Author: Erin Klitzke

“Everything’s secured,” she said, all but breathless as she slipped into the cockpit, taking the empty second seat at the console.  “You were right, it was easy to—Davion?”

His gaze was fastened on something in the sky as he sat frozen in the pilot’s chair, lips slightly parted but his eyes clearing tracking something she couldn’t see.  Still, she hesitated to reach out for him, to distract him.

What is he watching up there?  Her hand hovered near his arm.  He didn’t look at her, but he swallowed, one of his hands finally twitching toward a control on the console.

“Strap in,” he said quietly.  “Strap in tight.  Going to try to make sure it’s not, but this is maybe about to get really dicey really fast.”

“What’s going on?” she asked even as she reached for the chair’s harness and crash webbing.  “Something’s out there, isn’t there?”

“Something big and nasty and nothing you’d notice easily from the ground.  I only saw it because of what I didn’t see.”  There was tension in his voice at a level she’d never heard before from anyone, let alone him.  “I knew what to look for.”

“What does it mean?”  One clip slid home with a click, then another.  Her fingers made short work of the harness; she didn’t even look. Her hands knew what to do.

“It means their operation here—their plans for you—was more important than I thought it might be.  That and they don’t want to be seen.”  He blew out a breath, grimacing. The ship tilted slightly, twisting to one side.  She spotted it, then—something strange in the sky.

Where are the stars?  There was a patch of sky that was just black, no stars to be seen, and while she knew that she didn’t know the night sky on Centrallia very well, she did know that there should have been stars where she was seeing only darkness, only the black void.  “There’s a ship there, isn’t there?  It’s what’s blotting out the stars.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.  “Hit that button that’s flashing.  Upper right on the console.”

She startled and quickly nodded, lunging forward to hit the button, almost beyond her reach now that she was strapped in.  “You weren’t expecting it.”

“No one was,” he said.  “I need you to hang on tight.  This could get messy—I’m trying to make sure it’s not, but some things aren’t in my control.”

She nodded quickly.  “I understand.”

He flashed her a death’s-head grin.  “You don’t, but that’s okay.  Just hang on.”

The ship abruptly rolled.  She saw the roll more than she felt the centrifugal force that pressed her back into her chair and to one side.  Davion leaned forward, his brow furrowing, hands on the controls.

He’s not strapped in.  Her heart crept up into her throat.  He knows what he’s doing.  Trust him.  “I’d make a crack about motion sickness to lighten the mood, but—”

“Appreciate the sentiment,” he said.  “But your gut’s got the right idea.”

She nodded quickly, though he didn’t so much as glance in her direction.  His gaze was on that black patch of sky, even as their ship kept climbing skyward, up through the atmosphere toward the void beyond.  “Will it open fire on us?”

“I hope not,” he said.  “But my plan is to not even give it a chance.”

“What are you—”

“See that light on the left there?”

She startled, blinking, looking around until she spotted it.  “Yeah.”

“I need you to tell me as soon as it’s lit.”

“What is—”

“That’s when it’ll be safe to jump.”

Her stomach dropped.  “Isn’t that—”

“Dangerous?  Not as dangerous as running afoul of that ship up there.”  The ship jerked to the side, course adjusting.  She could still see the edge of the blackness above them even as he swung them a little further away from its track.

“Are you sure it hasn’t picked us up on sensors?  It would, wouldn’t it?”

“Not unless the techs are sharp.  We’re not broadcasting anything.  They’d have to catch our engine exhaust.”

“Or get a visual.”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  Or get a visual.”

A litany of curses ran through her thoughts.  Jaw setting, she concentrated on the light he’d pointed to, the signal that would allow them to make some kind of escape.

Light flared in the viewports.  Davion cursed, putting the ship into a flat spin for a second before it lurched upward and to the side.  “Luck’s running thin,” he growled.

“They just fired on us.”

“And missed, thank the gods, but they won’t miss a second time.  Hang on tight and tell me as soon as that light even starts to flicker.”

“That—”

“Less risky than getting shot out of the sky and captured by the Veritans.  Hold tight.”  The ship rolled again, then started climbing.  She swallowed hard against her heart in her throat.

Please change, she begged the light she was watching.  Please turn on.

It felt like an eternity before she saw a flicker in that light, then another.  Not fully lit, but lit for a second, then again.

“Go,” she shouted.  “Go!”

The ship bucked as light filled the window in front of them.  Something rattled and a deep hum filled the cockpit, almost enough to deafen them, underlaid by some kind of strange keening sound.  Davion yanked back on a control, then flipped three switches.  “That button,” he said, flinching slightly as a shower of sparks rained down from one of the bulkheads to his left.  “The green one in front of you.”

Her hand slammed down onto it and a second later she was jammed back into her seat.  The ship jerked sideways for half a second, then the other direction, and finally careened skyward.

Stars elongated, then gave way to the swirl of jumpspace.

The hum stopped.  The keening stopped.

It was blessedly quiet.

It took a second to remember how to breathe, another to risk glancing over at Davion.

He wasn’t in his seat.

Oh no.  Oh no.  She scrambled to unfasten her harness and the crash webbing.  He was crumpled on the cockpit floor, bleeding.  The bulkhead above here he’d been sitting was scorched, part of it missing.  Her heart slammed into her throat.

Oh no.  No, no.  You can’t.

You can’t.

The sound of someone pounding on the door jerked him from a sound sleep, setting his heart hammering at twice its normal speed.  Instantly, he was fully alert, rolling out of bed and moving quickly, silently from his bedroom to the front door.  Magic came easily, flooding through him, sparking at his fingertips—just in case.

It was hours before sunrise but still well past midnight.  Whatever this was, it was not a social call, and he was suddenly silently grateful that he’d listened to his instincts and stowed bug-out bags aboard his ship already.

Still, the sudden realization that they might need to run—that he might need to run, to abandon everything he’d built here on Centrallia—was jarring, enough to sour his stomach and tighten his throat.

For a second, he hoped it would be nothing, even though he knew that wasn’t the case.

The pounding came again when he was halfway to the door.  His jaw tightened.  There was urgency in the knocking, fear, not authority.  Someone coming to warn us?  But about what?

His mind spiraled through the possibilities with one floating quickly to the top as he crossed the wooden floor.  I miscalculated.  They’ve never come to find what happened to one of their facilities before.  She must be more important to their plans than I thought—or the installation was a bigger piece of their plans.

Or they just don’t want anyone to know what they were planning.  Of course, it was too late for any of that, but if they—

Stop.  You don’t know.  He cast his senses toward the door, wincing slightly, bracing himself to be wrong about who might be out there.

Relief flooded through him when he realized it was Val—at least, for a few seconds before he realized that Val’s presence wasn’t something to exactly be celebrated.

He unlocked the door and jerked it open, reaching to drag Val inside.  It didn’t take much to get him across the threshold; Val ducked inside and pushed the door closed behind him.  His voice came as a harsh whisper.

“You two need to get out of here,” Val hissed.  “And you need to go tonight before they start searching the outlying areas.”

“The Veritans?”

Val nodded quickly.  “They showed up a little before sunset.  Most folks think they’re just strangers, but they’re clearly looking for someone or something if you know how to look—and you and Dar and I know exactly what they’re looking for.  Is your ship ready?”

He nodded.  “I checked two days ago.  Damn.  This—”

“Unexpected, I know.  Shouldn’t have happened, I know.  Take her and run, Eamon.  Dodge them.  I checked, there’s nothing big in orbit.  That’s why it took me so long to get out here.  I had to be sure.  I didn’t want you getting shot at coming up through atmo.”

A chill shot through him.  “You think they’d risk it?”

“You don’t?”

He winced.  “How long do you think we have?”

“If you’re not lifting in an hour or less, I’d be concerned.”

Damn.  “Right.  Get out of here and keep your head down.  Keep an eye on the place while I’m gone?”

“Forever if I have to,” Val said.  “Don’t tell me where you’re going or if you’re planning to come back.  If they figure me out, I don’t want to be able to tell them anything more than I already know.”  He reached out and squeezed his shoulder.  “Be careful.”

He pulled him into a hug.  “You first.  Tell Daria—”

“I will.”  Val squeezed him tight for a second, then let go, pivoting back to the door.  He was out and gone in in the space of another heartbeat, leaving him standing there, staring at the space where his friend had been.

Get it together.  He muttered a curse and ran to her bedroom door.

“Kelcie,” he hissed.  “Kelcie, wake up.”

She stirred, rolling over in the bed, but it was another agonizing few seconds before her sleepy voice said, “Davion?  What’s going on?”

“Grab your clothes and your boots and anything else you think is important to grab,” he said.  “We’re leaving.”

Instantly, she was awake, sitting bolt upright in bed.  “Leaving?  What’s wrong?  What’s going on?”

“They’re here.”

“Here?”  Her voice instantly dropped to a hiss and she looked around wildly, gaze landing on the closed curtains.  He almost cursed himself for a fool.

You’re not thinking clearly enough.  Breathe.  Don’t let panic settle in.  You’ve got a job to do and you’re going to do it, one way or another.  “On-planet, in the village.  Val came to warn me.  We need to leave now.”

“Where will we go?”  The question came as she was already gathering her things, shuffling them back into the bundle they’d been in a few days before, when they’d been delivered for her, leaving out her boots.  “How far do we have to walk?”

“Go out the back toward the rise behind the house,” he said.  “Wait for me there.”

“Okay,” she said, jaw firming.  Her sudden steadiness did wonders for his own sudden panic.

Stay in control.  His head bobbed in a quick nod and then he darted from her room to his.  The movements that came next were fast, practiced, shoving a few more things into a bag before he popped the floorboard, sweeping everything from it into his bag before covering it up again.  It was hard to breathe and he knew that his heart was still going too fast.  The calm he wanted was eluding him.

He heard her out in the main room, in the kitchen and then near the shelves—then heard the door open and close.

Now or never.  Showtime.  He squeezed his eyes shut as he threw the last few things into his bag and came to his feet, following her to the door, grabbing his boots with one hand on his way out the door.  It seemed silly to lock the house, but he did, stumbling back a few steps.  His hand shook as he lifted it toward the house, magic swirling around him as he started to move the illusion that hid his ship over to the cottage instead.

There was no point in leaving that knot untied if he could help it.

It was more of an effort than he’d expected, though he couldn’t be sure if it was because of the fear that had washed through him or if it was because it was a bigger undertaking than he though or maybe it was just haste and need and the attempt to do it as thoroughly as he could.  He felt her hand on his arm toward the tale end of it and his heart calmed a little.

Just keep breathing.  He tied off the spell, the cottage hidden by the illusion, now, and exhaled, glancing toward her.  “We need to pull the camo sheets and—“

“I already pulled them.  It seemed like the right thing to do when I started to be able to seep the ship.  It’s ready.  I just couldn’t find the hatch but I figure you know exactly where it is.”

He managed a weak smile, head bobbing in a nod.  “You’re right, I do.  Come on.”

She grabbed his boots before he could and they both dashed barefoot across the grass to his ship.  She’d dropped the things she’d carried remarkably near the hatch.  Starlight and the moon glinted dimly off the hull and his throat tightened for a second.

It’s time.  He grabbed one of the bundles she’d dropped and headed for the hatch.  “Two cabins,” he said as he cracked the hatch and tossed their things aboard.  “You’ll be able to figure out which is which.  Strap in.”

“Do you think it’s going to get bumpy?” She said, slipping past him into the corridor as he secured the hatch and its airlock. “Is there anyone waiting up there?”

“Not sure,” he said.  “Val said no, but it’s hard to tell from the ground sometimes, and it’s going to depend on whether or not we run into any turbulence clearing the atmosphere, too.  I’ve got to—”

“Get to the controls,” she finished.  “I know.  I’ll get everything stowed.”  She swallowed, meeting his gaze steadily.  “I trust you.”

“Strap in,” he said again, quietly.  “I’m going to get us out of here.”

She nodded.  “I know.”

He nodded again, then dashed for the cockpit, unable to shake the feeling that they were running out of time.  The decking was cold against his bare feet as he skidded through the cockpit door and threw himself into the pilot’s chair, starting to flip switches, setting the engines warming, activating vital ship systems—but very deliberately leaving every single running light off.  That was attention they didn’t need and every tiny advantage that they could garner would help.

At least, that was what he was telling himself.  He hoped they wouldn’t need half of them.

I hope you’re right, Val.  I hope there’s nothing up there waiting to ambush us.  The only choice would be to make sure he had a course laid in so they could make a jump as soon as they’d cleared enough of the atmosphere for it to be safe.

Keep it together, Eamon.  Do your job.  Right now, getting off-planet and keeping her safe is your job.  You can do this.

You have to do this.

For a second, he closed his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply.

Then, he opened them again and started lifting the ship off the ground.

All of the old instincts came back as the ship cleared the low rise.  His heart started to settle down.

Glancing toward the horizon and the moons that hung low over it, he smiled, hitting the accelerator and zooming off into the night sky.  It was exactly like old times.  Do your job, he told himself again.

Just do your job.

He angled the ship’s nose upward, checking their climb.  At least half of his attention was elsewhere, poured into seeking the best route away from the system, out of the Protected Zone, back to the rest of the galaxy.

Varrus IV first.  We can get our bearings and snag some gear before we make another move—or make contact with her father.  The course came easily, a fast, safe route through jumpspace.  No one would suspect that jump.  It was the safest option.

He glanced up through the viewport as the ship began to shake, reaching to adjust the angle of their ascent to ease the turbulence.

His hand fell away from the controls as he saw it, moving black against the stars.  Bile rose in his throat.

Val had been wrong, but he couldn’t be blamed for it.

No one could have seen the Obsidian from the ground.

No one.

The door creaked open and she glanced up from the book open in her lap, brushing her thumb against the edge of the pages, feeling the paper catch against callouses.  Davion closed the door behind him, seeming somehow subdued as he sank down on the bench near the front door to take off his boots.  She frowned, swinging her legs down from over the arm of the chair where she sat, setting the book aside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, instincts screaming that he’d lie and tell her that it was nothing, even though they both knew that there was something.

He shook his head, unlacing one boot, then the other.  “Nothing worth the breath to explain right now.  I was just thinking while I checked on something.  Going to make some tea—would you like some?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, reaching for the book again but not resuming her previous position—sideways in the chair, her legs draped over one arm as she leaned into the place where the arm of the chair and the back met..  “Please.”

He nodded, setting his boots in the gap between the bench and the door’s frame before he stood and padded across the wooden floors in stocking feet toward the kitchen and the stove.  “I didn’t worry you, did I?”

“Not until you came back inside,” she lied.  “Not really, anyway.”

The ghost of a smile curved his lips and he nodded, putting a kettle of water on and pulling out a canister of tea.  “I was out there for longer than I intended.  I’m sorry.  I probably should have warned you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.  “It’s okay.  You do what you need to do when you need to do it.  I’m the one imposing on you.”

“It’s not an imposition,” he said.  He was taking out more than just the tea and a bit of honey for it, now.  She watched as he pulled out more canisters and supplies.  It took a few minutes for her to realize that he’d pulled out baking supplies and fruit and was already starting to measure flour and other ingredients into a large bowl.

“Besides,” he continued, getting down a second bowl for another set of ingredients.  “I’m the one who brought you here.”

“From a prison.  That you rescued me from.”

He waved a hand as if to brush aside the logic, though it had already landed squarely.  “I couldn’t exactly leave you there and I wasn’t going to let that place keep standing.”

“How did you find it?” She asked softly.  “I don’t think you told me.”

“I didn’t think it was important.  Hell, you can probably guess.”

“Magic?”

He glanced back, one corner of his mouth curving in a rueful smile.  “That was part of it, at least.”

“Only part?”  She drifted to the tiny kitchen table, the book still in her hand, and sank down into one of the chairs so she could watch him.  “What else did you do?”

A quiet laugh escaped him and he shook his head.  “It’s a long story.  The short version is that I know these woods pretty well by now.  There was something off a few miles from here—something didn’t feel right.  That was the first clue.  I’d been away for a few months so if something was happening out there, I might’ve missed it.  Some friends helped me do some intelligence gathering that was enough to help confirm what I suspected.”

“That someone who wasn’t supposed to be here built a prison?”

“I didn’t know exactly what it was going in but I had some pretty strong suspicions,” he admitted.  “I was hoping I was wrong, but I was able to pull you out of there, so I think it was worth it.”

“Thank you,” she said, getting up to rescue the kettle as it started to sing on the stove.  “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to say it enough.”

He shook his head, taking the kettle from her and starting to make the tea.  “You don’t have to thank me for righting a wrong.”

“I kind of do,” she said with a wry smile.  “Not everyone would have.”

“I know,” he murmured, then shook his head.  “That’s the sad part, right?  Sometimes we look right past it because we either decide there’s nothing we can do or it’s too big or it’ll put too many other people in danger and we have to let it go, at least for now.  Sometimes the reasons are real and good and sometimes we just make them up to justify what we’re doing—or what we’re choosing not to do.”

“That’s remarkably philosophical,” she said quietly, taking the mug he passed her.

“Not what you expected out of me, huh?”

She smiled.  “Actually, I think it’s exactly what I’m starting to expect from you.  You’ve got a lot of layers, Davion.  It hasn’t taken much to figure that out.”

Was it her imagination, or had he blushed before he looked away?  “Is that a compliment?”

“I think that depends on you.”  She watched him start to mix the ingredients he’d dumped into the bowls, her brow furrowing slightly.  “Do you want any help?”

He shook his head.  “No, I’ve got this.  Hope you like tarts.”

“Is that what you’re about to make?”

“Seemed like a good idea when I started pulling down bowls,” he said, grinning at her sidelong.  “Sometimes something sweet can make it feel like the walls aren’t closing in on you.”

As she sank back down into the kitchen chair, she knew that while he was directing the words at her, trying to imply the words were about her situation, they were much more about him and his.  Whatever had happened outside had left him more rattled than he wanted to admit or show—but the latter had already happened and maybe someday he’d feel safe enough to do the former.

If there’s enough time for that someday to come, anyway.  She frowned for a moment, running her thumb along the edge of the book’s cover.  “I’ll just keep you company, then, if that’s okay.”

He nodded.  “Not like there’s much of anywhere to go.  Outside in the grass or a tree.  The bedroom.  Back over by the shelves or by the fireplace but those are both within eyeline.  I don’t think you’d go sit on the floor in the bathroom to read, though.”

Laughter bubbled up and she grinned at him even as he shot another smile her direction over his shoulder.  “More likely the tub, but I’d have to ask you to fill it and warm it up for me first.  I’d hate to take you away from pastry dough.”

“I appreciate that,” he said.  “It can be temperamental.  Which book are you reading?”

“One of the books of legends,” she said.  “I’m guessing you’ve read them all.”

“Most of them twice or three times,” he admitted, starting to cut butter into his mix of ingredients.  “A few more than that.  I don’t know.  A good book by the fire at night when the weather turns is a quiet comfort that few things can match, I think, let alone surpass.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”  Her gaze drifted to the armchairs that faced the fire.  One was clearly more worn than the other, and she could imagine him sitting there on a winter afternoon with a mug of something steaming and a book in his hands.  “Do you think there’s any truth to the legends?”

“That depends on the legend,” he said.  “I think there’s some truth to a lot of them, it’s just knowing which bits are which.  Something tells me it’s not always the bits you think.”

She propped her chin up on her hand, watching as he dumped the pastry dough out onto the counter and started to form it into a ball.  “So if we’re talking about the legend about how people came from beyond the Seal?”

He shrugged.  A bit of magic flared at his fingertips, the barest chill suffusing the air around his hands to keep the butter in the pastry cold as he worked the dough.  “I think more of that is true than any of us like to think about.  That does beg a question, though, doesn’t it?”

“If humans originally came here from beyond the Seal, why can’t we get through it now?”

“Exactly.”  He wiped his hands and finally poured himself a mug of tea.  “It’s a tantalizing question, isn’t it?  A mystery enough to drive a thousand more questions, more pursuits.”

“I suppose so,” she said softly, watching him.  At least some of the weight seemed to have lifted from him.  She wasn’t sure if she believed that part of the legend herself, but he clearly did, and the questions that came along with that belief clearly excited him.

It made him smile and that, she decided, was enough for her.

“So what’s your theory?” She asked quietly, watching his eyes.  “On why we can’t get through it now?”

“I have a few,” he said.  “The most likely is that we’ve just lost the technology to do it—that however we got here in the first place, whether it was all of humanity that’s here now or a fraction of it, we’ve since lost the technology that let us do it.  If that’s the case, you start to wonder how and why that would’ve happened—how and why it would have been allowed to happen.”

“And you have a theory on that, too?”

He grinned, though it was a wry, rueful smile.  “The simplest explanation in that scenario is probably the best, though it comes with a whole host of other questions, like the best mysteries.  I think that it was purposely lost, either destroyed or sealed away and I think it was done to protect the people who came here from something or someone.  I think the people who came here were running from something and this area of space became their sanctuary.”

Arching a brow, she lifted her chin from her hand, staring at him.  “So the Seal is actually protection from something in some long-ago yesterday that’s been lost somewhere along the way?”

“That’s what I think, anyway.  I don’t know.  I could be wrong.  I don’t think we’ll ever know but there’s something fascinating about the possibility, isn’t there?  Especially when you read the legends surrounding all of it.  There’s a romanticism and tragedy to all of it but out of hardship comes so much hope and promise.”  He glanced away, shaking his head, voice growing soft.  “I don’t think there are enough stories like that anymore.”

“Well,” she murmured, “when I get more frame of reference, I’ll let you know what I think.”

He startled, staring at her for a second, then laughed, nodding.  “Right.  Right.  I’m—uhm.  I’m going to get this pastry shell baked.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, slowly opening the book again.  “That sounds good.  Something sweet’s probably a good idea.”

Davion stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded, smiling a tight little smile before he turned away to tend to his baking.  She turned away, back to to the book.

She wasn’t sure what had just happened a moment ago, but somehow, she knew it felt both important and right.

To a casual glance to most eyes, the back edge of his property was marked by a line of trees set above rise with a ragged edge, almost as if trees and grass had grown over an old riverbank or sand dune.  The face of the ridge pointed toward the back of his cottage, toward the woodpile and the storage shed.  Every so often, he’d find old shells eroding out of its face, usually after a storm, but only from the west edge.

That was because the east edge wasn’t all ridge, at least not for those who knew how to look and could see through the illusion he’d spun years ago and checked every so often on days like today, when the need to reassure himself was great.  For those who could see through the illusion, at the eastern edge of the ridge, tucked up against it, was the gunmetal and silver of a ship’s hull, its exterior markings minimal, three large camouflage sheets thrown across the upper half of the hull as an extra line of defense from the air.  Val had assured him once that the illusion worked even at 10,000 feet up, but he wasn’t willing to take more chances than he had to.

Keeping the ship at all was a risk, but they’d all agreed that he shouldn’t be without some kind of contingency plan.  This was part of it.

His hand skated along the hull, chill to his touch as a result of the illusion.  It wasn’t that the sunlight didn’t reach the hull—it did—but the spell he’d woven used that energy to add extra power to the illusion.  The cold didn’t matter to him—in fact, it made his throat tighten a little, reminded him of much different days, seemingly long ago and far away.  For a second, he leaned against the hull, resting his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

Life was simpler once upon a time, wasn’t it?  Or is that just the way I want to remember it?  Maybe it was a little of both.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of lubricant mingled with the scent of the forest and the grass.  It was certainly different and the weight didn’t feel as heavy as it does now.  Or maybe it did and I’ve just chosen not to remember that piece of it.

He opened his eyes and straightened, heading for the hatch.  There was very little doubt in his mind that everything would be as it was the last time he’d checked the ship, made sure it was ready to lift at a moment’s notice.  He’d run himself through the drill of having to run for it dozens of times over the years, though less and less in the past year, if he was honest with himself.

The ship’s emergency lights flickered to life as he opened the hatch, just bright enough to navigate its corridors.  He pulled the heavy door closed behind him, set the lock, and started his rounds.  Engines first, checking to make sure there wasn’t anything strange on the inside—he’d look at the exterior after he checked the interior, an unusual cadence that had become habitual somewhere along the line.  Every pilot had their quirks.  It was one of his.

From the engines, he checked the small cargo hold, the two tiny cabins, the galley—all compact, designed for utility more than comfort.  A grin rose to his lips unbidden.  Hope she’s not expecting anything luxurious.  We’ll get from point A to B to C easily enough and comfortably enough, but first-class accommodations this isn’t.  Still, it was compact, secure, and fast, all of which, in his estimation, should make up for the lack of luxury.  Commercial transit or hiring another ship simply weren’t options out here, not for someone as high profile as he suspected she was.

Even if they’ve forgotten my face—or what my face might look like now—they won’t have forgotten hers.  We’ll have to be careful, no matter what.  Even if Colm hadn’t fully understood the message, he still felt like he’d made a promise to the man and it was one he meant to keep.

Besides, having rescued her, he really did feel like he was responsible for her and her safety.  He wasn’t about to send her out on her own without being confident that she’d be able to handle it.  With the effects of what the Veritans had done to her still lingering—and likely to persist for some time yet—he wasn’t going to be abandoning her anytime soon.

Which means that when we go, it might be for a while.  He sighed, pausing in the corridor on his way from the galley to the cockpit.  It was a risk, but everything was to some degree or another.  Leaving the Protected Zone—leaving Centrallia itself—would be the biggest of them.  Everything else would just compound on top of that.

Bridges to cross when they’re reached.  You can only lay in so many contingency plans, especially knowing that most of them won’t survive first contact with a bloody problem.  He smiled ruefully and shook his head, continuing on his way to the cockpit.

Other than a touch of dust, it was exactly as he’d left it the last time he inspected it.  A bit of light filtered through the camouflage sheets, casting motes of light across the control boards.  He sank into the leather of the pilot’s chair and sighed, closing his eyes again.  His mind painted in the hum of the engines, the sounds of the ship, and he leaned his head back against the headrest, breathing slowly, deeply.

He rarely admitted it, but he did miss flying.  As settled into his life on Centrallia as he was, he did miss the feeling of a ship’s controls beneath his hands even as his mind was cast out among the stars, picking routes, sensing dangers.  The same gift that let him cast illusions, that allowed him to heat bath water and help pick the healthiest animals for breeding, that let him conjure fire and ice was the gift that made him qualified to pilot ships of the line.  It was a gift that would keep him alive as an asset too valuable to be squandered rather than see him executed—it had before.  Hopefully, it was a situation he’d never face again.

As his fingers traced the controls of his ship, he found he wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t about to find himself in a more dangerous maelstrom than he’d ever faced before.

And over what?  The girl he’d rescued—more than a girl, really, since she was certainly as old as he was—and the plan the Veritans had spun for her.  He was glad to have thwarted them, at least this time, but it still didn’t feel like it made up for all the wrongs he’d seen.

But what could he do against their spreading empire, against their plots that spread like a cancer through through the galaxy?

Not enough to make a difference.

That was what he told himself.  Usually, he even believed it was true.

Sometimes, though.

What would you have done, Grandmere?  What would you have done, Da?  What were you doing before they took you from us?  What plans did you have that never came to be?  Or did you not see it as clearly as the rest of us did?  What would have come of it if we’d ever been able to sit down and talk about everything I saw out there, everything I experienced?

Would it have changed anything?  Would it have saved your lives?

He didn’t know, couldn’t know.  There hadn’t been time for him to learn.  There should have been, but the galaxy had made other plans.

The Veritans had made other plans.

His hands fell limp into his lap and he exhaled a shaky breath as his eyes began to sting.

He couldn’t change the past, but maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to help with a future.

That meant getting Kelcie O’Shaughnessy where she needed to be to do what she needed to do.

It was the sound of his front door that finally roused her, snuggled in a cocoon of blankets in the spare bedroom. She scrubbed a hand across gritty eyes, grimacing as she slowly started to uncurl from the ball she’d been tucked in. Sunlight peeked in through the curtains drawn across the window in the far wall and she groaned quietly, knowing that she’d slept much later than planned.

And yet, I could go right back to sleep right now and that would be fine. Why am I so tired?

But she knew the answer—she was tired because this was the first place that she’d felt safe enough to sleep in a long time. Then there were the nightmares that had broken her sleep overnight, the ones that made bile rise in the back of her throat even thinking about them now.

Clawing her way free of the blankets, she sat up, again scrubbing a hand over her face and clearing the sleep-sand from her eyes. She looked around the room, sighing quietly. Nothing seemed changed from the night before, which only made her feel that much safer, that much more comfortable.

But I can’t stay here forever. I can’t hide forever. The thought bubbled up from somewhere in the darkness, in the dim shadows shrouding her memory of her life before the cell, but that didn’t make it any less true. I don’t know what I need to get back to, I just know that I need to get back to whatever it is as soon as I can. As soon as I remember, I guess. It wouldn’t be feasible to go before, would it? It’d probably just land me right back where I started, or worse.

How would Davion take that, though? He’d emphasized the fact that she had choices now, choices she probably hadn’t had before. She could make a different call, could disappear into the Protected Zone and whatever trouble she’d gotten into probably wouldn’t follow her.

Or would it? She wished she had the same confidence he did in the safety of the Protected Zone and her ability to vanish and simply be anonymous—to maybe reinvent herself as someone or something else.

I don’t think I’ve got it in me. Exhaling a sigh, she climbed out of bed, unbraiding her hair and trying to rake it into some semblance of order before braiding it again. Maybe it didn’t look nearly as unkempt as she felt like it did. She had very little confidence in that, too.

A light rap at the door drew her attention, the sound of a knuckle against wood. She cleared her throat and called, “You can come in. I’m decent.”

Davion eased the door open, a large bundle of cloth and other odds and ends in one arm. “Morning. You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sounded like you were having some nightmares last night.” He set the bundle down on the chair in the corner.  “Friend just dropped off some more clothes and shoes and some odds and ends for you. Figured I’d let you sleep until you were ready to get up.”

Her heart seized for a moment, stutter-stepping. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I—I didn’t think that they were all that bad.”

“I’m a light sleeper,” he said with a faint, rueful smile. “It’s okay. Just a little hyperaware sometimes, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She smiled back and headed for the bundle. He stepped back to let her unwrap it, leaning against the doorframe and watching. Inside were a few more changes of clothes, some socks, a pair of boots that looked like they’d fit her, a hairbrush, and some fasteners for her hair.  She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and smiled a little more broadly, nodding. “This is fantastic. Did you thank your friend for me?”

He nodded almost absently, running a hand along the stubble that still marked his cheeks and jaw. “Yeah. I told them maybe we’d see them around town in a few days, if you were up to it. They said no rush.”

She nodded, unbraiding her hair and starting to work the brush through tangles and knots that the braid had hidden. “I would like to see town, but maybe in a couple days. I’m not in any terrible rush.”

“At least not to wander around what’ll strike you as a quaint, old-timey village.”

Heat washed into her cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his grin wry. “I can tell. This isn’t for you, is it?”

“Am I that transparent?”

He shook his head, chin dipping for a moment. “No,” he said softly. “Not at all.  It’s just not a surprise. It’s like I said last night—life in the Zone isn’t for everyone. If you don’t want to stay, no one is going to make you. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I appr—wait, what?”

His brow arched. “What?”

“Did you just say you’ll take me wherever I want to go.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “You’re surprised by that.”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “From the sound of it, if you leave, you could end up arrested or worse, right? For desertion?”

“Worse than that,” he admitted. “But I’d still do it. I don’t exactly trust anyone that we could hire to take you off-world to get you anywhere safely, which means that I’ll have to do it myself.”

Well, that adds a whole new wrinkle to all of this, doesn’t it? How can I ask him to put himself in danger just because I don’t want to stay here?

Of course, she knew that wasn’t why he’d brought it up—he was clearly surprised at her confusion and concern. The way he’d said it was very matter-of-fact, steady, and her stomach twisted almost uncomfortably.

He knows what he’s doing, knows what he’s about. Who am I to tell him no? Who am I to tell him he doesn’t have to do that, especially when he said he wouldn’t trust anyone else?

“You’re not responsible for me,” she whispered, the words coming unbidden, escaping before she could stop them.

He gave her a faint, sad smile. “Kind of am. I’m going to go make breakfast.”

For the second time, on the second day in a row, he turned and stepped out the bedroom door before she could stop him, leaving her with still another knot to unravel.

They’d spent another two hours sitting there in front of the cold fireplace.  He told her about Westnedge, promised again to take her there.  Her gentle probing to learn more about him hadn’t stopped, but it had eased a little.  That wasn’t necessarily indicative of anything.  There was something else, though, something about what she asked and how that had all but confirmed for him what he’d already deep down known.

Eventually, she’d decide to go back.  She wouldn’t stay in the Protected Zone, nor could he blame her for the choice.  The life he’d chosen wasn’t for everyone and while her life would be in danger out in the wider galaxy, he could understand what forces might drive her choice to return.

When she’d finally gone to bed, he lingered in the chair by the fire, his gaze tracing familiar patterns of soot against the brick and stone.  There were things he needed to do, things he’d put off in favor of keeping an eye on her those first days after he’d rescued her.

The idea of sending her father the files set his stomach twisting uncomfortably, though.  No one deserved to see that sort of evidence and have it related to their child, but Colm O’Shaughnessy was the only person he’d ever trusted with any information like it.

He closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly as he took a slow, deep breath.  It was grief that he was feeling, grief and guilt, already imagining what the reaction might be from his father’s closest friend.  The man had already lost so much in the last six years and this would be an even heavier blow.  How Colm kept going day to day was something he’d never quite figured out.  It was a mystery he didn’t think he’d ever solve, nor did he exactly want to.

It was at least another hour before he worked up the determination to get up from the chair and send the transmission.  At least Colm wouldn’t know where it came from—at least, he was fairly certain that Colm didn’t know where the information ever came from, and if he did, he never asked, never responded to the transmissions.  Still, he knew the older man received them.  He’d seen too much evidence not to believe that.

He locked up the house and went to his room, locking that door, too.  He made sure the curtains were tightly drawn and turned down the lamp before he headed for one corner of the room.  He eased aside the overstuffed chair that more often than not caught discarded clothing and flipped back the corner of the rug.  His fingers traced a seam in the wooden floor before he pressed down firmly on one end of the board, letting it pivot up and reveal the small compartment beneath.  He nudged aside a cloth bag and a small case, reaching down to remove a battery pack the size of his fist.  Closing his eyes, he sent a trickle of magic into the pack to top off its charge, then pushed back to his feet, crossing to the other side of the room.

All of us have our things that we didn’t—or couldn’t—leave behind.  I guess this was one of mine, even though sometimes I wish I could.   The transmitter was hidden at the back of his closet, behind a false panel in the wall, tucked behind winter clothing that he’d be wearing sooner rather than later.  He eased the panel free and leaned it against the wall, then pried open the battery compartment to slot in the power source in his hand.

In a sudden fit of paranoia, he came back to his feet again, checking the curtains—secure—and his bedroom door—still locked.  He squeezed his eyes shut and slid his hand into his pocket, taking out the thumb drive with the data he’d dumped from the Veritan installation.  He’d intended to destroy it after transmitting it.

Why was he hesitating now?

You have to send it.  He needs to know.

But it’s his daughter.  It’s about his daughter this time.  That makes it different.

There was no way to leave her name out of it.  He knew that.  He also knew that he shouldn’t because no matter how much it would hurt, Colm still deserved that truth.

Someday, the galaxy would need that truth.

You know what has to happen.  Stop stalling.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he sighed and went back to the transmitter, kneeling down.  A few switches and buttons later, the transmitter hummed to life.  He plugged the drive into it and took a deep, steadying breath.

I at least have to tell him she’s going to be okay.

He sat there against his heels for a few minutes frowning at his hands in the shadows.  Would he believe it?  Did he dare?

Do I have a real choice?

He started the transmission for the data and started to punch in an addendum to attack to the end of it.

Don’t worry too much, it said.  She’ll be as safe as I can keep her in repayment for a debt my father never got to pay.

He shut everything down as soon as the transmission was done.  The message was the riskiest thing he’d done in years, enough to leave him trembling.

One more person would know the secret, but it was someone he trusted to keep it because he knew, of anyone out there, Colm O’Shaughnessy would understand.

There were more stars in the sky than she’d ever seen from the surface of a planet—she knew that without being able to remember.  It was so dark that it felt like she could see forever.  Centrallia had two moons and that night, one was eclipsing the other, leaving only a bare silver of blue-white light to blot out a few stars.  In truth, she barely noticed the difference.

“If you look up toward the top of the canopy there, you’ll be able to see part of the Seal.”

She twisted slightly, looking up at him.  He was drying his hands with a dish towel, leaning in the doorway, his gaze on the sky.  The evening was warm, though there was the barest hint of a chill breeze heralding the change of seasons to come.

Dinner had been quiet, almost subdued, as if both of them had retreated into their thoughts.  She’d been trying to sort through the bits and pieces of what she’d learned about him, about herself, about where she was and where he’d found her.  The fragmented portrait was starting to scare her worse than being in the cell and knowing that someone might come to interrogate her at any moment had been.  The fact that she couldn’t even remember what they’d asked her, what they wanted to know didn’t help matters any, either.

“Have you ever seen it up close?” She asked as her stare shifted back to the sky, searching for the traces of the nebulae in the sky that had been called the Seal for as long as anyone could remember.

He slung the towel over his shoulder and sat down next to her on the step from his porch.  “A few times.  Never crossed more than a couple of light years in.  No one really does.”

“Why do they call it the Seal anyway?  I don’t think I’ve ever known.”  It was a faint ribbon in the darkness, shimmering with colors she didn’t have names for—every shade of a rainbow and everything in between, glittering out there in the distant sky with faint iridescence.

“There are a lot of legends about that.”  He hooked a bare heel on the edge of the step, leaning against his upraised knee as he stared up at the sky.  “I couldn’t tell you which one is true, or which parts of them are true.  I can tell you that the name makes sense, though.  There’s never been a ship in recorded history that’s crossed into those nebulas and come back out.  There’re gravitational anomalies and storms and things in there that just tear ships apart before they can get in too deep.  So far as anyone knows, those bands are at least fifty light years wide at the narrowest point.  No ship dares go more than about seven or eight light years in.  Anything deeper and bad things start happening.”

“Like hulls getting pulled apart?”

“Among other things,” he said quietly.  There was a haunted note in his voice, a hushed and almost reverent tone.  “There are stories about people going crazy, about them hearing things—sometimes songs, music, sometimes gibberish, sometimes actual voices saying things that do and don’t make sense—about people just dying without any real explanation.  There’s enough documented that I’m not willing to tell you that they’re just old sailor’s tales and legends.  There’s some truth there and if you dig deep enough into records, you’ll find the reports.”

“You went looking?”

“A couple of times,” he admitted.  “Found enough to know that I’m right to be nervous any time I get too close.  Still.  Even if we never cross it, it’s still beautiful to look at.  It’s a nursery for stars.  Someday, all that gas could be planets like this one.”

“Seems like it would take a long time for that to happen.”  She leaned back against her good wrist, letting her head cant to one side, regarding him in profile.  “Thousands of years?  Millions?”

He shrugged slightly.  “Beyond our lifetimes, that’s for sure.  But it’s nice to know that some things will outlast everything humans have ever built.”

“So they call it the Seal because no one has ever crossed it?”

“Not from this side, at least.”

Her brows went up.  “What do you mean?”

He smiled and shook his head.  “There’re some legends that suggest that maybe at least some of the humans here started out somewhere beyond the Seal—fairy tales, almost.  A few of the books on the shelf in there have some of the stories.”

“I take it you’ve read them?”

“A few times.”

“You did strike me as the type to actual read the books you’ve got in there.”

He chuckled softly, standing slowly.  “Glad to meet your expectation.”

“Are you going in?” She asked, watching him for a few seconds.

“If I don’t, I’ll end up wandering,” he admitted.  “I don’t think either of us need that tonight.”

“Wandering where?”

His lips curved in a smirk.  “You ask a lot of questions.”

“If don’t ask questions, you don’t seem to talk,” she said, standing.  “And I can only learn so much from watching you make dinner and sweep the floors.”

His smirk transformed into a rueful grin.  “I suppose you’re right.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

He turned and headed inside, leaving her to trail after him.  She pulled the door shut and set the latch, watching as he crossed to the kitchen to hang up the towel draped over his shoulder.  “I have a friend that’ll be dropping off some more clothes for you, probably tomorrow.  Shoes, too.”

“That should make things a little easier,” she said.  “I won’t feel like I have to stay so close to the house if I’ve got some shoes.”

He chuckled and shook his head.  “You probably shouldn’t range that far alone anyway.  Not until you’ve got your bearings.”  He turned to look at her again, brow furrowing slightly.  “Though if you want to go to town after you’ve got more clothes and shoes, I can take you.  Westnedge isn’t much, but it’s more than a wizard’s cottage in the woods.”

“Is that what this is?”

“That’s what the locals think it is, anyway, and I guess it’s not far from the truth.  I do the things wizards do when they ask me to.  And when I have to.”

“Do you have to very often?”

He shook his head, sinking into an easy chair that sat in front of the cold fireplace.  “It’s mostly a quiet life.  Only a little bit of chaos here and there to deal with—and wrinkles.”

“Wrinkles like the place you found me.”  She sank down into a chair near his, one much less well-worn than the one he’d chosen.  “That’s never happened before here, has it?”

“No,” he said.  “That’s why it worries me.”

“It worries the man who chose a quiet life on a planet where what he can do is easily hidden?”

“If you’re talking about being a pilot, yeah, I guess it is pretty easily hidden.  But yeah, it really does worry me.  The Veritans don’t usually show up out here in the Zone—there’s no reason to, except I guess now they’ve found one.”

“The same reason you’re out here—because no one’s going to look for a retired pilot out here.”

He nodded.  “You’d be surprised how many retired sailors end up out here.  It’s more than a few.  After seeing some of the shit we see, sometimes quiet lives somewhere no one will look for us is appealing.”

“I’m guessing a lot of you didn’t leave much behind, did you?”

If she hadn’t been watching, she would’ve missed his wince.  It had been slight, and he’d covered it quickly, but she’d seen it just the same.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Mostly just us in the universe.  Not a lot of people to miss us, if any at all.”

It was a lie, but she let it go.

For now, at least, she’d let it go.