’s because you drive with your head and not your heart.”

  “The heart takes pole position. The head wins races.”

  “Is that right? Pole position won me the championship.”

  “My track record speaks for itself, but you don’t have to listen to me. You’re the most talented driver I’ve ever met,” she said, raising her glass in mock salute. “But when I was out in the wild, facing down threats we’d never seen, I couldn’t rehearse. I just had to do what was inside. If I flinched, I died. If I made a mistake, I died. To drive a perfect lap, that’s easy. What I felt on the Harrow … it was the next level.”

  “I think the blood loss may have scrambled your brains.” He picked up his fork again and scooped some of the red fruit flesh into his mouth.

  She pushed the food around her plate, but didn’t take a bite. “For the past few nights, I’ve been waking up with nightmares.”

  He looked her over thoughtfully.

  “I dream of being an old woman, safe and sound, tucked away in the edge of the galaxy. In the dream, Henrick Witts never came after me, and I never went after him … and I never got to feel what I felt with the Capricious ever again. I’m just … old.”

  “Are your dusty cabinets covered with Galactic Champion trophies? Because then it sounds like a great dream.”

  She sighed. “How can I care about racing when I just helped determine the fate of worlds? I just … can’t anymore.”

  “You’re going to get killed.”

  She looked across at him, stars in her eyes.

  “But what a grand way to die.”

  The next morning, a dour-looking gentleman from the Ministry of Security showed up at Nilah’s hotel bearing an intercepted video transmission from Claire. They’d tracked it to Clarkesfall’s dusty husk, but lost the trail there. It said
simply, “Don’t follow us. I’d hate to have to kill you myself.” Nilah spent the rest of the day trying to shake off the fury and scorn she felt, throwing herself into interviews and advertisements.

  Anything to forget Claire’s profound betrayal for a moment.

  When Nilah went home that night, she didn’t adjourn to her well-furnished apartments on Morrison Station. Her driver took her to the state spaceport. Hot wind and a low rumble from distant engines forced their way into the transport as she opened the door—the passing whispers of ships launching in the distance. She’d once loathed this place, only coming here to board the Lang shuttle to the next race. She had no love of the journey, only longing for the arrival.

  But now, she watched ships launch, rising columns of smoke like the pillars of some divine palace, and a calm fell upon her heart. As she walked toward the civilian docks, her boots felt ten kilograms lighter; she could almost leap offworld by herself. Ahead of her, surrounded by a cadre of heavily armed state guards, stood the Capricious, and in its wide-open cargo bay, Orna.

  Nilah strode purposefully toward the quartermaster, and the guards parted for her. Her arms entangled with Orna’s, and they kissed, Nilah’s dermaluxes fluttering pink.

  Orna didn’t let go. “The captain is almost ready to launch. Said your goodbyes to everyone?”

  “Yeah. Dad wasn’t excited, to say the least. He took it better than Kristof. The fans will be barmy, of course.”

  “They’ll have to get over it,” said Orna. “I want you with us.”

  Nilah hooked a finger under Orna’s collar and felt the silky texture of her shirt. It was Camden Cross—expensive, and one of Nilah’s former sponsors. “You’ve certainly upgraded your wardrobe here on Taitu. You’re not going to miss the luxury?”

  “I’ve enjoyed the attention,” she sighed. “The crowds, the cameras. They like me for a change, and they’re not asking me to … They’re not like the fighting pits. And yeah, the new clothes are dumb I guess, but they’re cool, too. They remind me of you.” Orna scratched the back of her head, smiling. “I want to be stylish, like you. I love the effect you have on me.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Orna actually blushed, her many scars becoming white slashes on red-hot cheeks.

  “Oh my god! You’re blushing!”

  Orna looked away. “Shut up.”

  “Your cheeks are like ruddy little apples! Oh, I love you!” She pinched Orna’s face, laughing, and the quartermaster tried to duck away. “Can you get any redder?”

  “Stop it!” Orna tried to duck away, but Nilah jumped on the tall woman’s back.

  “Never forget that I’m the fastest!” She leaned down and gingerly bit Orna’s ear, and Orna froze. “Tell me you love me, too.”

  “I … love you.”

  “Good.” And with hot breath, Nilah whispered, “Carry me inside.”

  They tromped up the cargo ramp into the bay and found Cordell leaning against a pallet, a lit cigarette in his hand. His solemn expression curled into amusement at the sight of them.

  “I’m glad to see you two are having fun.”

  “About to have a lot more fun, Cap,” Nilah chuckled.

  “I see,” he said. “Y’all ready to get underway? We can leave whenever you want.”

  “Give us thirty minutes,” said Orna.

  Nilah slipped down off her companion’s back. “An hour, sir.”

  “Maybe two,” added Orna.

  Cordell snorted. “We’re firing boosters in thirty. If you haven’t moved the earth by then, the Capricious is going to move it for you.”

  “I think I’ll manage,” said Nilah, taking Orna’s hand and leading her away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Extraction

  12 November, 2895

  One year after the Harrow returned to Taitu.

  Boots hefted the sack of millet over her shoulder, grunting as it slapped across her back. Dust sifted through shafts of sunlight. The shimmering motes would’ve been pretty if she hadn’t been so sweaty, but the particulates clung to every inch of her exposed shoulders.

  She flopped the sack over the mill and snapped her left hand, revealing a short blade inside the index finger. She sliced down the bag and picked up its tails, allowing the millet to spill over. Golden grains streamed into the hopper, and Boots shook the bag out, getting every last bit. Boots flipped the switch on the mill, instantly creating buckets of powdery grain. The deafening grind of the machine filled her warehouse, reflecting off the concrete floors and aluminum walls.

  When she pounded the shutoff, the hum continued. At first, she thought the motor was stuck. Then she realized it was coming from outside the warehouse, low and thick, like a tractor engine. Her itinerant employees had already gone back to the colony for the day, so it couldn’t have been them.

  Boots wiped a glove across her forehead to clear away the sweat, only to leave a dirty streak. She pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, but it was filthier than her glove. She shook it out and mopped her brow as best she could, then pulled one of the many slingers in her warehouse from its hiding place, checking the clip; she never felt truly safe, given that Witts and much of his cult were still out there. Cautiously, she headed out the door in search of the sound.

  Wind swept her green valley in waves, flattening the long grasses of Hopper’s Hope. She spied Twickenham Colony in the distance, its structural lights only starting to flicker awake in the setting sun. Warm engine wash filled the air, and she looked up to see the dark belly of the Capricious looming over her, the source of the heavy thrum. The ship settled down in her staging area, nearly knocking over a stack of corn crates. She swore as one of her imported barrels went rolling down the hill.

  Boots waved her hands and gestured to the ongoing damage with the universal symbol for “What do you think you’re doing?” But the ship continued its landing sequence.

  When he’d settled onto his pylons, she counted at least three grand worth of damage. That landing area was for skimmers hauling small supplies, not marauders. The rear cargo doors began to open up, the slow whine considerably smoother than she remembered. He’d had some restoration work done.

  “Hey!” she shouted the second she spotted a silhouette. “You can’t park that junk heap here!”

  Cordell came ambling down the newly ejected ramp in a sparkling-white captain’s jacket, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He glanced over his shoulder at the damage. “Oh, don’t you worry about it. I’ll pay for that.”

  “Great. So you’re going to get me another order of Herschelite sherry casks before we go to maturation tomorrow?”

  He smirked. “It’s good to see you, Boots.”

  “You couldn’t call ahead?”

  “I was worried you’d disappear again.”

  “Nah. I would’ve just put out a closed sign and locked up.”

  “So you got your distillery all set up?”

  “That I did. Making whiskey in the ancient style—no magic, just hard work. Calling it ‘Kinnard’s Way.’”

  “I like it. The no-magic thing is a good angle. I’m sure you got folks lined up around the corner for the stuff.”

  “Sure,” she said, “except the first casks won’t be ready for the next decade. I can’t use accelerators like most of the other distilleries.”

  He shook his head. “I hear you. Always got to do things the hard way, Boots.”

  “Maybe that’s how I like it.”

  The engines shut off behind him, their whine steadily falling in pitch.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “I said you couldn’t park here.”

  He took a long drag. “Just wondering if we could come rest planetside for a while. Have a nice relaxing visit with an old friend.”

  “Got in some trouble, did you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Pissed off a few more gods?”

  “Maybe.” A long cloud of his cigarette smoke spiraled away on the wind. “So … can we com
e in?”

  Armin appeared beside his captain, hands in his pockets. He hadn’t changed a day, save for the welcoming smile on his face. “Hey, Boots. We can make it worth your while.”

  Boots craned her neck to look behind him, and her heart leapt at the sight of Nilah, looking stronger than ever. She’d thickened up, grown more muscular, and she stood with sure feet spread wide. Nilah’s ocean wave tattoos beamed golden light across the bay, illuminating Orna, as well as a suit of bloodred tactical armor lurking behind her. It wandered to the edge of the ramp and sampled the air. Aisha stood behind them with Malik, his arm around her. And there were two others Boots didn’t recognize—a pair of gingers that had to be brother and sister.

  When Boots squinted, she spied the Midnight Runner, his hull brightly painted with the shades of Arca, his cockpit empty and calling to her. In that direction lay her home, and she felt its pull like gravity had failed her.

  She knew why they’d come. If she let Cordell into her house, they’d spend all night drinking out of the stills and swapping stories until she followed him into the great darkness beyond.

  She could stop it, though. She could tell him to clear off, that she didn’t want any part of it—that she finally had everything she wanted. She could claim peace for the rest of her life.

  Boots grunted and waved them onward.

  “Ah, come on. You look like you could use a drink.”

  The story continues in …

  A BAD DEAL FOR THE WHOLE GALAXY

  Coming in December 2018!

  Acknowledgments

  The rules for crafting compelling salvage maps were a key part of this narrative, so maybe I can come up with some rules for crafting compelling fiction. Let’s see …

  Rule number one: A great book starts with great beta readers.

  I was lucky to have several canaries in the coal mines of this story, and though none of my beta readers dropped dead, the news wasn’t always good. These are the people who told me what I had to hear, not what I wanted to hear: Sharyn Hamilton, Maggie Rider, Joseph Johnston, Chris Bupp, and Stephen Granade.