3

THE PLANET KISMET IS OFTEN CALLED A PARADISE. HUMANS are given to extravagant exaggeration of the things they admire, but the first time Abel saw Kismet for himself, he knew that description was deserved. It hangs in space like a milky amethyst, promising lavender beaches and lilac skies. In a galaxy of increasing desperation, Kismet has long been the one oasis of beauty, peace, and ease.

No longer.

The pale violet planet itself is unchanged—but a large area of space, from within Kismet’s orbit to the edge of this system, is patrolled by hundreds of Earth ships. There are so many ships that their electronic signals on the viewscreen look like luminous chains binding the planet tight. Abel switches to regular view and focuses his vision to greater and greater degrees of magnification until he can make out each individual craft.

Virginia does the human equivalent, squinting at the viewscreen. “Damocles ships. I see two.”

“Three.” Abel’s scanned the far horizon already.

“How are there even Damocles ships there? How are they anywhere? I thought Earth threw every Damocles ship they had at the Battle of Genesis. Where, as you’ll remember, we totally took them down. I mean, a couple of them escaped, but they limped away. There’s no chance they were sent right back out to harass Kismet.”

Abel swiftly adjusts the console screen magnification so Virginia can stop squinting. “We did considerable damage at the Battle of Genesis, but Earth must possess more Damocles vessels than we thought.”

She huffs in exasperation. “I’m a mad scientist, so I get the appeal of unstoppable killer androids, but, you know, you can have too much of a good thing.”

Abel ignores this, concentrating on the far more pressing matter of the Earth scout ship that has left its patrol formation and is now approaching their position. For 2.13 seconds, he considers evading it, but rejects the idea. Running away would only spark their suspicion. They can’t afford to be suspicious.

They need to be extremely boring.

Virginia’s distraction is so complete that she startles when a voice through the comms barks, “No ships are authorized to travel through this area. Identify yourself.” The tone is meant to rattle whoever hears it.

Abel is not easily rattled. “This is the free ship—Charon.” The pause before giving his ship its latest pseudonym is fortunately not long enough for a human to notice. He reset the ship’s internal codes, which will be sufficient to disguise them as a ship that’s never visited Kismet before, thus avoiding any possible traps previously set by the late Burton Mansfield. “We’re Vagabond traders. We came to the edge of this system some weeks ago, searching for asteroid metals and ores for mining.”

“There are few asteroids in this area.”

A brief vision of Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca flickers in Abel’s mind as he answers, “I was misinformed.”

“You’re within proximity of the Kismet Gate.”

Very quietly, Virginia murmurs, “Maybe Earth thinks Genesis might send someone through. Maybe that’s why they’re patrolling out here.”

This seems unlikely. The minefield is impassable for humans, and Genesis refuses to use mechs. Kismet must be on security alert for other reasons. Either way, he must be careful.

To the comms he replies, “We thought a less traveled area might offer greater mining potential. Less likelihood that asteroids would already have been tapped for all valuable ores and minerals.”

By now the suspicion in the scout pilot’s voice is obvious. “You want to explain that ‘mining potential’ for me?”

Abel has one more weapon at his disposal, an ability he was programmed for but rarely speaks of: extreme attention to detail.

“It is true that the collective mass of the asteroids in this sector is between one-thirtieth and one-fortieth of Earth mass, much lower than the collective mass of the more commonly mined asteroid belts. However, these asteroids contain much higher than average levels of tungsten and magnetite. Let me pull up my charts.” Abel doesn’t need charts for this; he does, however, need the Kismet pilot to believe it’s a human on the other end of this comm line. “Here it is—to be precise, this area shows signs of possessing seventy-one point four two three eight zero six percent more magnetite than would be found in the most commonly mined areas of the Kuiper Belt. Therefore, the potential haul from our current position is equal to or greater than it would be in any of the known belts. For instance, the Watchtower Belt in the Stronghold system has a collective mass of only one-third Earth mass, but has sixty-two point five one nine six six seven percent less tungsten than—”

“Okay. Got it.” The pilot’s irritation is clear, even through the distortion of the speaker. “Go about your business. Don’t approach the Kismet Gate minefield, for your own safety; if you get damaged, nobody’s coming to rescue you. Exploring through the system will be treated as hostile action.”

“We’re happy to comply. Charon out.”

Abel snaps off the comms and looks over at Virginia, who shakes her head in disbelief. “You were practically holding up a huge glowing sign that says I AM A MECH. No human would ever pour out stats like that. Not even off a chart.”

“As far as that pilot knows, no mech would either—at least not in a situation like this. There are no other mech captains of their own ships, none who live as free traders and would be in a position to have that conversation at all.” Abel smiles—briefly, and not broadly, but it’s the first he’s managed since Noemi was injured. “Therefore, the pilot interpreted my response as that of a human. A pedantic, annoying human. The kind he would want to stop talking to as soon as possible.”

Virginia laughs. “You’re something else, Abel.”

He’s familiar with the colloquial phrase. It’s complimentary in the vaguest possible way. But he can’t help thinking of it literally. I am “something else.” Neither wholly mech nor wholly human. I am unique in the galaxy. I am alone.

Soon, Noemi will be unique, too. But he intends to make sure she never feels alone.

Moving back to the ops station, Virginia studies the readings from Kismet in more depth; her eyes widen as she takes in the Damocles ships again. She rubs her arms, the kind of self-soothing gesture intelligent humans often use to filter out other stimuli while they concentrate. “This is mass military action. The Battle of Genesis set Earth off, didn’t it? When we beat them, they realized they had a real fight on their hands.”

“I think the stimulus came before the battle,” Abel says. “I believe it began the moment Noemi spoke to the worlds.”

Abel possesses eidetic memory. He perfectly recalls all the information and sensations he perceives, forever. As a student of cybernetics, among other sciences, Virginia knows this about him.

Yet she insists on replaying Noemi’s message anyway, “to check.” It’s an emotional response, not a logical one, but he indulges it. He’s found that attempts to make humans act rationally are often futile.

“The truth about the Cobweb plague—both on Genesis and throughout the galaxy at large—has been kept from you.” Noemi’s voice echoes within the Persephone bridge. The audio recording is of the highest quality, and yet Abel could never be deceived by it. There is an emptiness there, a hollowness, that betrays Noemi’s absence. This is an echo, no more.

“Another Gate in Earth’s solar system—a secret Gate, one that leads to the planet Haven, a habitable world that’s been kept secret, too.… Find that Gate, and you’ll know Earth’s been lying to you. Find Haven, and you’ll know why Earth created Cobweb in the first place.”

Virginia shuts off Noemi’s recorded voice. “There’s nothing about the other colony worlds of the Loop,” she says. “Absolutely zero about Kismet. So why is Earth patrolling this place almost as hard as Genesis, i.e., the world Earth’s actually at war with?”

“Think about what Noemi said. ‘Find that Gate.’ Almost no one else in the galaxy knows the location of the Haven Gate. Therefore Vagabonds and other travelers must be flooding every system.”

Slowly Virginia nods. “While they’re looking in the wrong places, they’re getting frustrated. Which means they might combine forces. Make alliances. Figure out how to stand up against Earth. And maybe Kismet made trouble first.”

“Exactly. There may be unrest on the other colony worlds of the Loop as well. That’s why we broadcast the message to all the planets—in hopes some would rise up and join our alliance. It appears our plan was even more effective than we’d projected.” For entire planets to rise against Earth—even planets as relatively pampered and privileged as Kismet—the levels of anger out there on the Loop must be incendiary. “Unfortunately, Earth had an effective counterstrategy of their own.”

Shaking her head, Virginia mutters, “How are we supposed to counter that?”

“I cannot say.”

Large-scale military strategy is beyond his purpose. With Noemi Vidal by his side, Abel can fight for Genesis and all the other colony planets. He can take up arms against Earth. With Noemi unconscious, endangered, suspended between life and death? He can only fight for her.

The military vessels aren’t interested in one small ship flying to the Cray Gate, headed out of the Kismet system. So the Persephone makes good time and passes through without incident.

Virginia brings up the image of Cray on the viewscreen; its red-orange surface turns everything on the bridge faintly crimson. This world is not being patrolled like Kismet. Apparently Cray’s privileged scientists have so far remained loyal to Earth.

(At the outskirts of the system, scans pick up a few Vagabond vessels searching for the Haven Gate, in vain. But they’re far away from Cray itself, not a factor for either Earth or Abel to consider.)

“Nobody down there knows what I’ve done,” Virginia murmurs. “I mean, Ludwig and Fon and the other Razers know about you and about Noemi and about the Cobweb plague—”

It was Virginia’s Razer friends who realized the new, even deadlier form of the Cobweb virus had to have been engineered in the underground labs of Cray. That virus had been used as a bioweapon against Genesis, one that would’ve won the war for Earth—if Ludwig and Fon hadn’t stolen the genetic information that allowed a cure to be developed. Abel wonders whether the elders of Genesis would express even a fraction of the gratitude the Razers deserve, or write them off as products of a corrupt system. Probably humans would have better luck.

“I helped put together Genesis’s war fleet with the Vagabonds. I took part in battle,” Virginia continues. “Well. I mean, mostly I watched the battle, but I played a big part in getting thousands of ships there! Nobody on Cray would ever believe it.”

“Let’s hope not,” Abel says.

“Exactly. Someday I’m going back—someday soon—and I’d rather not do it as a war criminal, you know? Which I guess is technically what I am. But not after we overthrow Earth. Then I get to be a hero of the revolution.” She grins with pride. “That has a nice ring to it, huh? ‘Hero of the revolution.’”

“Certainly it’s better than ‘war criminal,’” Abel says as he inputs a course to the Stronghold Gate.

Virginia’s smile dims when she looks down at her console. “We’re running the mag engines way beneath capacity. I get that we can’t overload again yet, but we could move faster than this.”

“That might attract more attention from the military, which I’d prefer to avoid. Besides, Noemi is stable in cryosleep. As long as this ship is safe, she is, too. Therefore my first responsibility is to protect the ship.” Abel rises from his chair. “My second responsibility is to my friends, which is why I need you to return to Cray immediately.”

She blinks at him, as though unable to process his words. “But you’re headed to Haven! You’ve got to try to steal all this stuff from Gillian Shearer, or else you’re going to get yourself killed—”

“There’s a reasonably high probability of that. It’s a risk I’m willing to take, for Noemi. But I’m not willing to put you at risk, too.”

Virginia doesn’t budge. “It’s my choice to make.”

“No. This is my ship. I decide who travels with it. And I won’t be carrying you any farther than Cray.”

She lifts her chin, using every centimeter of height she has over him. “How do you intend to make me leave? Throw me out an air lock?”

“Unnecessary—and, as exposure to deep space would be fatal to humans, counterproductive to my goal of protecting you. I would instead render you unconscious and put you aboard an orbital scanner I retrofitted as an emergency escape pod three months ago. By removing the sensory equipment and installing emergency air packs, I’ve made it capable of sustaining human life for approximately fifty-five hours. You could make it to Cray within”—Abel updates his calculations based on their current position—“nine point three hours. The nutrient bars and water supply inside will keep you nourished. I apologize for the primitive zero-G waste-processing unit, but I understand most humans get used to the vacuum effect, eventually.”

“You’d knock me out? You would, wouldn’t you?” Virginia’s face flushes, and she balls her hands into fists. Is she going to try to knock him out first? Abel hopes she doesn’t break her fingers in the process. Instead, she sputters, “You’re about to shoot me into space, you—you—overgrown toaster!”

“Not if you’ll take your corsair and leave freely. I’d greatly prefer that option. I suspect you would, too. The vacuum effect of a primitive waste-processing unit has been known to cause chafing on—”

“I get it, I get it.” She slumps in defeat. “I know your specs as well as anybody, Abel. I’d have to be an idiot to try to fight you. If you keep acting like a big, heroic, self-sacrificing doofus, I’ll leave the ship like you asked—but you won’t think about it?”

“I’ve already run the calculation of your probable death on Haven six thousand four hundred and seventy-five times. No scenario offers you better than a thirty-two percent chance of survival.”

A long pause follows. Virginia finally says, “No decimal points?”

“That one came out even.”

“Come on. My chances have to be better than that.”

“For most human passengers, they would be. However, you would insist on attempting to rescue me, Noemi, or both. These attempts would no doubt be intelligent but also doomed. Therefore your survival chances are very low. Regardless, I can’t accept those odds, and you shouldn’t either.”

“You know me too well.” She sighs. “Don’t guess you’re going to tell me the odds of your survival.”

“No.” They’re much worse than Virginia’s, but he has to do this. She doesn’t. “Where we’re going, you can’t follow. Virginia, I hope we meet again, but if we don’t, thank you for teaching me what friendship can be.”

Her brown eyes well with tears. “Damn it, Abel, you’re making me cry.”

“Better here than in zero-G.”

She makes a sound that is somehow both a sob and a laugh. He takes her arm and begins guiding her back down to the docking bay, and her corsair, and escape. No doubt she’ll protest her expulsion at least one more time, but Abel now feels 88.21 percent certain he’ll be able to make her leave, and is ready to administer unconsciousness via an injection if not. Either way, Virginia’s headed to Cray.

Maybe he won’t be able to restore Noemi’s life. Maybe he’ll lose his own. Virginia’s the only one he knows he can save.