? ? ? ? ?
Caersan barely spares us a glance as we make our way into the central chamber. The bodies of the Waywalkers are still here, and the Starslayer sits among them on his throne, the stink of death hanging in the air.
The cracks are all over his face now, lit from within. But his mind is more powerful than ever, battle-hardened, surer for all the practice we’ve had. I can feel his energy crackling around us, gold and the dark red of dried blood.
As if in response, I twine my own mind around Kal’s, slip my fingers into his. We are stronger together. More than ever, I’m sure that the Eshvaren were wrong—I was never meant to burn it all away, to shed the things that matter most, so I could harden myself into the trigger of a deadly weapon.
Love is the beginning and the end of everything I do. It’s my reason. It’s the answer to every question. It gives me strength. And my love is with me.
As we take our places, I can feel the thrill of the impending battle bubbling up inside me. The knowledge that soon, soon, I’ll be linking myself to the Weapon, and soon, soon, I’ll feel that rush. It’s like surfing a tsunami—you’ll wind up dead at the end, but you’ll have a helluva time along the way.
Sempiternity’s broadcast comes crackling over comms, echoing around the room, and as I listen, I can feel the station’s exhausted Waywalkers gearing up to offer up the last of their energy to rip open just one more rift.
“Sempiternity fleet, prepare to jump in ten, nine, eight, seven …”
The voices of Sempiternity’s soon-to-be ghosts echo in my mind.
Tell them …
I wish …
If I had another chance …
I curl my hands into fists. I’ll make another chance for them, or I’ll die trying. And I’ll always carry their memories with me—the memories of the people they became, in this future I’m working so hard to erase.
As long as I live.
I look across at Kal, and he meets my gaze squarely.
“I’m sorry it’s ending this way,” I whisper.
“While we fight, there is hope,” he replies just as soft. “Nothing is ending yet, Aurora.”
And the golden glint of his mind is like a wink from Scarlett—a promise that I might know a lot, but I don’t know it all, and he’s not done trying.
“… three, two, one …”
The tear opens in front of us, a boiling explosion of color, and as one, every last independent creature in the galaxy plunges through.
The Ra’haam is waiting.
A huge fleet of ships clad in moss and flowers, vines trailing out into space like questing fingers.
I see Redlich’s red tugboat explode into glittering shards ahead of us.
And then everything is chaos.
24
SCARLETT
“Ow, Finian. Your elbow is sticking into my back.”
“That’s not my elbow,” Fin murmurs.
“Okay. Not that I don’t appreciate the enthusiasm, but time and place?”
“It is my elbow,” Zila hisses. “Now will you two please be quiet.”
The fighter shakes around us as Nari slows its approach. In the dim light of its hold, Fin shoots me a wink. And while his smile makes me smile in return, I can’t ignore the hard ball of ice I feel growing in my gut.
Maybe this time, I think to myself.
Maybe this time, we’ll pull it off.
We’re crammed in the cargo hold of Nari’s fighter as she approaches Glass Slipper Station for what seems like the hundredth time today. But when I snarked about it last run, Zila informed me it was only the fifty-first, so I don’t complain again. It’s nice to see Z opening up a little about her feelings—Maker knows it’s a big step for her to be snapping at anyone. But honestly, I could do with a little less of the tetchy right now.
The fighter slows to a halt beside the waste disposal system.
The doors open soundlessly at our backs, and slipping out into the great big black, we run through the play like we always do.
Ejection tube.
Morgue. Pinkerton’s key.
Elevator shaft.
Hab level.
Distract guards.
And finally, we reconvene in Pinkerton’s office.
This part is all clockwork by now. Alert sirens and wailing PAs. The station is coming apart just like always, and even though we’ve lived this day more than fifty times now, I’m growing more and more afraid with every attempt. I can’t believe that just a few loops ago, Fin and I were so blasé we decided fooling around was a good idea.
We thought we had all the time in the galaxy. Now it turns out we don’t have nearly enough. And every time we fail, we get less and less.
“Medical personnel required immediately, Deck 12,” calls the PA. “Repeat, medical personnel, Deck 12.”
Zila’s fingers are a blur as she types on Pinkerton’s computer. The wall panel opens dutifully, revealing the fragment of Eshvaren crystal—twin to the one hanging around my neck. I get it out carefully, bundle it inside a backpack, and hand it to Lieutenant Nari Kim.
Nari looks exhausted, and behind the stoic soldier facade, I get the impression she’s maybe even more panicked than I am. I can’t really blame her, either. If someone had told me when I woke up this morning that the future of the galaxy rested on my shoulders, I’d be a little shook, too.
“How you doing, Nari?” I ask.
She skims a hand back over her ponytail, tries to sound calm. “Hell of a day, Red.”
“You’ll get it this time.” I pat her shoulder, smiling. “I know you will.”
Fin risks a smirk. “Hey, if third time’s the charm, then the fifty-third’s gotta be pure gold, right, Dirtgirl?”
Despite herself, Nari smiles. “Whatever you say, Bleachboy.”
“It is only the fifty-second time,” Zila says. “And Nari is doing her best. Under extremely difficult circumstances.”
Zila rises from the computer with a wince, and Lieutenant Kim offers a hand. As Zila takes it, I notice a small flush on Nari’s cheeks.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
“I am … very tired,” Zila admits.
“If we don’t get through this attempt, maybe you could take a break next run?” I offer. “Try to get some—”
“No,” Zila snaps, her lips pressed thin. “There is no time, Scarlett.”
I sigh, knowing that she’s right, but worried all the same. Zila’s operating on zero sleep, her brain running a thousand klicks a second, but she’s summed it up perfectly, as usual. We’ve got three problems, really. But all of those problems basically boil down to one big one.
TIME.
Zila tried to explain Problem Number One, but honestly, temporal physics isn’t my thing. From what I can tell, the paradox of having two versions of the exact same piece of Eshvaren crystal in this timeline is creating temporal stress, and each time we loop, the loop grows shorter. When we first arrived here, we used to get almost two hours before the station went pop.
Now we’re closing in on one.
Zila’s whole plan revolves around us being out in the dark tempest next to that quantum sail at the forty-four-minute mark so my necklace can get hit by that pulse of dark energy. But what happens if the loop grows so short that the station blows up before the quantum pulse hits?
Because here’s Problem Number Two—Nari’s fighter ship wasn’t built to withstand the energies in that storm. None of those Pegasus models were. Which means to get out into the tempest and get hit by that quantum pulse and hooooopefully get snapped back to our own time, first, we need to get to the hangar and steal a heavy shuttle capable of getting us there.