Page 57 of The Space Between Stars

“We always have been, Bratty. This has been a gambit from the start. It’s just, now that there’s another distortionist, you finally feel as small as the rest of us.”

They sat in silence, broken only by the sounds of the night and the sea.

Mitek eventually finished his sentence. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned… it’s that you’ll find a way out the other end of it.”

The spasms in Fankalo’s chest gradually subsided. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

FOURTEEN

CALVEROUS

Year: 748 Post Cataclysm: Present Day

Location: Jiradesh Desert

The highmoon had long since passed when Calver followed Niklaus into the mess wagon. Niklaus pulled an Aetech orb from his pocket and activated it. It whirred into life, tiny electrical arcs spinning around its ruxechorin core. Calver hadn’t held one since that day on the rooftop of Chira’na’s Repository. His fingers itched for it, but Niklaus handed it to him before he even thought to reach.

“Make yourself at home,” he muttered.

The dishwasher’s mood had fallen since they’d left the merchants’ quarter; he was likely descending from a moss canopy. Chaos curse Calver’s luck. Of course the only signal translator in the Red Wing would be an addict. Mossers would say anything—give up anyone—to avoid withdrawal. He’d fucked himself with this deal. The plate request went against his restrictions, and Niklaus would sell him out when push came to shove. Competing in that amateur rally alone was sure to bring him under Thyatira’s scrutiny.

And yet, Niklaus had come through. Then he’d given Chevek, who had been the gate guard back in Chira’na, the run-around. He’d even offered continued alliance, at least until the recruitment’s next rally in a moon’s time...

With luck, Calver would be gone by then anyway.

Niklaus sniffed and shifted his feet. “I’ll let you get to… whatever you’re getting to. But I’ll be back before the morning mess.”

He exited. The door clacked closed behind him.

Calver locked the latch and set his back against it. He sank to the floor, cradling the Aetech plate to his chest. Three ten-days since his failed demolition, and he finally had one.

Why did it feel like he’d lost everything to get it?

Guilt coiled in his chest as he thought back to Raimee in that courtyard, huddled over him while his chest stitched itself back together. “I still need you.”

No. She didn’t need instability, violence, pain. In Chira’na, the tree in Creation’s temple had asked her if she wanted him eliminated. Now he understood it was because he was a fucking parasite. After seeing her hollow all over again, he was nearly sure that she hadn’t ever really healed him—he had only ever sucked the life from her. Fates, he could still feel the energy coursing through his veins. He’d thought it was magic. He’d thought it was destiny. For twenty days, he’d been high off killing a Ruxian slowly, convincing himself he was helping her. He’d even thought…

Calver closed his eyes, reminding himself of the things that would never be, and the one thing that would—the Tera’thian Coronation. A way forward had presented itself. He had privacy—a door. He could finally investigate what had been done to these plates and bring the knowledge back to his sister.

Every inch of him wanted to begin working, and yet… he hadn’t truly slept since the caravan began. Maybe tonight he could. Fates knew he would need it for the road ahead. A road ahead that, three tendays ago, he’d thought he wouldn’t have to take alone.

Stop thinking about it.

He tucked the plate beneath his tunic and rested his head against the wood of the door. Its cheap grain was better than the world’s finest sleeping draft.

The phantasmal green light of pre-dawn slipped beneath the door, setting Calver awake. A few hours of sleep was more than he’d hoped for. He skipped his morning training session—he could hear Dex snoring in the tent by the door, anyway—to get to work.

Stacked mess trays made a suitable table. Calver set the plate shield upon them and proceeded to pick it apart using a knife from the utensil stores, then put it back together.

Aethertech Mechanics had never produced anything like it before—at least not that he’d seen. Their engineers must have been given further liberties with the influx retainer for the increase in energy it distorted. When activated, the plate generated a glowing repulsory field.

Impressive. It must be why the Tera’thians took stock in it. The question still remained why they’d escorted the plates’ shipment to Red Wing headquarters in Chira’na rather than steal it. Something was contrived, here. But Thyatira had worked with the Tera’thians once before—if Calver had never discovered that, he might still have a tongue. Why wouldn’t he do it again?

Calver disassembled it again and carefully removed the ruxechorin core. Several puzzling minutes passed as he examined it, a fog obscuring his mind. Other than the device’s shifted influx retainer, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it.

Despair expanded in the pit of his stomach, compounded by the itch that he was missing something. Why did this core feel like it would be the death of him? Had he been rash in assuming it had been tampered with? It would imply that either Aetech or Dreiden were aligned with the Tera’thians… or that the Tera’thians had found another with his skills. Each possibility was worse than the last.