Author: Erin Klitzke

She tugged the hood of her cape up to hide her face as she stepped through the hatch and onto the hangar’s deck.  Davion was already making a slow circuit of the ship, his brow furrowed as he inspected the outer hull for the first time since their escape from Centrallia.  He wasn’t quite frowning, but she could tell that he wasn’t entirely happy with what he was seeing, either.

“Everything okay?” she asked, pulling the hatch closed behind her.

“Looks like it,” he said, pausing to inspect a scorch mark on the hull.  His nose wrinkled a moment before he frowned.  “They got too close,” he muttered, low enough that no one else would hear.  “Either their gunners are getting better or I’ve gotten slower.”

“We’re both still alive,” she said quietly, threading her arm through his and stepping close.  He tensed for a moment, then relaxed as she continued, “I’m pretty sure that’s what matters the most in this scenario.  We’re not going to explode when we take off, right?”

“No,” he said, exhaling a long breath.  “No, we’re not.  I just don’t like how close it all was, that’s all.  Kicks my paranoia into a higher gear that it needs to be at.”

“Or maybe right where it needs to be at,” she said.  “You said we needed to be careful.  I’m going to take you at your word when it comes to that.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.  “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“You have so far,” she said.  “I foresee that continuing.”

He nodded, brow furrowing for a moment before he sighed.  “Right.  Well, they should have a crew over to refuel us shortly.  Let’s go see what we can find on the rings.”

“I’m guessing the rings are consumer central?”

One corner of his mouth curved into a smile and he nodded, turning and heading toward a wide hatchway at the far end of the hangar.  People flowed through it from various ships, heading deeper into the station.  “Yeah.  Namis III has a set of five levels set up in a ring around a central hub that’re the mercantile districts.  Food, shopping, entertainment, machine and supply shops, all that kind of thing.  Anything someone passing through might need.  Hell, some folks come here on vacation for a taste of something different.”

“Sounds eclectic,” she said, then grinned at him.  He smiled back, glancing down for a moment.

“Just stay close,” he said.  “As long as we stay together, we’ll be fine.”

“Safety in numbers?”

“Something like that.”

They fell into the uneven flow of people out of the hangar.  “How long has it been since you were last here?” She asked softly, keeping her voice low enough that she hoped no one would overhear.

He frowned for a moment, thinking.  “Four-ish years, I think,” he said.  “Time can be hard.”

“I can only imagine,” she murmured.  “Just barely, at that.”

He squeezed her arm.  “It’ll be okay,” he said gently.  “Just hang in there.  You’re stronger than you think, all things considered.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t,” he said.  When she looked up to meet his gaze, he was smiling faintly at her.  “Trust me.”

“I do,” she murmured.  “I do trust you.”

He drew her arm a little tighter against his side and she stepped closer.  Standing that close, she realized he was at least as tense as she felt, though no one would know by looking at him.  She exhaled a quiet breath, closing her eyes for a moment.  It was long enough for them to clear the corridor from the hanger and reach a series of trams that would take them elsewhere on the station.

Davion drew her toward one of the tram cars, his pace picking up slightly.  She hurried along at his side, hanging on a little tighter than she necessarily had meant to.  The car he picked was relatively empty, occupied only by an older couple with a small child other than them.  The relative privacy—she and Davion took a spot at one end of the car, leaving the couple and the child to the other end—was a comfort for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on beyond it perhaps being simply paranoia.

“What first?” She murmured to him, watching station lights flash by as the tram car started to move.

“Probably clothes,” he said.  “Then supplies.  Neither should take very long.”

She nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of her lower lip.  “And then what?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  “None of this was quite what I’d planned.”

“Neither of us planned any of this,” she said.  “We’ll figure it out.”

He squeezed her arm.  “One way or another.”

———

It took a few hours to pick up new clothing—several changes for each of them and additional necessary odds and ends.  It struck her that he didn’t seem to worry too much about how much they spent, but after thinking about it for a while, it made sense that he wouldn’t.  He probably had a stash of back pay and other cash squirreled away just in case and living in the Protected Zone, most of it was probably just laying in an account somewhere.  He seemed distracted, though, as they finished at one of the shops, his gaze drawn to something going on not far away.

Someone had rigged up a projector and a screen and was playing a broadcast she could only assume was from elsewhere—some kind of speech.  The man speaking was broad-shouldered and red-haired, fair-complexioned with a few freckles.  He was taller than average and had a presence that even broadcast from light years away that was electric.

Her stomach twisted.  He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

Davion’s fingers threaded through hers.  “Are you hungry?” He asked, his voice quiet.

“Hm?” She started, glancing toward him, tearing her gaze from the screen and the man on it.  “I mean, I could eat.  Are you?”

He shrugged.  “I could stand to wait until we’re done picking up supplies.”

She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the screen.  The shot had shifted, clearly some kind of news broadcast, because now there was a pretty woman on screen talking, accompanied by a still image of another woman that hovered to one side of her.

Her breath caught.

That picture.  That picture is me.

She let go of Davion’s hand, moving toward the screen.  He startled, moving after her quickly.

“What’s—”

She held up a hand, straining to hear.

“—O’Shaughnessy continues to demand the release of his daughter, allegedly taken into custody by the Veritan League on Koltaris five months ago before a scheduled appearance at the University of Nicolaiev. O’Shaughnessy was president of the Pentarch up until two years ago when he was ousted by a military junta allegedly backed by Veritan separatists.  Today’s speech from Altaiir is the third in recent days O’Shaughnessy has given asking that his daughter be released unharmed and the first to directly name the Veritan League as the culpable party.  There has been no response from the Veritan League at this time, though sources close to the situation indicated that an official statement will be released in the coming days.”

She felt light-headed.  Bile crept higher in her throat.

Davion touched her shoulder and she whirled on him.

“You knew,” she hissed.  “You knew and didn’t tell me.”

His eyes widened even as his expression went slack.  “Kelcie—”

“You fucking knew who I was and what happened and you didn’t tell me.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

He swallowed, his hand falling away from her shoulder.  “What would you have done if I had?  What would it have changed?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she hissed, mindful enough to keep her voice low even though all she really wanted to do was scream at him.  “At least I would have known.”

She spun away from him, heading blindly down the curve of the ring, thoughts a maelstrom.

Her father was looking for her.

Her father was making speeches and demands that she be freed.  Did he know?  Did he have any idea that she was actually safe, already free?

Davion had known and hadn’t told her—he hadn’t told her everything.  He’d given her a name and nothing else.

Why?  Why would he do that?  She wanted to throw up.  It hadn’t been a lie of anything but omission, but it hurt more than she wanted to think about.

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling, hands squeezing into fists.

Then she began to run, not caring where she ended up, as long as it was somewhere she could be alone.

Standing in the open doorway to his cabin, Kelcie’s brow furrowed as she watched Davion sleep.  His breath came deep and even as he lay in his bunk, stretched out on his back, head turned to one side to face the wall.  The tension she’d sensed was absent as he slept, as she watched him.

At least he doesn’t seem tense.  That says nothing about what I’m like right now.

Her fingers tightened around the mug of tea she clutched as much for warmth as to drink.  She’d hoped that it would help settle her jangling nerves and the deeply rooted guilt she was feeling over what had just happened.

He’s abandoning his whole life—temporarily, permanently, who knows—to get me to safety.  He didn’t have to do any of this.  He didn’t have to save me, didn’t have to get me off-world, none of it.  It was a selfless thing he did and I don’t know how I can thank him.  I don’t know if I even can.

She chewed her lip.  There had to be more reasons than what he’d mentioned for why he’d stayed in the Protected Zone—it couldn’t have just been as simple as he made it out to be.  There was more there, much more, but at the same time she could understand why he might be reticent to tell her.

I’m basically a stranger, right?  Regardless of anything else, he doesn’t know me—he knows who I am, my identity, but he doesn’t know me.

Then again, I don’t even know me.

She rubbed at her temple, closing her eyes for a moment, then sighed.  He said it’d come back.  I have to believe him.  I just—I wish it would just happen.  How long does it take for shit to clear, anyway?

She didn’t have an answer and she wasn’t sure that he did, either.

She straightened from her lean, sighing again as she turned and headed back to the galley.  He’d been asleep for two hours now; she’d set a timer in the galley to check on him every half hour to make sure he was okay.  It was probably overkill—she was starting to think that if anything was going to happen, it already would have—but it made her feel better.  At some point, though, she’d need to rest herself.  The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet, though, so she hadn’t started to feel the effects of her broken sleep—at least not yet.

That’ll come sooner than I think it will.  She dropped into a chair at the tiny galley table and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples.  He hadn’t told her where they were going, but she figured that was fine.  Her frame of reference was narrow enough that just about anywhere would have been a surprise at that point.  As long as he said it was safe enough, she was willing to take his word for it.

She got up again, refilled her cup, and set the timer.  Then, she sank back down at the table, sipping her tea and half-heartedly reorganizing the medical kit, trying to forget the sight of him unconscious in the deck, of the blood on his face.

She wasn’t exactly sure what it left her so unsettled, but it did on a level deeper than she was willing to admit.  It was bone-deep, down buried at her core.  It shouldn’t have happened.  It happened because of her—even if it hadn’t actually happened because of her.

At some point, halfway through her cup of tea and before the timer went off, she fell asleep.  It wasn’t until Davion was there, shaking her shoulder, that she startled awake, bleary with an aching back and crick in her neck.

“Who—wha—”  She stopped, blinking, trying to get her bearings.  She’d been dreaming, but now the dream was evaporating like water in the desert.  Rubbing sand from her eyes, she slowly pushed herself upright, staring at him.

He looks as tired as I feel.  “What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, the smiled wryly.  “Was the bunk that uncomfortable?”

“I never made it that far,” she said, reaching for her mug and gulping down some of the tea.  It was long cold, suggesting that it had been at least a couple of hours.  “I guess the tired caught up with me faster than I thought it was going to.”

“I think that’s a mutual feeling.”  He turned to the stove and started a pot of water, then leaned against the counter.  “Headache’s better.”

“But not gone?”

He shook his head slightly and sighed.  “It’ll sort itself out.  Might not be from the  knock.”

“What else would it be from?” She turned in the chair to face him, leaning back against the edge of the table and drawing one knee up to her chest.

“It’s been a minute since I reached quite that far and twice in fairly rapid succession isn’t going to help that.  I’ll be fine.  It can just get a little taxing.”

“Reaching…you mean finding the safe course?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  I think a lot of folks believe it’s a lot simpler than it really is.  You’re born with the gift and someone tells you how to use it and it’s just like that—easy, nothing to worry about, you just do it.  And it is kind of like that but it’s also a hell of a lot more complex.”

“I’m guessing it’s also a lot more strenuous than most people think it is.”

“That would be one way of putting it.  There’s definitely a decent amount of energy that it takes to do it and it’s easy to overextend—usually before you realize you’re doing it.  It happens a lot to newer pilots but typically not that often.  The first time you do it, you remember what it feels like, and if that first time was really bad, a lot of folks do just about anything to avoid it happening again if they can help it.”

“From the way you said it, I’m guessing that there are scenarios where you can’t help it.”

He smiled wryly and tapped his nose.  “Perceptive.  Definitely more than a few.  This wasn’t that, though—this was more like overtaxing a muscle you haven’t used in a while because you didn’t have enough time to warm up and stretch.”

She frowned, resting her chin on her knee as she wrapped her arms around her leg.  “So that might have caused the headache?”

“Yeah.  Or it’s a combination of that, the stress, the knock to the head, all of it.  Either way, it’ll clear up before we get to where we’re going.”  He took down a coffee press and a small canister of grounds.  “You want some of this?”

“Considering how good it smells?  Please.  Has that been up there all this time?”

“I tried to keep things stocked just in case.”  He poured some water into the press, leaning against the counter as he started to brew the coffee.  “Sometimes I wondered why I kept the ship but I always knew the answer.  It was a precaution—my just in case.  Not just for me, but for my friends back there, too.”

“Are they going to be okay?”

A trace of pain flickered through his expression before he glanced down at his bare feet.  “I don’t know.  Probably.  They’re smart and they’ll keep their heads down until everything blows over.  Val—he’s the one who came to warn me—he said they’d be fine.  He’ll keep an eye on the house.”

That startled her.  Didn’t he hide it?  “He can see it?  I saw you put the illusion over it that hid it.  He can see through that?”

“He knows where it is,” Davion said.  “That’ll let him see beyond the illusion—kind of like how I always could see where the ship was even though I had an illusion cast over it to hide it.”

“Is that something they teach you in pilot school?”

He choked on a laugh.  “No,” he said, starting to pour the coffee.  “No, not at all.  It’s something I learned a little on my own, a little after I came to the Zone.  A lot of by touch and feel and reading and practice.  I could do a lot before I went to ground, but I learned a little more from a few other folks in the Zone before I ended up settled on Centrallia.”

She nodded.  Gut check here says that I knew none of this at any point before now.  “Do you think a lot of people realize that being able to—to be a pilot means that you’re also able to do the magic that you’ve done?”

One corner of his mouth kicked upward as he brought her one of the mugs of coffee.  “I don’t know.  Honestly, I only had the barest inkling because maybe I’ve read too many legends and started to wonder.  If a lot of people haven’t figured it out, it’s probably not a bad thing.  Can you imagine what we might be asked to do?  Never mind what pilots are already asked to do and what happens to us more often than any of us want to talk about, but can you imagine what kind of awful shit we might get asked to do if people realized what we might be able to do?”

She winced.  “I didn’t think about it that way.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said quietly.  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She choked on a laugh.  “You know what?  Me too.  Me too.”

He sat down in the other chair, leaning back against the table as she was, and took a long, slow sip of coffee.  “I wish I couldn’t, but it’s one of those things that you don’t have much of a choice about in some ways, not when you’re like me.  You have to think about how people might try to use what you can do in ways that would turn your stomach.  You have to figure out what your uncrossable lines are.”

She stared into the depths of her mug.  “You strike me as someone who has some pretty significant ones.”

“Sometimes you have to,” he murmured.  “And you’re right—I do have some pretty significant lines that I’ve drawn for myself.  Everyone’s got some kind of code of ethics that guide their behavior and mine might be a little overtuned.”

“I’m going to guess that yours being overtuned is probably what made you rescue me, so I’m going to sit here and be grateful for it.”  She smiled faintly at him.  One corner of his mouth curved up and he nodded.

“Probably right.  I just can’t sit back and let bad things happen to folks who don’t deserve it if I can do something about it.”  He lifted his mug to take a sip, pausing before he did.  “Probably gets me into more trouble than I’ve needed to be.  That’s not something I want to dwell on for too long.”

“Well, I appreciate what you did,” she said.  “What you’re doing.  You saved my life at least twice now.  I just hope that it all turns out to be worth it.”

“It will,” he said with a confidence that she didn’t feel herself.  “I have zero doubt of that.”

“I’m glad someone does.”

They lapsed into silence, sipping coffee, each staring off into nothing.  She could see him in her peripheral vision, his gaze so distant that for a moment, she wondered if he was just lost in his thoughts or if his mind really waselsewhere.  She was slowly coming to realize how possible that exact scenario might be.

“Can I ask you something?” She finally asked, her voice soft.  “You might not know the answer.”

“Won’t know until you ask,” he said, his eyes coming back into focus.  He’d answered too quickly, she decided, for him to have been doing anything other than simply thinking.  “Fire away.”

“Do you know if whatever they were giving me would spark nightmares?”

His brows knit.  “Why?  Are you having them?”

“The dream you woke me from was definitely not fun, though I’ll be damned if I could tell you what it was because I can’t remember now.”

“Probably a small mercy,” he said, squeezing her arm.  “I’d have to dig, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was some kind of side effect.  Hopefully it won’t get any worse.”

“That’d be nice,” she murmured, staring into her mug.  He reached over and gently took it from her hand.  She glanced over at him, blinking.  He just smiled.

“You should go to bed,” he murmured.  “You look like you’re still as tired as I feel.”

“Are you?” She asked softly.

He nodded.  “After I check a few things in the cockpit, yeah.  Probably no more than another hour.”

She closed her eyes for a second and sighed.  They still felt gritty, and he was right about how tired she still was.  “Probably a good idea.”

“Hopefully no more nightmares,” he said as he got up, then offered her his hand.  She grasped it, pulling herself to her feet.

“Hopefully,” she echoed, then smiled.  “Thanks.”

“Sweet dreams.”

She squeezed his arm and then shuffled toward the door, the corridor, and her cabin beyond.

There was a ringing, pounding sound located somewhere behind his eyes and his head thumped with every heartbeat.  The air smelled like burned wiring and he tried to mutter a curse, flailing a hand toward where he thought the console should be.  There shouldn’t be that smell, not if the air filters were working.

Not unless the burned wires were just that close.

Someone caught his hand, held it in place.  He thought he heard a voice but it was lost under the ringing.  He cracked an eye open.  The world spun around him.

Why am I on the deck?  He could see the bottom of the console and his chair.  He opened the other eye, groaning quietly, trying to reach for his head.

“Hold still.”  This time, just barely, he could hear her.  “Head wounds bleed like a bitch and you’ve got a cut on your forehead the size of my little finger.”

“Did we make jump?” he croaked, wincing again.  He let both hands drop, trying to focus on Kelcie’s face.

“We’re in jumpspace,” she confirmed.  “Not sure what happened right before we jumped, but we made it.  Please tell me that we had a heading before we jumped.”

“I had the course laid in already,” he said, closing his eyes in an effort to tamp down rising nausea.  “Habit.  Always make sure that I get that done as soon as I can just in case.”

“Just in case,” she echoed.  “Do I want to know why you developed that habit?”

He managed to grin.  “Would you believe that it was something a family friend impressed upon me?”

Would you believe it’s something your father told me was the best advice he could ever give me?

There was silence for a few seconds.  “Maybe.”

He took a breath and then winced.  “Smells like burned wiring.”

“Probably the bulkhead above you.  Hope it wasn’t anything important because something’s toast.”

Damn.  I’ll have to check later.  “Won’t know until I look.  Is anything flashing red on the console?”

She took one of his hands and pressed it over a piece of cloth on his forehead—probably where he was bleeding.  “Hold that there as hard as you can while I look.”

It wasn’t as if she was giving him much choice but to obey.  “Okay.”  He felt as much as heard her stand up, could almost sense her furrowed brow, her frown.

“No,” she said after a few seconds.  “No, everything looks okay.  Nothing’s flashing red.”

“Then we’re probably okay as long as the console doesn’t look like it’s damaged.”

“It’s not,” she said, kneeling back down.  “Just you and the bulkhead.  Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.  “Help me up?”

“I’m not sure if I should.”

He choked on a laugh.  “Are you going to make me spend the flight on the cockpit floor, then?”

“Okay.  Okay, maybe not.  Let me just—”

“It probably needs stitches and we’re not going to do that in here,” he said.  “The kit’s stowed in the galley.  We can either stitch it or glue it—whichever you’re more comfortable with.  Not sure if you’re going to trust me to sew myself back up.”

“Not when it’s your face,” she said, a trace of wry humor lacing through her voice.  That was good, in his estimation.  She was steadying.

That was enough to steady him, too.

The world stopped spinning a few seconds after he was sitting up.  He paused for a moment, then started to climb to his feet,  leaving her scrambling to help.

“I thought you just—”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered.  “I know what you thought.”  Still holding the piece of cloth against the gash in his forehead, he looked over the boards himself slowly, reassuring himself that there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing except that ship showing up in orbit.  Whoever was on the ground must have come rom there.  I’ve gotten myself involved in something a little more serious than I thought—not that what I knew before I saw the Obsidian wasn’t bad enough.  For a second, he leaned against the console, closing his eyes.  Kelcie’s hand closed on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Davion?”

“Once we get this gash handled, I’ll have to change course.  Just in case.”

She flinched.  “They can track us?”

“Usually no,” he said slowly.  “But I’d rather be safe than sorry.  Guessing you would, too.”

She exhaled, nodding.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you’re right.  Think we can wait that long?”

“Further out we get before we drop out of jump and correct, the more options open up,” he admitted.  “Options aren’t a bad thing.”

“No, I guess not.”  She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.  He reached up to squeeze her hand before he started for the hatch and the corridor beyond.  “I’m guessing that we’re not staying in the Protected Zone?”

“No,” he said.  “No, we’re not.  We’re heading back to what a lot of folks would call—wrongly, in my opinion—the civilized galaxy.”

Kelcie choked on a laugh, falling in behind him as he headed slowly for the galley.  “I’ll admit that I didn’t get much of a chance to form any kind of informed opinion on the matter.  I think I almost regret it.”

He flashed her a smile over his shoulder and shrugged slightly.  “Maybe someday.”

“Maybe,” she agreed.

He snapped on the galley lights as he stepped through the open hatch, heading for the small table at the center and one of the chairs tucked tight up underneath it.  “Kit’s in the first cabinet there by the door, bottom shelf.”

She pointed to a row of gunmetal gray cabinets set beneath the countertop.  “The lower ones?”

“Yeah,” he said.  The chair scraped quietly across the deck, the sound sending a new lance of pain stabbing through his head from ear to ear.  That’s probably not good.  I want to sleep it off, but not sure if it’s going to be safe to do it. “There’s a suture kit and there’s glue.  Either’s fine.”

“You sure?” She pulled the large white box off the bottom shelf and lugged it over to the table.  “Hate to do one when the preference is for the other.”

He snorted softly.  “I’m just glad I’m not doing it to myself—though it wouldn’t be the first time if I had to.”

“There’s a story there,” she observed, cracking the kit and starting to pull out gauze and disinfectant.

“Several, in fact, though I’ll admit that they don’t hold up well in the retelling and my head’s thumping too much to put on a good show.”

Kelcie grimaced.  “That’s less than great.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Tell me about it.”

Gently, she nudged his hand aside so she could clean the cut.  The bleeding had slowed, but he could tell that it hadn’t stopped completely.  The flow started anew—accompanied with a nasty sting—as she started cleaning it.  His nose wrinkled slightly and his jaw set, but he kept any sound of discomfort trapped behind his teeth.

“I’ll just have to keep an eye on you,”she murmured.  “There’re pain meds somewhere in that kit, aren’t there?”

“Yeah.  I’ll take something once the course is handled.”  He probably could have taken something now, while she had the kit half torn apart, but it wouldn’t kick in until after the course was laid anyway.  A little bit longer wouldn’t kill him.  “Probably right before I lay down.”

They lapsed into silence as she finished cleaning the cut.  He imagined that he knew now from the sensation—the sting, the pain—alone exactly how long it was, and how deep.  It was much deeper than he would have liked, all things considered.  He’d begun to think she was just going to do it all in silence when she finally spoke again.

“We’re going to have to be careful, aren’t we?”  She reached for a tube of wound glue.  “Once we get to wherever we’re going and leave the ship.”

He shrugged with one shoulder.  “Part of it depends on where we go.  Being careful’s probably not a bad idea.  Anything come back to you?”

“Nothing that makes sense,” she said, then sighed, looking down as she fiddled with the tube.  “I don’t know if that scares me or not.”

“Well, clearly every plan around all of that has changed.  Originally you were going to have a quiet place to work through everything.  What comes next probably isn’t that quiet.”

“It definitely feels like we’re on the run,” she said quietly, then leaned forward to start working on the cut again.  “Because we are, aren’t we?”

A sigh escaped him.  “Guess so.”  I was trying not to think about it that way, but she’s right.  We’re definitely on the run at this point—they’ve chased us from where I thought we were safe and now we’re going to be ping-ponging around, trying to find a good place to go to ground or lay low until she remembers.  The possibility that they could stay aboard the ship hadn’t escaped him and was at least part of his plan, but they’d need more supplies sooner rather than later.  She’d also need more clothes that didn’t make it look like she was some kind of refugee from period film—or the Protected Zone.

One problem at a time, Eamon.  One problem at a time.

A rueful smile curved his lips despite his discomfort.  She arched a brow at him.

“What?  What’s so funny?”

“Just getting ahead of myself,” he said, careful not to move his head.  “That’s all.”

“Oh.”  She shook her head, smiling a little.  “Worse problems, right?”

“There certainly could be.”

She nodded, setting down the wound glue and getting a bit of gauze to clean up the blood still on his face.  He held still, letting her work, only moving when she sat back.  “There we go.  Best I can do.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, starting to get up.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Try not to scare me like that again, huh?”

He grinned.  “I’ll certainly try.”

He squeezed her shoulder and she reached up, fingers wrapping around his for a moment before she let go, her attention turning to cleaning up.  He took a slow, deep breath and started back for the cockpit.  He was already throwing his thoughts, his magic, toward plotting a new course for a new destination.

There was still work to do.

“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.