I leap out into space for Z. He sees me, and although he can barely move, gagging on his words, there is still fury in his eyes.
No air left to answer him. It is biting cold, a cold that rips into me, that frosts over the burns and cuts on my skin. It is silent, empty, nothing but the stars, the drifting debris and us. My body aches from the lack of air, from the moisture freezing inside me. But I am still a cross. The data dump told us we could survive a full two minutes in vacuum. If I am fast enough.
I grab Z with one arm, hook it under his armpit, and begin pulling us back along the rope. Whatever strength possessed him a moment ago has been used up, seemingly by his rapid healing, however that works.
I pull, and we move slowly, a thread in the airless darkness. I pull, trying to ignore the way my hands feel distant from me, and the way my whole body’s become a numb, cold block, pull us back toward the mines.
“You’re coming to me after all,” Rashiya’s ghost says.
The spit freezes painfully on my tongue, as I speak unheard words. “The hallucinations should stop now. The pathogen can’t survive out here.”
Her hand slides, a thin trembling cold sensation, up my arm. “I said I’d be with you to the end. What makes you think I’m a hallucination?”
“Because,” I say, soundlessly, “I don’t want to die.”
I pull, one pull at a time, until we are back in the thin atmos of the mines.
* * *
Jaqi
I speak on the comm. “Scurv, you got any shots left?”
“The ship’s blaster is damaged.”
“Can you climb out and take a few shots?”
Scurv’s cold voice in my ear. “We are not miracle workers. And we are out of shards besides. Our other selves need to eat to make more.”
Araskar’s voice intrudes. Jaqi, I’m here. I have Z.
I en’t got the heart to tell him.
We just got to get to that node. It en’t but a few miles out, by Imperial reckoning. A quick flight on thrusters.
Back on Swiney Niney, when we was getting chased by the gray girl, Araskar’s pal, I made my shard-shots count. I just looked at her and I reckoned she was like a node—but that only worked on crosses, and I en’t sure them gunships are populated by crosses.
Just got to get to that node.
Hang on.
I sent a message through the node without even trying. And I could find a node if you dropped me on the wildest wild world. Got an evil sense for that. Don’t no one know how to make new nodes—hell, I know plenty of folk have died trying—but maybe I can move one.
It’s only a few miles. Hardly a peck of distance in space.
I reach out. We’re close enough I can feel the node. I en’t got the words to explain how it feels, but it’s just there for me. Nodes’ve always been that way for me. Like they’s standing there waving just for Jaqi, even though for most sentients they en’t nothing but an invisible spot in the darkness, a spot you can only open by transmitting the right code on a pure-space frequency. But I never needed no codes.
I reach out for the node. Normally, I wouldn’t try reaching when I’m this far out—I know there’s no way to get the ship to the node that way.
I try to touch it, to reach it the way I would to throw my ship into it. Come on.
Kalia clings to me, crying softly, as the air streams out of here and our lungs ache. Come on.
Come on, now. The node is fixed to one place in real space, and a different spot in pure space, and we can go through pure space instantaneously, and I just need to take us through to the Llyrixan node, which I been through plenty of times, the Thuzerians not being proof against the occasional catch of illegal matter.
Fixed to one spot in real space. I just need to change that spot. I can feel the node, but it’s far away, and my grip is weak.
The shards erupt from the Vanguard ship. We are all washed in red light.
Come on. Come one. No more Bills. No more Quinns. No more folk dead for the wrong reasons.
And as weak as my grasp is, I grab that node, and somehow, like I’m unspooling a string I didn’t know was there, I bring it to us and—
Everything goes white.
-21-
Araskar
IT’S THE MOST WRENCHING trip I’ve ever had through pure space. Despite what they tell you about crosses, this gets my stomach. All the thurkuk secretion and booze comes up right onto Z’s freshly restored, smooth, and unmarked face.
Once my vision restores itself, coalesces outside of the distortion of pure space, I see an un-tattooed Zarra covered in my vomit, huddled against the wall of this tunnel into the mines
He has a whole new frown for this.
More to the point, there’s a beautiful blue and green planet below us. Land and water and all the things there are to love about a planet.
“What has been done?” Z gapes, his voice thin and faint in the leaking atmos.
Right as if on cue, a massive Thuzerian dreadnought soars overhead. The ship throws us into shadow, a solid asteroid-sized troop carrier.
Words reverberate through me.
I can’t say how I feel the message—they must be talking to Jaqi, because it echoes through my sense of her, like the words float on a torrent of her music.
WHAT IS THIS?
Jaqi doesn’t answer.
I wonder if they’ll hear me. With my bloody, burned hand, I clench my soulsword’s hilt and say, Refugees seeking asylum.
WHAT REFUGEES?
The Reckoning. With seven thousand refugees from John Starfire’s purges. Will you take us in, or let us die here?
A moment, apparently while they’re thinking through the galactic ramifications of this. And finally they say, YOU BROUGHT THE WAR WITH YOU.
The war finds you.
* * *
Nothing like military monks for efficiency, it turns out. The stories of the Thuzerians are true—they make the Imperial Navy look like a bunch of slow morons. It explains why both the Empire and Resistance were so eager to get the help of these fellows.
The Thuzerians, luckily, have an enormous ship’s bay. That said, there’s still not enough room for all the refugees onboard their ship, and instead, they send technicians to cover the hind end of Shadow Sun Seven with a much more durable field that will retain oxygen, and they pump warm air into the field while they load people into a more human situation.
So while the miners are stuck in the mines for a while, no one’s going to freeze and suffocate in vacuum.
More dreadnoughts come out of space, returning from deeper-orbit patrol, to help off-load refugees.
They patch me up as much as I can. I’m covered in severe burns, but all my moving parts still move, and the cold of space seems to have helped with the shock, along with my normal cross stamina.
I can’t yell at Jaqi for not thinking this through, as she won’t wake no matter how much we shake her and shout at her. She lies splayed out on the platform of what was Shadow Sun Seven’s loading port.
That’s two miracles for her.
For lack of Jaqi, soon enough I’m standing on the bridge of this dreadnought, trembling, well aware of the raw bloody burns all over my body.
And still smelling a bit of vomit. They did clean me up, but they had a lot of people to deal with.
A few refugees were too frail to survive the journey through pure space, but otherwise we don’t have any casualties. The blobs have all surrendered in exchange for inoculation against the pathogen.
In a matter of hours, the first batch of refugees will be transported to the planet below, at the same time the last and hardiest of the refugees are being taken from the barges.
It’s over.
And here I stand, in the lift to the bridge of this ship. Z is with me, as is Kalia, although Jaqi has been taken to the medical bay, since she won’t wake up.
I don’t know where this one we did the whole mission for—Scurv Silvershot—really? The real one?—has vanished to. For
all I know, Scurv stole a ship and is already out of here. Great.
Z is eating. Since we got in the lift, he’s consumed five protein packs. The kind that last most sentients a week each. His now-un-tattooed face is stained with crumbs of protein. Around the smacks of rapid chewing, he says, “You should not have taken me back.”
“I saved your damn life.”
“No, you robbed me of my honor. Now I will be forced to kill you.”
Of course. “Give it some time, would you?” I ask.
“I will allow you to return to your full strength. Then I will kill you.”
The doors to the lift open and we’re on the Thuzerians’ bridge.
I stand on the bridge, facing a whole bunch of very big sentients. Thuzerians seem to attract big types. A couple of Sska, like Taltus, but shorter. The captain could be human, but she’s twice as big as any human I’ve met, and she has four arms, so she must be some sort of cross. Her mask is much more ornamental than Taltus’s was, inscribed with scrollwork, covering only most of her nose.
Besides the masks, they all wear armor. I know it’s overlapping synthsteel, but over it they wear tabards of white and red, with the symbol of a flaming soulsword printed on the fabric, and each of them has a black-bladed, hand-forged soulsword at the waist.
“What have you done?” she asks me, right off.
“Refugees,” I say, my voice scratching.
“I know they’re refugees,” she says. “But they are also political prisoners. We’re taking names as they’re processed—these are all people the Resistance has disappeared over the last few months. Imperial families. Voting seats on multi-system Councils. Bluebloods, as the godless would call them.” She raises an eyebrow. “Why do you have seven thousand of the Empire’s most valuable citizens? Not to mention journalists!”
“What do you call them?” I think I might fall over. “If not bluebloods?”
“Now, we call them the hungry, poor, the tired, and the wretched.” I recognize the quote from the Bible.
“Welcome in the arms of the Lord,” Kalia says.
“They shall inherit the stars.”
“Good. Lovely.” I am really going to fall over. “Can I sit down?”
She leads us into a council chamber, just to the right of the bridge, where I nearly collapse into a chair much too nice for my vomit-covered cross self. Z and Kalia sink into the chairs as well.
Despite the fact that I saw Z covered in burns, he’s fine. He’s got his skin back. His fingers and legs all work. But his tattoos, like I said, are gone—he’s nothing but ice-white skin. It seems Jaqi not only healed him for time, but forever.
He’s still eating, too. Six protein packs now. My forty-man regiment went through six a week.
“Taking you in—this will be seen as a political act, no matter how we spin it.” She hesitates. “We have taken other prisoners before. Other refugees.”
“Other humans?” I ask.
“Some humans,” she answers carefully.
“The kinds of humans the Resistance might want to kill?”
“In the Lord, all are made new. We don’t ask questions of the refugees who come to our door.” She exhales. “But now, we cannot help but find out who we are taking in, when there are seven thousand coming at once.”
I lean forward. “Do you know who I am?”
“Your face is certainly familiar. I fought against the Imperial Navy, when I was younger, and killed many with that face.”
I like that she can say this without any disturbance. My kind of woman. “Captain.”
“Adept. Adept Alsethus.” She is a hard-looking woman, and I believe she’s seen plenty of action in her time.
“Adept Alsethus. If you’ve paid any attention to the hits the Resistance puts out, probably the biggest one is for me. John Starfire wants my head on a pike. Look familiar now?”
“We do not have any contact with the Resistance,” Alsethus says. “That said, I believe you.”
“Good. Glad you believe me. John Starfire issued an order, one only the highest levels of his troops know—Vanguard. It’s called Directive Zero.” It’s actually hard to talk about this. “You know the Three Directives of the Resistance.”
“Justice for the fallen, recognition for the living, equity for the unborn.” She nods, that ornate mask going up and down. “I am familiar with the Resistance.”
“Directive Zero is an order to kill all humans.” I can’t help smiling. “Less poetic.”
“Not all humans,” she says. “Just those you call bluebloods, surely.”
“All humans. Every single one. And to give himself time to conduct this, John Starfire made a deal with the Shir.” She flinches, and makes a sign against evil. “He promised the Shir that they could take the wild worlds to satiate their hunger.”
“They’ll only multiply, and increase the Dark Zone.” Alsethus pauses a moment, and mutters something. I recognize this, the same way I recognized Kurgul, information filtering in from my data dump. It’s a prayer in a dead language. Oh God, hold back the great spiders. “These are monstrous accusations. You tell me the hero of the galaxy is in league with Belial itself?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard worse accusations leveled against John Starfire,” I say. “The universe doesn’t lack for conspiracies. But you believe me.”
“I have some cause to.”
I’m going to tell her more. I’m going to tell her that I killed Rashiya, and I took the memories that came with Rashiya’s death, and I know John Starfire’s sins in and out, but Z interrupts me. “We have a girl with us. She is the Son of Stars.”
“What?” Alsethus says.
Z stands up, looking weirdly naked without those tattoos, and brushes a few crumbs of protein pack off his chin. “I know why the Thuzerians never joined your strength to the Resistance. It is because John Starfire does not truly meet the requirements of the prophecy in your Bible. Were it so, he would have defeated the Shir, the unburned and unkilled plague.” Z stands, which is saying something, after all we’ve been through in the last few hours. He stands and points a finger. “The Son of Stars is aboard this ship, come in the darkest mines of Shadow Sun Seven. She has crossed the gulf uncrossable, and she stands ready to journey into the darkness.”
For some reason, Alsethus doesn’t move. And then, she whispers, “We heard.”
“You heard?”
“It is all the refugees speak of. A miracle. A new node, opening around them, the first new node made since the first Jorians. And a new Saint. The children are those who witnessed it.” And she starts quoting. “‘And the children shall bear witness, many, each pure testimony a new atom in the molecules of the Lord’s plan.’” And then, in half a whisper, “‘The children shall be the change, and the change shall be the children.’”
I guess I shouldn’t tell her that it was the same Shadow Sun Seven node, just that Jaqi moved it somehow. A new node sounds more miraculous.
“Adept Taltus was cast out of our ruling council five years ago for demanding that we turn against John Starfire for denying the scriptures. We didn’t dare fight the Resistance, for we are no friends of the Empire. But now . . . can I see her? The girl?”
“There will be many who wish to see her,” Z says. “You may have to form a queue.”
-22-
Jaqi
LOTS OF PEOPLE HAVE tried to come see me. The nurses turn someone away every couple of minutes. “She is resting.” “She has performed great feats, yes.” “Yes, she already has a copy of the Bible.” “I do not think it is wise to give her any supplemental reading right now.”
The Thuzerians believe a potential Saint needs her rest, which is a fine idea. Also good, I reckon, as I’ve been eating all the fresh bread and sweet nut paste they can bring. Probably best to keep folk out when the Chosen Oogie’s got crumbs in her bed.
This time, my bone-masked nurse—being a nurse, his mask exposes most of his face save the nose—says, “I am very sorry, Sa—miss Jaqi, but
this is one of the seven.”
“The seven?”
“Those who went into the heart of hell, and returned with the prisoners,” the nurse says. “Yourself, Adept Taltus, God honor his memory, the cross, the children, and two Zarra, God honor the memory of she who fell.”
I notice he don’t mention Scurv. I reckon our famous friend must be keeping a low profile as, if the holos told it even half correctly, vi killed one of them Saints.
“The surviving Zarra is here. Ah . . .” He frowns at his datapad. “Zarag-a . . .”
“Just call him Z,” I say. “Let the big slab in.” I’ve been hoping to see him. Glad he survived. And time to give him a piece of my mind.
Z comes around the curtain. At least . . . I think it’s Z, but he en’t got no tattoos! And no scars—that puckered scar from the poison sting has gone. He’s got new, ice-white skin smooth as a babe’s. Same build. Same frown. Whole new skin! “Slab! What is this? You starting over on them tattoos?”
He sits on the bed. Don’t look at me. Reaches out and pages through a couple of buttons on my monitor, like he’s checking my vitals, but I know my vitals is fine, and I know as much as he knows about blood, he en’t a medical sort.
“Z? You thinking about blood and honor again? Forget to talk?”
He speaks, and even his voice sounds different, like he got a new throat. “Suits.”
“Say what?”
“They found Suits inside of me. Microscopic Suits.”
“Oh. Nano-Suits? Like what took down the Vanguard ship?”
He grunts. I reckon that’s what goes for a yes among the Zarra.
I sit there trying to think of a thing to say, but he speaks up. “They heal my hurts, the doctors say. They are better able to speed my body’s processes—clotting, growing new skin, healing bones—purging poison.”
“That’s how you came through that explosion—” Hang on. “You reckon the Suits healed you back on the moon of Trace?”
“They must have. I told them not to interfere with me. I told them the knowledge in my head was my people’s alone, and they—they—” He starts to talk. In his Zarra language. I en’t ever heard it before. It’s low and guttural and has a lot of snorts and snarls and sounds like he’s about to let loose a coughing fit. “All has changed, and my honor has been stripped, cast away into space. Ancestors wait at the River of Stars, but I cannot call there. Not when my body is violated.”
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