Grimspace (9 page)

So we're going to Marakeq.

I wish I could say I enjoyed my time on Lachion, but with Lex and Keri growling like a pair of Anduvian ice otters in mating season, the rest of us just lay low. Barely, I manage to restrain a wince when I see that they're hauling crates of the nutri-paste, presumably to replenish our stores.

Great. We'll survive any emergency. We'll just wish we hadn't.

The morning of our departure, I run into Keri outside the training facility. I've spent a lot of time in there because it gets the blood pumping, and pure physical exertion means I don't have to think. Something in her face tells me I'm not going to like what's coming, and I brace myself instinctively. It's a wonder she hasn't confronted me before now; I feel responsible for a lot of her problems.

She doesn't say hello, merely looking me up and down with an air of indefinable scorn. I know what she sees, a woman past her prime with burn scars raying out from the edges of my workout gear, but I don't shift beneath the weight of her eyes. I just wait.

“I don't like you,” she says at last. “But you're necessary to bring my grandmother's vision to fruition. Make no mistake, that's the only reason you're alive.”

A bitchy reply springs to my tongue, but I swallow it down. I started trouble on this planet without knowing the rules. If I'd made a habit of being that careless on other worlds, I'd have died long before now, and this time, her family paid the price for my unsteady impulses. So I owe her, and she's entitled to hate me as much as she wants. Right now, I'm none too fond of myself, either. I have to look at myself in the mirror, knowing I lived where eighty-two died, one of whom was the man I loved. Not to mention the loss of Miriam Jocasta, a diplomat of incredible eloquence and grace; she had been instrumental in achieving peace during the Axis Wars. The woman was an icon, and I killed her. Maybe. From the line of their questioning, the Psychs had certainly been inclined to think so, at any rate.

Frag, I wish I could remember.

“You want to go a few rounds with me?” I blot away the sweat and head back to the training mat without waiting for an answer.

Since she was Mair's pupil, she'll probably kick my ass ten ways from sunrise, given she's younger and faster and probably stronger, too. I'll take whatever she dishes out, but I won't hand it to her on a plate. She'll enjoy my beating more if she works for it.

Her smile seems tight somehow, wicked with anticipation. “Gladly. And should there ever come a day when I need you no longer, I'll see you dead.”

There's no more talk after that. She positions herself in a half crouch that I've never seen before. No big surprise—my combat training was purely perfunctory, augmented by a propensity for starting trouble in spaceport bars. Mary, she's fast. She's clocked me between the eyes with the heel of her hand before I hardly register the movement, and while I'm reeling, she sweeps my legs out from under me.

I land hard on my back, exhaling with a huff, but I roll before she can smash her foot into my stomach. With a mental shrug, I grab her ankle and yank, thinking we'll take this fight to the ground, but she executes a neat maneuver that breaks my hold. The girl is good. After that, I submit to my beating; my fighting is clumsy as hell compared to hers. Sweat pours off me in rivers by the time she seems satisfied, maybe an hour later. I'm aching in places where I didn't even know I had muscles, and there's a deep bruise forming where she kicked me in the hip.

“If you'd wanted to, you could have taken those Gunnars by yourself.”

She shakes her head. How I hate the fact that her perfect cheeks are simply flushed with a rosy glow. “I'd have needed Grandmother's help, but it was the height of stupidity to fight in the open. There's a reason we use ammunition that disables vehicles instead of causing bodily harm. There's a reason we fight our battles inside, safely in the confines of the clan arena.”

“I didn't know,” I say, humbled. “I'm sorry about your father. And your grandmother. As for seeing me dead, well. Give it time. This ten-jump journey might do the trick.”

She seems torn between pleasure in that prospect and chagrin. Finally, she responds, “I hope not, for we'll still need you to head up our training academy when the program progresses to that point.”

“Essentially then, you came to tell me that you are resigned to working with me to honor your grandmother's wishes.”

For a moment, there is something regal in her young face, the set of her shoulders. I can imagine condemned princesses facing down their executioners with the same blend of fatality and poise. Maybe I don't entirely like Keri, but I respect her now.

And I think she knows that because a smile flickers at the edges of her mouth like a corrupt holo-file. “Kicking your ass was a nice bonus, though. I have too much business here to accompany you, but I wish you luck. Not that I think you'll need it with March heading the expedition.”

Maybe she doesn't intend it so, but that feels like a barb, so I answer, “Yeah. At least you'll have Lex with you to get things done.”

Her sharp inhalation sounds like a hiss. Yeah, I know. I'm lucky she doesn't punch me in the face again. I probably deserve another black eye, but I've never been good at the antiquated doctrine of turning the other cheek. Why give them the chance to hit you a second time? I say knock them out the first time they swing, a combative philosophy that probably explains my current situation.

But she surprises me by laughing. “Much as I hate the bastard, he does have a certain personal force.”

“He's a mountain.”

“Has his own gravity,” Keri quips, and I realize we're smiling at each other.

Life goes on whether we want it to or not. And laughter is a constant.

“Good luck rebuilding things,” I tell her. “Going to clean up, then go get a good seat in the rover. I want to see what it's like all the way in back.”

“I wish…” She seems hesitant, and I pause, letting her assemble what she wants to say. “That is, Grandmother had all these ideas, tactics you were supposed to use, approaches for the different worlds. She'd done extensive research on culture, traditions, both primitive and alien…”

“That's why she wanted to meet with me,” I guess aloud. “To go over this stuff before we set out.”

Keri nods. “But most of it was inside her head. Not long ago, she started to get suspicious of standard datapads and sys-terminals. She said the Corp could probably mine what you stored somehow or what you were searching for.”

Once I'd have dismissed that as the paranoid delusion of an old woman who'd missed a few too many antiaging treatments. Now I consider the prospect for a moment before allowing, “It's possible. Do you have any of her research, at least? The info she unearthed regarding our target ten would save me retracing her steps.”

“I'll give you her PA. Anything she stored would be in there. She wouldn't use standard datapads or sys-terms any longer. Just a moment.”

Maybe five minutes later, Keri returns with a smooth silver sphere. I've seen these before, although I've never even held one. They're ridiculously expensive, closed to any other system, and require three levels of encryption confirmation before they will relinquish their data.

“I hope you have her codes. Don't know anybody who can hack one of these.”

She leans in and whispers.

“Thanks.” Nodding, I commit that to memory and pocket the device.

With a wave, I head off to the san-shower in my lodgings, which are substantially nicer than anywhere else I've stayed. There's a sterile quality to any Corp quarters, regardless of locale, like they don't want you to feel at home. It's practical, choosing furnishings that are easy to clean and maintain with the constant rotation of crewmen in and out. But the end result remains unchanged; people don't
want
to stay.

My in-room wardrober contained only basic patterns, but I still prefer having my own clothes—items in fabric, color, and style that I've chosen myself. It's hard to be confident and in control when you're wearing what someone else selected. Makes you feel like a child, even if nobody ever picked out your clothes when you were a kid.

Casually, I rake my new things into a bag Dina donated. Yeah, I know; I expected the thing to blow up, but so far it hasn't, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it, either. So I sling it over my shoulder and head for the rover. I'm not going to check on anyone else. When I woke up in Med Bay, after Kai died, I promised myself I wouldn't let anyone get that close again.

Guess I'm early because nobody's around yet. So I tap the door once, and the panel slides open, allowing me to grab a seat in back. If anyone shoots at us on this run, always a possibility here, I don't want to be under the gun hatch again. It's fragging cold, and I wrap up in my double-breasted s-wool overcoat to wait.

My patience doesn't last long, though, and I remember the PA in my pocket. I fish it out and thumb it on. It hums as it powers up, and a tiny little keypad ejects from the front, inexplicably reminding me of teeth. I'm nervous as I enter the codes Keri gave me. For all I know these things detonate if keyed wrong, and my fingers feel big and clumsy. But no boom when I'm done, just the sound of security disengaging as the thing clicks open, revealing a touch pad and a small data screen.

The instant I touch the pressure point, though, a smooth, asexual voice speaks. “Welcome, Mair Dahlgren. It has been seventeen days since your last entry.”

Is this thing an AI or just part of the data entry software? Can it feel loneliness if neglected? I pause for a moment, then answer, “This isn't Mair. She died almost a week ago, and her granddaughter gave me this unit to assist in carrying out her final wishes.”

“I am sorry,” says the little machine in a tone that approximates sincerity. “Please provide proof of identity with thumbprint and voice sample. Speak your name clearly, and I will update my records to reflect transference in ownership.”

“Sirantha Jax.”

There's a pause, then a ray of thin yellow light emits from the data screen, sweeps the upper arc of my face, and I realize I've been ret-scanned. My heart thumps, thinking that the data will be beamed to the Corp along with my last-known location, and all this will have been for nothing. I'll wind up in the asylum after all, beneath Newel's tender care.
Oh Mary
—

“Congratulations.” The unit smoothly interrupts the near panic of my thoughts. “You are confirmed as new owner of PA-245. In the event you should misplace or forget your codes, depress the emergency access button on the bottom of the device, and I will offer you the choice of retinal scan, voice confirmation, or thumbprint to reset your security access.”

Right, it's a closed system.

“What if I want to change Mair's old codes?” Keri knows them after all, and I don't trust people instinctively. This gadget is mine now, and I want whatever data I impart to remain confidential.

“Do you?” it asks.

“Yeah. Let's get that done.”

Such an advanced interface.
This can't be a simple software package. It's capable of reasoned interaction. Most programs would've simply recited the instructions for doing so.

“I'm bringing up input parameters on-screen. Please key the new codes, then confirm with reentry.”

Wow. Maybe I'm giving the thing too much credit, but it seems to understand why I wouldn't want to speak the code aloud, although voice recognition is clearly contained within its field of expertise. As I choose my three codes, then tap them in, twice, I wonder about its limits.

“Are you an AI?”

Is that a rude question?

“New codes confirmed,” it advises me. And then, almost kindly: “I am Artificial Intelligence 245, personal assistance and data management, fully equipped with the Helpful Administrator personality chip. Do you require further aid?”

“Yeah. Show me what Mair dug up on Marakeq. Please.” I feel dumb adding the last word, but I can't help myself. There's something…different about this little machine.

And as the others start to arrive, I settle back to read.

Here I am in the cockpit with March again.

I've hardly seen him in the last week. I get the feeling he's been avoiding me, but I'm not sure why. The way I figure, I'm the one who should be embarrassed, but I refuse to let it bother me. I didn't start my life over just to turn into something I'm not. As I've never cared what anyone thought of me, I'm certainly not starting with March.

He watches me settled into the nav chair beside him. We're cruising, already a good distance from Lachion. I took my time making my way up here; in fact I made him summon me, something I can tell pissed him off. I check the port, even though I know it's clean. Stalling, because I have a fist squeezing my intestines, sweat popping out on my upper lip, and a snail of discomfort crawling down my spine. It doesn't get easier; we just don't have people shooting to distract me.

Kai started every flight perfectly. He'd lean over, a lock of ash blond hair flopping into his eyes, and he'd give me the tender, sheepish smile I came to love. Saying, “For luck,” he would brush his lips against mine. But I never felt like I needed luck with Kai. He
was
my luck. We were golden; nothing could touch us. I wish I could remember what the frag happened on Matins IV, whether I killed him—

“Steady,” March says, resting a hand on my forearm.

I recoil reflexively. The warmth of his touch lingers, but I don't want him to comfort me, if that's his intent. He has no right, and he shouldn't know the things he does. I didn't confide in him.

“I'm fine,” I bite out.

“He's
gone
,” he growls. “Not coming back, Jax. And I'm all you've got.”

His words make me gulp twice in sharp succession, suddenly light-headed. Much as I don't like March, I respect him—or I
did
. For a long moment, I gaze at him, jaw clenched.
You think I don't know that? You think I'm
ever
able to forget that?
Heat suffuses my cheeks, and I feel myself trembling on the verge of something extreme, like I might cry. Or kill him.

I know which I prefer.

“Tell the crew to strap in,” I say, my eyes on his. “You speak to me like that again, I jump us all the way past the Polaris system. And if you don't think I'll flatline everyone on board, take another look at the wreckage of the
Sargasso
from Matins IV.”

“You talk tough, but—”

“But what?” I'm out of the nav chair and in his face. “Take a closer ‘look,' asshole. Am. I. Bluffing?”

He doesn't want to. But I know the moment he does because his face goes queer and ashen. “You're saying you did that on purpose…?”

I shake my head savagely and drop back into my seat. “But this time, I've got nothing left to lose
except
my life. You keep pushing me, and I'm not going to give a shit about that, either. I don't care if you think it's pathetic that I”—my voice breaks, but I'm not going to let these tears fall in front of March—“miss him. Keep your opinions to yourself, understood?”

I don't add:
You're not even worthy to say his name
. But it's there between us. He knows. To my surprise, he's the first to break eye contact.

“Just do your job,” he mutters. “Sometime today would be good.”

Without another word, I take a look at the star charts. Marakeq would take months to reach if we didn't have a jumper on board, so it's not as far as it could be. The information I salvaged from Mair's research advises me that it's primarily a swamp world with isolated pockets of civilization, and the dominant life-form appears to be amphibian intelligence. We're further handicapped by the fact that the planet is both class P and nonhuman. Nothing like setting the bar high, right?

As I plug in, I hear March telling the crew to prepare for jump. I'm blind again, waiting for him. Hating him. Then I'm crowded full of him as the phase drive starts powering up. Before his walls come up, separating us as efficiently as a room partition, something I never had with Kai, I glimpse something.

Something I'm not supposed to see. And it changes everything.

But I don't have time to reflect; the ship trembles beneath me, and I need to focus on getting us to the beacon intact. So I push the new awareness to the back of my mind and ready myself for grimspace. Oh, it feels good, a rush I almost forget each time I leave it behind. But Mary, the colors—I'm aware of the cadence, the cosmic tides, and the sequence of vibrations that tell me inarguably:
That way.
And March responds to my directives as an extension of me. His hands are mine, sure and confident, guiding us through the primordial soup. Even as I hate him, I wish I could show him what it's like—

You already are.

I'm not sure what that means, and I want to challenge the barriers he's put up to find out, but I can't divert myself from navigation. If I let my concentration slip, there's no telling where we'll end up. So I keep monitoring the wildfire outside the ship; everything seems so small, and our hull looks like it should ignite plowing through the ether, but the colors don't touch us.

Now and then I see shimmers, reflections of others, maybe traveling parallel, maybe time trails. Grimspace ghosts. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever see shadows of myself, the echo left by my own passage on another vessel. That's a paradox the Corp didn't encourage us to contemplate, and right now, I understand why.

We're here.

I sense his assent, and the ship shudders, making the jump back to straight space. I don't need to see the astrogation charts to know we hit the mark, but before I can savor the pleasure of a solid run, the phase drive whines in powering down. I've heard that sound before, and its feedback screams inside my skull. Hope to Mary we don't need to leave in a hurry. The frog-folk aren't likely to give us any trouble in orbit, but if gray men or others track us down, it could get real messy without a phase drive.

Sighing, I tug the plug out of my wrist, and there's a moment of vertigo as I accustom myself to seeing with my eyes again. Everything flickers before coming into focus, and sometimes I wonder whether I'm real at all, maybe I'm a program someone's coding for an interactive holo. The absurdity of the thought makes me smile—who the hell would want to pretend to be me?

March taps the comm panel. “Dina, I need you to—”

“Already on it,” comes her waspish reply. “What am I, stupid? That's a rhetorical question by the way. I'll let you know when I figure out what's wrong.”

Unlike last time, I don't head out of the cockpit right away. Instead, I shift in my seat, watching him fiddle with the controls. I know he doesn't need to be so proactive, adjusting this and that once he's input our cruising course. All he needs to do for the next several hours is monitor our progress. I smile as I realize that means he's nervous.

“I know what you did,” I tell him. “And why.”

“No idea what you're on about, why don't you be a good girl and get me a drink?”

Oh, he's trying to distract me now by pissing me off
again
, but it won't work. “You can't bullshit me, March. I
saw
.”

He turns his head to face me then, and I see a surprisingly vulnerable slant to his mouth. “You were upset,” he mutters. “I just didn't want you killing us.”

“So you made yourself a target. Better that I'm mad at you, hating you, than hurting, is that it?”

“Exactly,” he answers, too quietly.

Perversely I feel like that's just about the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me, and yeah, I
know
how that sounds. But I'm…not right. I wasn't, before Kai, and now, even less so. But regardless, it touches me that he chose to piss me off.

Exhaling, I say, “Don't do that again, March. Please. I appreciate the concern, I do, but…I'll never get over it if I don't deal with it. And if I'm going to hate you, I want it to be real, not over mind games. I know you're good at them, better than me, but I really don't want to play.”

He narrows his dark eyes on me. “I'll do whatever's necessary to protect this ship and my crew. I'm not making you any promises, Jax. I'm still not convinced you aren't a liability, not convinced we shouldn't have waited for someone more stable, even if that meant it took substantially longer.”

That hurts, and it's meant to, but I don't flinch. Because even though he's doing his damnedest to play the hard-ass, make me think he doesn't give a shit about me, I know that's wrong. I saw. I
felt
. Just enough to make me wonder what else was there, before he slammed the door so hard it convinced me he has something to hide.

And I'm going to find out what.