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.
