by F. T. Lukens
“Go on what?”
“To practice. Figured you and Millie might want a few objects to mess with other than Pen’s mixer.”
Ren swayed closer to the mess.
“So you did know what it was.”
Ollie’s smile was small but it was there.
“If you got these back on Mykonos, why wait so long to share them?”
Ollie shrugged again; his mouth straightened into a flat line. “You want them or not? If you can fix them, we can turn them around and sell them for a profit.”
Ren thought he should stop questioning motives and take the gesture for what it was: a gift of distraction, born out of concern and thoughtfulness.
Ren pulled out a few circuit boards. “Thanks, Ollie.”
“No problem, Ren. Anything to help.”
Ren clutched the circuitry to his chest. The metal and wire caught on the fabric of his shirt and bit into the skin of his hands. “No, really,” he said, throat tight. “I appreciate it.”
Ollie dropped a large hand on Ren’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re welcome, Ren. I know things may seem like dirt right now, but ride it out and you’ll be fine. You’ll never be lost as long as you look to the stars.”
Ren nodded. “Did you learn that in all your years of traversing the cluster?”
Ollie laughed. “No. I read it in a book of maps Lucas had. Doesn’t mean it’s not true though.”
“I’m not so sure, Ollie. Looking at the stars only made me lonelier and more lost.”
“Maybe you weren’t looking at the right angle.”
Ren toed at the corner of the box; his boot broke off a splinter.
Ollie crossed the bay to move another crate. “Back to work for me,” he said, as he picked up his clipboard. “I need to prepare if we’re going to pull off what Rowan wants. Apparently, her reputation is at stake.” He grinned.
“Yeah, I’m… going to go work on these.”
“Come back and get more when you’re finished.”
“All right.”
Ollie waved over his shoulder as Ren ascended the stairs to the main part of the ship. He made his way to the common room, which was blessedly empty.
Settling on the end of the couch, Ren picked up the first of the boards and lost himself in work.
* * *
Ren was still there when time for the midday meal rolled around. Penelope was the first to breeze in and she gave Ren a light tap on his outstretched leg as she passed to begin fixing lunch. Asher was next, and Ren pretended to be busy with the circuit board, even though he had fixed it and its partner in about twenty minutes. He fiddled with the circuits; his eyes glowed blue. Asher stared at him but Ren ignored it.
Penelope engaged Asher in light conversation. She whipped up a quick midday meal. When she finished, she alerted everyone via shipwide comm. As Ren fiddled, the crew members shuffled in and sat in their usual places around the large table. A plate of sandwiches made with meat spread sat in the middle beside a bowl of a congealed noodles with vegetables. It was obvious their fresh supplies had run out.
Ren’s stomach turned at the thought of trying to eat anything. No one else seemed fazed.
“Not joining us, Ren?” Rowan asked as she bit into her sandwich.
Ren shook his head and kept his lips together in a firm line. Much to his relief, Rowan didn’t press. Instead, she leveled her gaze at Jakob.
“Have you heard the news?” she asked.
Jakob looked over his shoulder and then at the group. “Me?” he asked, pointing to his chest.
Rowan nodded.
“What news? Ren, what’s she talking about?”
Ren bit his lip.
“Asher, you tell them,” Rowan said, saving Ren from having to participate. He was grateful for that and uncertain how to report that his captors had granted him a small reprieve.
Asher snapped his head and stopped pushing his food around on his plate. He straightened, tugged at the collar of his uniform, and brushed out imaginary wrinkles.
“General VanMeerten has granted the request.” He pulled his shoulders back. Ren wanted to scoff at Asher’s transformation from friend to lapdog soldier. “To take you back to Erden.”
Jakob sat stunned. “We’re going back?” he asked, dropping his spoon on his plate. “You’re not joking? Are you? Because that would be cruel, Ash. Very cruel.”
“It’s not a joke. We’re going to Erden.”
Seeing the smile that broke over Jakob’s face was like watching the morning sun crest the horizon and throw sparkles on the lake. He bent his head, smiled at his plate, then glanced up and fidgeted. He picked up his bread and set it down. His cheeks flushed, and he laughed while rubbing a hand over his eyes.
Ren had never seen Jakob so excited he did not know what to do with his limbs. It was endearing.
“Did you hear, Ren? We’re going home.” The tone of awe was also new.
Ren nodded and forced a smile. “We are.”
“I… I… thank you,” he said to Asher. “Thank you. I don’t know how you convinced her, but thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Ren for threatening the Phoenix Corps and nearly getting himself thrown into the prison near Perilous Space.”
Jakob’s joy tempered. “You did what?” he asked quietly. “Ren, what?”
“I reminded VanMeerten what I’m capable of,” Ren said, lifting one shoulder in an awkward shrug. He set the circuits aside and threaded his fingers.
Jakob pointed his finger at Ren. “I said ask, not threaten. Are you addled? Stars, Ren, all they need is a reason.”
Ren crossed his arms. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am happy. But you didn’t need to poke a beehive.”
“What’s a beehive?” Lucas asked, coming into the room. He gave Penelope a kiss, then took his seat at the table.
“Seriously?” Jakob asked.
Lucas plopped a large serving of the noodles on his plate. They splattered and oozed into an unappetizing puddle. “What? Is it a duster thing?”
“Yes, it’s a duster thing.” Jakob rolled his eyes and shared a look with Ren that conveyed his disbelief.
“Oh, I saw that,” Lucas said. “I grew up in space, okay? I don’t understand the flora and fauna of your dirt.”
“I’m not even going to respond. There’s so much wrong with that,” Jakob said.
Ren smiled, but he stayed on his perch on the couch. No one seemed to notice that he was not joining in, or if they did, they didn’t comment.
“Mill,” Jakob said, “can you believe it? We’re going home.”
Millicent blinked her large eyes. “Home?” she asked.
“Yeah, to Erden. Ren… convinced them. Isn’t that great?”
“Oh, yes. I was there. I heard.” She took a bite of her bread. “But Erden isn’t my home.”
Everyone froze. Jakob cocked his head and tapped his fork against his plate in a nervous rhythm. He shot a look to Ren. Ren frowned, as confused as everyone else. Millicent didn’t talk much of her past before they’d met her on Mykonos. All Ren knew was she had grown up with the knowledge of what she was.
Asher leaned forward. “What do you mean? You were in the cell next to mine.”
“Yes,” she said. She took a bite from her sandwich and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. She folded it. “I was in the cell next to yours, but I was brought there.” Millicent didn’t seem to notice how the crew hung on every word. She didn’t notice that Rowan stared and Asher clutched his fork so tightly it was beginning to bend. “I’m from the planet Crei.”
“How are we just learning about this?” Rowan demanded.
Millicent’s hazel eyes were wide and her face was pale. “No one has asked.”
“Then how in the hell did you end up on Erden with Asher?”
She sighed. “Because that is where Abiathar took me after he found me and offered me the chance to leave my planet and travel if I helped him. He promised me a prominent place among the drifts if I would use my gift in his service.”
After a moment of thick silence, of disbelief, Ren’s stomach dropped.
“You enlisted?” Jakob shouted. “You agreed to help that cog?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, voice never wavering. “He said he’d take me away from the factories and the smoke and the pollution and bring me to the stars. How could I say no?”
Jakob’s jaw dropped. “Ren, are you hearing this?”
“Yes,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter.”
Jakob jumped to his feet, sending his chair skidding behind him. “Doesn’t matter? Our village was destroyed. Our families are gone. Sorcha is gone. And she played a part.” He pointed a shaking finger at Millicent.
Ren placed his hands in his lap and tried to sort through his thoughts and feelings. He took a breath. “I know, Jakob. I’m sorry.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Jakob slammed his fist on the table; his plate clattered, and the water in his cup sloshed. He heaved a few breaths, and his body shook; the rest of the group stared in awkward and sympathetic silence.
“I need air,” Jakob choked on the words. He stalked out.
No one moved except Millicent, who took a bite of her sandwich unperturbed.
Rowan cleared her throat. “I think the bigger issue here is: What the stars was that insane old man doing on Crei in the first place?”
“Looking for star hosts,” Lucas said. “And finding them, obviously.” He jerked his chin toward Millicent, and his goggles slid crooked.
Millicent continued to eat her lunch.
“Or,” Asher said, “the threat against the drifts is bigger than we thought.”
“I’m sorry,” Pen said softly, “But please explain. I don’t understand.”
Asher dropped his bent fork. With his elbows on the table, he tented his fingers and leaned forward. “What if it’s more than one crazy despotic Baron on a backward planet? What if it’s two planets, or three, conspiring against the drifts? What if it’s Erden and Crei and Stahl and more? What if Baron Vos was only the first?”
“That’s a lot of ifs, Ash,” Rowan said. “And it’s not what we need to concentrate on right now. Because of this decision by the Corps, we’re not going to be able to finish our cargo run.”
“What are we going to do?” Pen asked.
“I’ve already asked Ollie to arrange the cargo as needed for an in-transit pick-up. And I’ve asked Lucas to find a friendly along our route.” She leveled her gaze at Lucas.
He fidgeted, pushed his goggles onto the crown of his head from where they had slipped down to his brow. The strap caught in his red hair and left a strand standing on end.
“Yeah, about that.”
“Yes?”
“We really only have one choice.” He squirmed. “It’s Hatfield.”
The protests were loud, and Ren shrank back, startled at the vehemence not only from Ollie and Asher, but from Penelope as well.
“Do you not remember what happened last time?” Ollie spat. “They tried to pull us into an ancient feud they had with another trading family. We were shot at.”
“By both families,” Penelope added.
“In a crossfire.”
“I was dressing pulse gun grazes for weeks.”
Lucas threw up his hands. “Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t make a cargo ship appear from nowhere. And they are nearby, within a day if they stuck to their submitted schedule and route.”
Ren zoned out as they argued. Maybe Lucas couldn’t make a cargo ship appear, but Ren could transport the Star Stream across the cluster. He’d done it before. It would take concentration and tapping into the well of his power, but he could do it. It would help Rowan, too, and she had given up so much for him. He could repay her.
“I could do it,” he said, interrupting.
The group turned to look at him. Asher’s gaze swept over Ren.
“Do what?”
“Transport us. To the drift. I’ve done it before.”
Asher’s response was quick. “No.”
“Absolutely not,” Rowan agreed.
Ren jutted out his chin. “I could do it. I’m powerful enough.”
Asher planted his palms on the table next to his plate, and his chest heaved. “You’ve done it once under extreme duress. And even then you didn’t know when you did it, how you did it, and where you transported us. It wiped you out for days. And do you honestly think you’re in control enough to do it? If you think for one moment I will allow you to endanger the crew or yourself then you have absolutely gone as crazy as the Corps believes.”
In a long moment of silence Ren’s insides twisted in confusion and frustration.
“I think what Asher is trying to say,” Penelope said, “is let’s try meeting with the Hatfields first, and if that fails, we’ll try… star-powered transporting.”
Ren nodded. “Fine.”
“Good, then it’s settled,” Rowan said, with the finality of a captain. “We’ll meet with the Hatfields tomorrow, transfer the cargo, and head to Erden.” She took a bite of her food. “It’ll be easy. I’m certain of it.”
No one else was convinced.
4
In fact, it wasn’t easy.
Maybe Lucas was the best pilot in the cluster, if everyone on the Star Stream was to be believed, but maneuvering to seal with another ship was difficult even for him. And Ren was forbidden to assist, as was Millicent. Asher was wary their powers may give them away and cause more stress in an already stressful situation.
So Ren waited impotently on the walk above the cargo bay while Ollie and Asher readied the crates. The twin thunks of towing cables hitting the hull triggered the memory of the Star Stream under attack by Abiathar. Ren clutched the railing and willed his fear to stay in check while he endured every scrape of metal against metal and every jolt and shudder as the ships bumped into position. It was difficult. He’d been connected to the ship since the moment they’d departed Mykonos and he could feel the distress of metal in his throat and the groan of the systems in his bones.
Ren’s power itched inside of him, right in the middle of his chest, and he clenched down on it and drew it in instead of allowing it to flow out.
“You look like you’re in pain.” Millicent’s voice startled him, and he gritted his teeth as she drifted toward him. “Your face is scrunched.”
“I’m doing what Asher asked.” Ren’s grip tightened on the railing. Sweat beaded along his hairline.
“You’ve been in the systems too long. Pulling back will be almost impossible.”
“I can do it.”
“I don’t understand why you need to.” She placed her hand on Ren’s forearm, where the muscles strained beneath the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. “You’re only hurting yourself when you could be helping.”
“According to Asher, this is helping.”
Millicent blinked. “He doesn’t understand that holding back is more dangerous than letting go. He isn’t one of us.”
That was… true. Asher didn’t understand the nuances of power or its terrible sweetness.
“He’s trying to protect you again, but he can’t protect you from what you are,” Millicent continued.
Ren closed his eyes and relaxed just a bit; his shoulders dropped from near his ears. Spurred by Millicent’s power, his star traveled down the length of his body, searching for a destination. Ren was only the conduit. The Star Stream’s systems were home and welcomed him with open circuits as his power poured into them. He found solace in the video feeds and, even with his eyes closed, he could see the whole cargo bay and observe as Asher and Ollie talked. He c
ould see his own tall, willowy body and shaggy brown hair, and noted that his face was relaxed as if he were asleep. Compared to Millicent’s small frame and pale skin, Ren looked alien.
“There you go,” Millicent said. “See? That feels better, doesn’t it?”
Ren nodded. Yes, this was good. Millicent was right. She was always in control, and Ren should learn from her, learn to wield his gift to help others instead of being in constant fear of it.
The ship vibrated under Ren’s feet, and instantly he was at the aft airlock and in the comm system. He listened as the Hatfield crew talked with Lucas and, after a wrenching sound, confirmed they were in position. Ren eased along the docking apparatus and coaxed it out of the Star Stream’s outer pocket until it met with the extension from the Family Honor. He monitored the seal and the pressurization of the resulting tunnel, ensuring everything was safe.
Though there was no video in the access tunnel, there was audio, and, through the connection, Ren snuck into the systems of the Family Honor. He scrolled through the crew manifest—fifteen hands, all family if the names were any indication, led by Captain Anse. He browsed their video feeds and found their cargo area, noting the four crew members who stood near their airlock, waiting for the go-ahead to venture across. Three were men, dressed in clothes Ren thought were more duster than spacer, all with shocking red hair. A woman was the point, and her posture reminded Ren of Rowan as she stood with her arms crossed and her back straight. She wore a tool belt and had goggles on her straight red hair and a pulse gun strapped to her leg. In fact, they all had weapons. They each carried at least one gun, and two of the men had electric staffs that reminded Ren of the prods back on Erden.
Tuning into their comms, whose static rendered them almost useless, he heard most of their conversation.
“Are you sure about this, Rosie?”
“Yes. Rowan Morgan is no pirate. She’s not going to do us wrong.”
“What if they’re cross about last time?”
“Then they wouldn’t have contacted us.”
“Wonder what was so coggin’ important that they have to relinquish their cargo in the middle of a run?”