20

THE DOVE GAVE ABEL FIVE MINUTES TO GET NOEMI AND Virginia to safety. Their starfighter launches within three. But he doesn’t fool himself into believing he’s safe for the remaining two minutes.

As far as the Genesis ship is concerned, the only innocent people have abandoned the Persephone. No: the only people, period. Its crew has no reason not to fire on what Genesis considers an unmanned ship, one that contains a very deadly device—namely, Abel himself. He understands both that Dagmar Krall would like to help him, and that she’s not about to endanger her Consortium’s alliance with Genesis on the behalf of a single individual, no matter how rare or valuable she might consider him to be.

Abel runs up the spiral corridor to the bridge. He has to think of a way to evade the Dove long enough to—

—to what?

Abel is alone again, as alone as he was in that docking bay for thirty years. But this time, it’s worse. This time, he understands the meaning of camaraderie, friendship, even love. He thought he knew what it meant to be loved, but Noemi’s deepest feelings for him seem to have been no more than programming. All his hopes for the future have been demolished. Existence seems to have no meaning, if it must be endured without love.

But he refuses to give up. While Abel can’t fear death, he can and does want more life.

He wants to know how the Liberty War will end. Wants to find out what will happen with the masses emigrating to Haven, and whether the world behind the unfinished Gate will turn out to be as good or better. Eventually he’ll want to know how Harriet and Zayan are doing; they plan to have a child together in the future, a child he would be eager to see. Virginia will undoubtedly travel a path both chaotic and brilliant, one well worth witnessing. Circumstances might allow them to resume their friendship someday.

And Noemi—

No, he’ll never see her again. Never get the chance to love her, or be loved by her. But he might have the opportunity to hear of her—what adventures she’ll undertake, what future she might have.

It would be enough just to glimpse that future. To know she was happy. No matter what she thinks of him, Abel will always want that for her.

It’s reason enough to stay alive.

He dashes along the spiral corridor of the Persephone until he bursts onto the bridge. The viewscreen shows the starfighter slowly flying toward the Dove, on a course that is unnecessarily, but conveniently, between that fighter and the Persephone. As her farewell, Noemi’s doing her best to give Abel a chance to escape. That opportunity is all he needs.

He takes the helm, bringing the ship around and firing his newly repaired mag engines. They roar into full power, their flare shining through the energy-field walls to look like impossible fire in space. Then he heads out at full speed, aiming straight at the far-distant Cray Gate, all the way across the Kismet system.

Of course the Genesis ship pursues. The Persephone began its life as a research vessel, one designed for precision more than for speed. Whatever purpose the Dove was originally intended for, apparently it was one that required higher velocities. One glance at the console tells Abel that his pursuer will catch up with him in no more than eight minutes, seven seconds.

But his readings tell him that the Dove engines lack one capability the Persephone has just regained: Its engines can’t be switched into overload.

Abel does it. His well-repaired ship responds swiftly, smoothly, as though overload were no problem at all. As he rockets toward the Gate, he sees with satisfaction that the Dove is being left far behind.

But Noemi is being left behind, too, and so many of his own shattered hopes.

Abel decides to fly through the so-called Blind Gate—the surest way he knows to get away from it all.

Literally.

This Gate represents the worst-case scenario in humanity’s search for livable planets: A likely world was found, a Gate was built, and an excursion party came through in hopes that nothing major had changed and settlements could be established. Instead, they discovered that two of the planet’s moons had shattered, sending enormous, climate-destroying meteors crashing into its surface. Numerous new satellites, of irregular shape and orbit, render travel through this system dangerous. So humanity abandoned any hope of settling here.

Of course, some people do travel through the Blind Gate. It’s a terrible place to live but a very, very good place to hide. Occasionally smugglers come through, or other individuals who are strongly motivated to keep their location unknown. Abel came here himself once before—with Noemi, when they needed to hide from the rest of the galaxy and repair his ship, then called the Daedalus.

This is where he showed her his favorite movie, Casablanca. This is where he suggested making love—merely as a means of satisfying curiosity, or so he thought at the time. (Abel’s greater understanding of his developing subconscious suggests that his request may have had then-unseen dimensions.)

It may have been unwise to come to a location where so many memories would make me miss Noemi, he thinks.

Yet where else could he go? He and Noemi are the only two living individuals who’ve made landfall in every single system connected to the Loop. Memories of her linger on Earth (in the ancient cobblestoned streets of London), on Genesis (near the open-air market by the river), on Cray (talking about the importance of faith while sitting under strings of fairy lights), on Stronghold (pretending to be husband and wife so he could stay with her in the hospital), on Haven (finding each other within the glittering wreckage of the Osiris), and even on Kismet—if its lunar station counts.

There’s no escaping the memories. The entire galaxy is gilded with traces of Noemi Vidal, brighter in all the places she’s ever been. Abel decides he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After a full day of moody contemplation on a large asteroid, and one large collision coming closer than he would’ve liked, Abel makes plans to leave.

This raises the question of where, exactly, he should go. Now that Genesis ships are capable of traveling through the galaxy—even in limited numbers—he could be found and apprehended at any point. Unrest has spread throughout all the star systems of the Loop. It’s a dangerous time to be the lone crew member of a small free ship.

He finally determines that safety is not to be found in a location. His best chance of it will be found in a group.

Dagmar Krall is betting heavily on the Kismet system representing a new seat of power after the Liberty War ends, and the new Gate has been built, Abel reasons. He hasn’t been gone for that long. Therefore at least part of the Vagabond fleet will still be stationed there.

She is allied with Genesis now—but being allied to a world does not always mean obeying that world. Krall strikes Abel as someone who does not obey easily.

He returns to the Kismet system without incident and, as predicted, finds the Vagabond fleet still in place at the far edges of the minefield. Ship sensors quickly pick up the signal for the Katara, which he immediately hails.

Anjuli Patil’s voice comes through comms: “Free ship Persephone, we didn’t expect to see you again so soon—maybe ever, after the way you took off. Good job with that, by the way!”

“The surprise at my return is mutual,” Abel says. “Please let Commodore Krall know that Abel, captain of the Persephone, has reconsidered her offer to join the Consortium. If it’s still open—I accept.”

He boards the Katara for what he expects to be a brief exchange of formalities with Dagmar Krall. But Krall’s lieutenants—including, especially, her wife—don’t want to leave it at that.

“We must have the tattoo!” Anjuli insists, holding Krall’s arm affectionately as they all stroll through one of the tall central corridors of the Katara. Consortium members of various ages and races bustle through, conducting minor trade with one another, greeting old friends. “Every new pilot in the Consortium gets one. It’s tradition.”

Krall gives her a look that’s equal parts warmth and exasperation. “It’s one thing to ask humans to carry marks on our skins for the rest of our lives. That’s another fifty or sixty years, tops. Abel can expect to be around, what—”

“Another two to three hundred years,” Abel says. “But if the tattoo is traditional, I have no objection.”

Anjuli’s dark eyes light up. “You see?”

With a heavy sigh, Krall gives in. “Fine. Set up the ceremony.”

Within half an hour, Abel sits shirtless in the center of a large meeting room at the heart of the Katara. He’s on one chair; a grizzled, dark-skinned man is perched on the other, a tattoo gun in his hand as he starts work. Another forty-seven Consortium pilots have gathered together to watch, cheer, and drink.

Well, from the look of things, mostly to drink.

The first pinprick of pain stings Abel’s upper arm. Fortunately, under controlled circumstances like this, he has the option of turning his pain receptors down to near numbness. He does so and watches with calm interest as his tattoo takes shape.

“It always starts with the silhouette of your ship,” says the tattoo artist, who has told Abel to call him Barry. “So there’s as many kinds of Consortium tattoos as there are kinds of ships. Lucky for us both, yours is easy.”

Abel nods as a teardrop-shaped outline appears on his skin. As his skin isn’t entirely human, the reaction to the ink is different; already he can see that the colors will be far more vibrant on his body than on most humans. “The tattoo starts with a silhouette. What next?”

“Above it, everyone gets a katara,” Barry says. By this he means not the Consortium flagship but its namesake, a square-handled dagger traditional to India. As the blade is filled in, he continues, “Within the silhouette, you get whatever color you want—and as time goes by, we layer on that with symbols for your biggest deals and victories. Ought to work up something for the Battle of Genesis, huh?”

“I wasn’t a Consortium member at that time,” Abel points out. “Is that all?”

Barry chuckles. “Not quite all. Underneath your ship, you put one word. One thing you fight for more than anything else. That’s what you’re in the Consortium to win. So what’s it going to be for you?”

The first word that comes to Abel is a name: Noemi.

But that’s wrong. He’s not in the Consortium to win her. Noemi will always be in his heart, no matter how many centuries he lives; a tattoo can’t make his devotion to her greater. That would be impossible. And he doesn’t want to be reminded of his short-lived hopes for the two of them every single time he sees his bare arm.

For now, he must define another primary goal.

“Well?” Barry prods.

“Freedom,” Abel says. “The word you should write there is ‘freedom.’”

The others around him hear that, even through their raucous carousing, and they cheer in approval. Abel smiles back at them, ignoring the tattoo needle and the tiny pinpricks of blood it leaves behind.