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Renza sighed, jaw working with tension. “Not yet.”
“He has hidden him well, and for a reason. Perhaps you should focus less on me and more on your job, brother.”
CHAPTER 26
THREXIN
“Is everything in place?” Threxin scanned the humans and the uhyre shadowing them at the controls from the commander’s seat. The command center buzzed with uncharacteristic energy—a joint hum from both the uhyre and the humans.
“Yes, sir.” The jump director, a tall human male, wore what appeared to be military regalia. Compared to the others, his uniform was especially formal. Likely basking in his temporary self-importance. Renza loomed beside him. The importance of the role was not entirely overstated, which was why Threxin had assigned his brother to shadow and train for this duty. This would hopefully be the only time humans would be involved in hisColossal’sjump.
Orion Halen and his female were there, strapped into observer seats in the pit. Usually they did not bother to sit—they simply loomed. But from reading the material Alina Argoud had provided weeks before, Threxin had learned that a jump was not the wisest time to be upright. Alina too was present, strapped in the seat next to Orion Halen’s female. Their eyes met briefly, and Threxin nearly lifted his chin before catching himself. He noted that her gaze was uncharacteristically unconcerned. She did not fidget or appearnervous. Her back was straight, her hands steady on the armrests of her seat.
“It is perhaps a good time to inform the ship’s residents to find a secure location,” the jump director spoke, drawing Threxin’s attention back to the matter at hand.
The timing of the jump had not been communicated to anyone except for Threxin’s cohort. News would have spread through the human crew, but those on the residence deck would likely have no idea there was even a jump being planned. It was for the best—a jump was possibly the best time to incite another riot.
“Fine.” Threxin would need to authenticate to permit a ship-wide communication.
He hovered his fresh port over the armrest. It had bled a little around the edges, but barely. When he lowered his arm, the needle extracted itself from the seat as it always had. It swayed slightly, then angled itself directly toward its target. Even though he had tested the port the day before, Threxin still wasn’t used to the sensation. He had expected a familiar sting, but it was more of a mild electric shock as the probe lodged itself within its new socket. The ship’s recognition thrummed through him, stronger and clearer than it ever had when the probe went straight through his flesh. It was an energy that skittered all through his skin, making his apertures widen in a subtle arousal—the heady buzz of connectivity with an entity greater than himself.
“Broadcast to the ship that all occupants should find a secure location,” Threxin spoke once the link was settled. The communications officer went to work to program the instruction now that his blood had authorized the transmission. “Is all prepared?” Threxin asked no one in particular.
“Yes, but without NS links feeding data to augmented vision, we’re all gonna be clunky,” the navigation officer said. He swiveled his seat toward Threxin, side-eyeing the uhyre assigned to watch him. “Is there any chance we can getcomms back, just sensor and internals, until after the jump?” Threxin scowled at the last-minute request.
“You ran simulations in current conditions over the past weeks, no?” Threxin demanded of the uhyre next to the navigator in Apthian.
“We have,” the uhyre confirmed.
Threxin turned back to the human. “You will do your job and cease making stupid suggestions.”
“But, sir…”
“If you were not one of three navigators, I would disembowel you for bringing such stupidity to me ticks before the jump,” Threxin snapped. “Get back to work.”
The officer paled, his wiry throat bobbing in a swallow. “Y-yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Threxin glanced at the uhyre shadowing the officer, who promptly bashed him over the head in reprimand with moderate restraint. They required the human un-concussed for now.
“Does no one else wish to present last-tick suggestions?” Threxin asked the room. Human heads bowed in silent negation, the jump director excepted. He instead gripped the edges of his uniform shirt and snapped them down crisply. “Then proceed.”
A lot of talking followed, humans chattering and reading scans. The jump director issued a string of instructions into his localized headset, programmed to communicate only through the command center. Threxin listened to all of it and understood perhaps half—the humans could talk extremely quickly when they wished. He would normally command them to slow down, but time was of the essence. These humans were practiced and knew what they were doing. The risk, of course, was that they also knew how to sabotage him. Threxin was well aware this was perhaps the most vulnerable moment of his command, for he could neither trust nor interrupt them.
So he kept his eyes glued to the many displays projected onto the thermaview—fuel statistics, jump drive temperature, weight consolidation metrics. Every tiny part of hisColossal’spresent state was meticulously cataloged and reported by the ship itself. Through his port, he felt the ship’s excitement as if it were a living thing. As if it knew what was about to happen and was rearing to go.
Colossalhad been through many jumps in its history, and every one was a risk. The ship could emerge on top of another construct: another ship, planet, even asteroid belt. Or it could fail to reconstitute after being ripped into nanoparticles. ThenColossaland all its contents would turn into barely detectable particles dissolving through space. It was apparently rare but not unheard of to detect an energy signature out in deep space that matched an unreconstituted construct after a jump. The ghost trails of thousands of humans… And now maybe two hundred uhyre.
“Powering up secondary drive,” the jump commander announced, and Threxin felt the ship request his permission through the connection in his arm. Threxin granted it.
“Secondary drive to temp,” another human voice announced. “Thrusters cooled to three percent.”
“Disable ballast.”
The left armrest of Threxin’s seat slid open at his hand, revealing a physical control panel. The trigger. He flexed his talons over the triangular button in its center.
The ship spoke next, in its customary female voice. Threxin was amused to realize that it had adopted a somewhat Apthian guttural intonation since his arrival. He suspectedColossaladapted to the disposition of the current commander as he and the ship familiarized themselves with each other. “Jump activating in ten… nine… eight… seven… six…”
Threxin scanned the projections closely for any sign of suspicious activity. Anything off. Any trick the humans mighthave played. He exchanged a glance with Renza, who lifted his chin, indicating he had seen nothing incriminating on his end.
