Killbox (Sirantha Jax 4)

Argus slides in as I’m checking the star charts. “Did I miss anything?”

You’d expect there to be awkwardness between us after I turned down his offer to celebrate together; but like all young animals, he has a short memory. And if it doesn’t bother him, I’m not going to let it make things weird. I know it wasn’t personal; under the circumstances, any warm body would do, and mine was improved by the prospect of understanding his elation.

“Nope. How’s Esme?”

“She says you don’t know what you’re missing,” he answers without missing a beat.

I grin. “Sure I do, and it’s best left to nineteen-year-old girls.”

March glances at us in amusement, the first real smile I’ve seen from him in a while. I’m glad he’s not seething with unreasonable jealousy. “You two ready? Who’s taking the lead?”

Though I sense Argus wants to, I say, “I am.”

He’s done the last two jumps, and he needs a rest, whether he admits it or not. Argus sighs faintly, but he doesn’t argue.

Shortly, Hon’s voice comes through the comm. Our sister ship doesn’t require a patch via Rose; they can contact us directly. “Anybody else feel like a fight?”

“I was getting tired of playing Charm,” March answers.

That gives me a little pang. I mean, I didn’t think he spent all his time alone, but I hate being left out. It hurts that I can’t even socialize with him casually these days, but other people can. I understand why he doesn’t invite me; spending time together would just make the hiatus harder. Putting that aside, I don a professional mien. March powers up the phase drive, and I jack in.

The ship thrums with readiness. I’m accustomed to the speed of it, so we push through with hardly a moment’s delay. On the other side, grimspace bathes me in primeval splendor. Oscillations in rainbow hues cascade through my mind, better and brighter than anything my eyes can offer. Pleasure shimmers through me. I’m wide open, letting the universe flood through me.

Reverberations echo in my blood, filling my head. The beacons pulse in answer, and they sound almost like a heartbeat. Excitement makes my heart race, and the beacons answer. I can almost slide free of my skin and skate along the liquid sun that connects them in a fierce, glowing skein. For a moment, I forget that we’re supposed to jump. Such a rush.

I receive a nudge from March or Argus. Intertwined as we are, I’ve lost my sense of separation. Reminded of our task, I find the proper beacons and use them to guide my way. Distant beacons call to me, as if my frequent passage has created ghosts, or echoes of old intentions. I’m not sure what it means, and I have no time to parse it.

I just know something has changed here, including the way the beacons feel. They’re more responsive. When I reach out for them, it feels like they’re reaching back. They want to take me, carry me wherever I want to go. But it doesn’t alarm me, and I wish we had more chance for study. Unfortunately, we have a world to defend.

March guides us smoothly, following my directives. The phase drive hums, telling me it’s ready for the shift back. We emerge near Venice Minor, just outside the gravitational field. I feel strong and capable as I unplug.

And I immediately want to run.

The hovering ship is immense, a black stain amid the stars. With its strange shape and tentacle-like appendages, it almost resembles an enormous sea monster set free in space. I shudder in horror, not wholly understanding the cause.

“What in Mary’s name is that thing?” Argus breathes.

March scrambles at the controls, trying to pull us out of range before we’re spotted. “That can’t be right.”

His reaction unnerves me. “What is it? Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“Only in vids,” he answers grimly. Once we’ve retreated a thousand klicks, he turns to me. “It’s a dreadnaught. And we don’t have a weapon on board that can touch it.”

Argus leans forward. “What’s a dreadnaught?”

I’m glad he asked, so I don’t have to.

“An ancient ship-race. The Rodeisians think dreadnaughts date back to the Makers.” He refers to the ones who seeded the galaxy with technology eons ago.

“Wait, you’re saying that thing’s alive?” Argus asks.

“It shouldn’t be. They were allegedly hunted to extinction four hundred turns ago.”

“Holy Mary.” Argus shakes his head, gazing at the image frozen on the view screen.

We’re out of range, but the sheer alien wrongness of it raises the hair on my arms. “What else do we know about it?”

March doesn’t look at me. “Other species called them suneaters . . . starkillers. Wherever they went, they left carnage in their wake. I’m talking about worlds ravaged, stripped entirely of life. They were symbionts, bonded with a species called the Vermis, also believed now to be extinct.”

“So who’s driving this one?” Argus asks.

As if in answer, Rose pings us from comms. “I have an incoming message.”

“Forward it, full display.”

A holo pops up. At first it’s a prerecorded warning, although I don’t know what the creature is that’s hissing and gargling because I’ve never seen one; it looks like a fish on three tentacles with a thin, hammer-shaped head. I’d guess it’s a Vermis. Then a new verbal track cuts into the feed, and I recognize the sounds. The red cloud claims this world. That’s all; communication cuts off before we can respond. It’s a statement of ownership for Venice Minor.

I glance at March. “You think the Morgut found a derelict, revived it somehow, and took the place of the Vermis as . . . intestinal parasites?”

This is why they wanted Evelyn. She’s the key. Since she specializes in biomechanics, they think she can help them achieve perfect symbiosis with the dreadnaught. Thank Mary she got away from them. Thank Mary we found her first.

“I don’t know.” He touches the comm. “Hon, are you seeing this?”

The smuggler answers, “Seeing but not believing. We are so fragged.”

“So that’s it? They take Venice Minor? We’re not even going to try.” My voice sounds tight, even to my own ears.

Venice Minor is a pleasure planet, bereft of even rudimentary defenses. The Morgut must want some resource found there, or maybe they just want to colonize. This might be part of their mass exodus. Regardless, they’re not the type to go for a relaxing beach vacation. Mining colonies invest in good SDIs because they have valuable ore to safeguard. Venice Minor has natural beauty, lush flora and fauna, and a proliferation of peaceful resorts. Mary, even raiders and pirates take holidays here. Nobody with any sense would attack such a place.

Sickness and dread roil in my stomach. If our weapons can’t touch it, there’s not a ship in the Armada that can stand against this thing. It won’t matter if they all get here, courtesy of Dina’s upgrades. We’ll just all die together, then.

March slants me a look. “Give me a minute to think.”

He knows as well as I do—all the thinking in the world won’t change the reality. Argus touches me on the shoulder, and I turn to find him looking young and scared. Until now it’s been one big adventure to him, I think.

“We’re not going to win this one, are we?” he asks quietly.

I can only lift my shoulders in a helpless shrug. The dreadnaught hasn’t noticed us yet, but when it does, the thing will annihilate us. That much I can guess from March’s poorly concealed fear.

“Well?” Hon demands. “Do we stand or scatter? We have another ship coming in. Looks like . . . Yeah, it’s the Sweet Sensation.”

Oh, Mary. Hit and Kora are on that one.

“We have to try,” he replies at last.

In this instance, try means die. I exhale heavily and resign myself to it. “Get Torrance on cannons.”

March nods and calls med bay. “Doc, I need you prepared for heavy casualties.”

“I’m ready,” he replies.

Part of me wants to argue that it’s ridiculous for us to wade into a fight we have no hope of winning. We should run, find a place to hide, and hope the trouble sweeps over us. That’s what the old Jax would’ve done. She’d have had no problems letting everyone else fend for themselves. Right now I’m almost sorry I’ve changed.

We can’t run. We’re the only hope for Venice Minor and the larger galaxy as well. If the dreadnaught is a monstrosity like March believes, we must find a way to stop it.

March opens a channel to the Dauntless and the Sweet Sensation. “I’m going to bounce a warning to New Terra, then we’re going in.”

CHAPTER 52

It’s rare that a person can say she gave everything.

I can now.

The ship smolders. We lost deck two an hour ago.

Fact: We cannot take many more hits. At March’s command, the Dauntless and Sweet Sensation fled, leaving us to face the dreadnaught alone. They carry with them images and samples in the hope someone smart and innovative can come up with a way to hurt it. Maybe it will be Dina.

I’m happy Hit and Kora made it out safely, happy that Hon and Loras got out, too. If this space above Venice Minor is to be our tomb, then let the end come. Let this dark beast devour us, then, and someone else take up the fight.

The black ship carries the taste of grimspace, but twisted and tainted, as if they took someone like me and fed it to the dreadnaught over long years. Here, we are plankton before the leviathan. March was right. Our lasers do nothing. Our cannons glance off its skin as if it’s made of dark matter. I keep firing, but I’m weary. Everyone is.

The Triumph rocks with yet another missile. They tear through our shields like they aren’t there, and only the fact that our ship is more maneuverable—and March is an expert pilot—has kept us dodging for so long. But his reflexes are slowing. At this point, we’re only delaying the inevitable. When it destroys us, it will turn its attention back to Venice Minor, and there’s nothing we can do.

I resent the impotence more than the prospect of my own end.

I glance over at March, my heart aching. His hawk eyes meet mine, heavy with sorrow and regret; but it’s not his fault I followed him here. In truth, I would follow him anywhere. He is not perfect, with all his dark shadings and the weight of duty on his soul, but I could never love anyone more.

There’s no need to say it. He knows. At the end, he flows into me as he was always meant to be. I’m complete and at peace.

Ship alarms have been going off for a while. Torrance hasn’t been able to turn them off, so we’re spending our last moments with Klaxons in our ears, and red lights flashing overhead. It lends the cockpit a peculiar, infernal air.

“It was a hell of a ride,” I say out loud.

Our coils are drained. I have maybe one more shot from the lasers, but no more. We don’t even have juice enough left to run. Nothing left for a jump.

March smiles at me, love shining from him. There’s no point in hiding anything now. “It sure was.”

“Life support has been compromised,” the computer tells us coolly. “There are two hours and fifty-two minutes of oxygen remaining. Sectors twelve, fifteen, and nineteen have breach. Lockdown in progress.”