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Chels dosed in the chapel. She'd stayed all night, spelling off an overstressed Atone, ready to counsel visitors to the makeshift church. Uneven footfalls nearby woke her fully. She smelled sweated alcohol.
A man stood in the doorway. A spacer. He trembled and licked his lips. His eyes darted from side to side; looking but did he see? Knees were bent in the station's artificial gravity. Another spacer far from his element.
"Hi," said Chels. "Could you use a bite to eat?" She reached in her robe and drew out an energy wafer pack. She rose and stepped near, holding the package in front. "Here." She set it down on the last chair and stepped back. He wasn't ready for soul cleansing. Not yet. "Some wine as well? It's pretty bad stuff but might help you through the next hour." She moved to the front of the chapel and poured a small cup of sacramental red. She wouldn't force him to endure withdrawal if he wasn't ready.
Chels returned to the man, now seated, chewing the wafer. "Bad jump?"
He smirked. "Is there such a thing as a good jump? No, jump wasn't the issue." He gulped the wine and set the cup down, not asking for more. His hands shook as he finished the wafer. "Thank you."
"It's been a few years since I jumped but I doubt they've refined the process. How long have you been on Slate's?"
"Two, maybe three, shifts. Not sure. I came looking for a friend. Heard he's dead. Carried too many demons in his head." He looked around and seemed able to focus on what he saw. "Thought he might've come here before he passed."
A chill passed from her head to toes. He didn't say more. Chels stared forward. She'd have to tease his story from him.
"It's possible. What was his name?"
"Perry. Though he might not have given it." He described her confessor.
"I met him. Once." This man couldn't know with certainty what Perry had told her. If she revealed what she knew, he might bolt. If he would confess to her, she might learn the location of the artifact. The weapon. If the Realm could get it before Rowland, it might balance the scales back to even. "Not well enough."
"My name's Altman. It won't mean anything. Not yet. Maybe never."
"Why don't you tell me?" Chels rose and closed the chapel door. She sat three seats away from Altman, turned toward him, but without eye contact. If he moved closer, she'd react appropriately. "I don't see you. To me, you're a voice. An unknown voice, if you like. I'm not your conscience, I don't judge. I listen and if I can guide you to the next step of recovery from the demons chasing you, I will." Her guilt, posing as a confidant, disturbed her. But greater good, or greater harm potential, had to be considered. She'd crossed the line once with Perry, this second time was as difficult.
He was silent for a while and she considered pouring another cup of wine. She was about to move when he began.
"Me and Perry. We're salvagers. Were. We found something. I used to comm on a short-jumpfreighter and I'd never seen the like." Altman sneezed.
Chels felt the spittle on her hand but didn't react, though she wanted to wipe it clean. "You found something you didn't recognize? Mineral lode?"
"Nothing like that. Nothing like anything I'd ever seen. But I thought I knew what it was for." His voice dropped to a Whisper. "It was alien, you see. Alien or some piece of equipment from mankind's future, dropped out of spookspace into our laps. Who can tell what time or dimension eddies we've stirred up in jump?"
"A perceptive thought, sir. You saw this object as a gift."
"Yeah. Make us rich. Richer if we could make it work. I was sure it was a comm device. I figured the aliens or our future selves had uncovered a more reliable tech."
"A marvelous breakthrough if successful. You acted on your assumption. What then?"
"Perry never told you this?"
"Continue your story, Mr. Altman."
"If overconfidence is a sin, I sinned. I bulled ahead, thinking I had it all reckoned. We needed the opening of a jumpship to send a test message. That's what I theorized. I was a great scientist. Thought I knew more than those who wrote the textbooks and rendered their imaginations in elegant equations. This was hardware. Solid machinery you could touch." He fell silent again. His hands caressed a phantom shape.
"Your arrogance deceived you. The universe played it's trick."
He sniffed and rasped a wet cough. "That it did. We sent our message but it wasn't a radio beam. It was a particle beam. The recoil tore the machine away from us. We fled. Perry came here. I tried to lose myself in the Eddy but my conscience caught up to me. He and I need to set it right."
"With Perry dead, you're alone. Your goal could be difficult." Chels turned to face him. She was no longer the anonymous listener. She was involved. "Perry's dead. You need to show someone where you lost it. Don't let Perry's demons catch you before you've made amends."
"How can I make amends for loosing death and destruction?"
Chels slid closer. She stretched a hand to his shoulder. Altman's head hung forward, shaking.
"This machine is a gift," she said. "You were right. Help find it again. Are you Realm?"
He raised his head a fraction. "Never thought of myself as anything but a spacer. But yeah, I've no attachment to the Confluence. I don't want sides, I want forgiveness."
"If you're prepared to be a guide, you shall have it."
The chapel door rapped softly.
"Will you trust me, Mr. Altman?"
He nodded.
Chels cracked the door. Brother Atone huddled outside. "Sorry, Brother, I was in counsel with a spacer."
"A new recruit? You should have left him for me."
"Forgive me. This man's not a recruit; he's a confessor. I don't think he'd have waited. It was me or no one." She stepped aside. "Brother Atone, this is Altman. He and I have an appointment with Slate."
She hustled Altman away before the brother could protest.
*
Slate listened as Chels relayed Altman's story. They both watched the rumpled spacer sip Slate's worst whiskey.
When she finished, Slate held the bottle just beyond Altman's reach. "Could you find the place where you and Perry last saw the device?"
"I think so." Altman's hand was steady now, despite the dissipation in his face.
"Think harder." Slate moved the bottle fractionally closer.
"My nav'cube's safely stored with a friend in the Eddy shipyard."
Slate poured him another drink.
"Where's your ship?" asked Chels. She didn't like bribing the man with more temptation but Slate's method so far had provided results.
"Same place. Eddy shipyard. Mothballed and in hock." He sipped, stretching the liquid out. "Used the funds to get here. Thought maybe Perry had raised a new grubstake and we'd go back to salvaging manmade detritus."
The opportunity was obvious to Chels. Could she condone it? She was glad Pious wasn't available to counsel her, she had a feeling his advice would be contrary to what was needed here. Some missionary she'd make. Sister Compromise. Chels made eye contact with Slate. He nodded. It would have to be unofficial so she would be the conduit.
"What if I staked you?" she asked. "Would that get you back in salvager harness?"
"I'd still need a working partner."
"I'm sure you could have your pick," said Slate. "One of the refining settlements, any possibles there? Someone wanting a change? A youngster looking to escape from the endless routine?"
Altman put his half-finished glass down on Slate's desk. "One I remember. The youngest son of the manager. He'll be an old man before taking over the family charter, if ever. If I could get back there, maybe I could convince him." He dipped a finger into the drink and wet his lips. "There's a likely aggregate two days push from them we could start sifting on our own."
"After you locate the alien weapon," said Slate.
"I'd need more than a grubstake. I'd need to ransom my ship."
Chels made up her mind. In for the lot. "You only need your nav cube. Any ship will do." She paused to consider the implications of the next step. "We have a ship."
Slate looked at her, shocked.
"The Crossed Swords," she said. "Atone isn't going anywhere."
"He's not going to allow a stranger to pilot her." Slate nodded at Altman.
"Atone will allow me," said Chels.
"No, no, no." Slate banged a fist.
Altman darted his eyes back and forth between them.
Slate pointed at Chels. "She's jumpbust. She can't do spookspace anymore."
"That was me once," said Altman. "Found a cure."
"If there was a cure, don't you think I'd know about it?" Chels bit her lip at the psychological damage she'd face. "I'll just have to take my chances. Forget about trying to partner with some rock rat's kid. This is too important to the Realm's survival not to."
"It's mental discipline," said Altman. "I came from the Eddy without cryo. Look at me. I admit I'm less than whole yet I made jump. Without deepsleep."
"Without nightmares?" Chels was skeptical.
"Without nightmares?" He chuckled. "No. Never without nightmares."
Altman's fingers rubbed his knees. Part of the discipline or nerves?
He continued. "The mental discipline keeps them from overprinting."
"You don't have to do this, Chels." Slate whispered in her ear. "Look at him. That isn't damage? How do we know his wonderful discovery didn't leave this residue?"
"Who else have we got?" The lure of being able to jump again coupled with the desire to aid the Realm pushed her.
Altman stood, lifting his head high. "You can do this. I can teach you."
"I want Atone involved," said Chels. "The brothers have jumped without meds or cryo when forced."
"And you're taking his ship," said Slate. "Though technically I can commandeer it if necessary."
"You watch Altman. I'll convince Atone."
*
"It comes down to value," Chels argued. "I'm more valuable in the Eddy and you're more valuable here." The last phrase was an exaggeration but she had to convince Atone of his worth to Slate's Progress. "Pious trusted me as a place holder until the brothers returned. Now he trusts you to build on the momentum created on your previous visit. The converts and the listeners waited for you."
Atone wrung his hands, fingering the mala hanging from his neck. "I'm not Brother Pious. I don't know if I can duplicate his success. You pushed us over the top on our first visit."
"The sentiment was there to be pushed. Pious left you here to test your faith in yourself, Brother Atone. He believed in you as I do." Time was wasting. She was almost ready to take the Crossed Swords and disappear into the Eddy with Altman. But she wanted Atone's skills first.
"The ship is my responsibility." Atone added to his protest.
"I'm returning it to her rightful captain, now in the Eddy. I can pilot her as can Altman. Pious must be warned about the Confluence Navy." She gripped his cold hands. "I need your help to traverse spookspace without losing my mind. I know you've meditative techniques I can try. Altman says he learned them from a nomadic savant. Maybe one of your predecessors. I'm trying to prevent a war. Peace is your goal. You can train me and I can make a difference, Atone. How often does that happen in a lifetime?"
He looked past her through the porthole behind her. Then, without preamble, he began. "Sit on the deck, your back pressed to the wall. Close your eyes and focus on a point beyond your chest. Picture a cone of energy radiating from your core to that point."
Chels followed his instructions. Her fears bubbled up but she imagined the cone springing from her chest.
Atone said, "Breath calmly. With each exhalation, relax. Feel the ship pressing your buttocks and back. You join with the ship. It remains constant in the transfer to jumpspace. Your sins twist in your mind but you concentrate on the contact with the ship."
But Progress isn't a ship, she thought. Ships traverse the universe's black heart. Chels gasped and opened her eyes.
"External distractions are the enemy." Atone knew and verbalized her fear. "You fight the enemy with calm. Let the nightmares wash through you, pass over you like a warm stream but you can't drown in this stream."
She repeated his advice silently. Her breathing normalized and deepened.
"Your head and mind are one with a safe haven, Chels. A haven drawn from your memory. Have you such a place?"
Chels drifted from her body. "Here. Slate's. This chamber."
"Imprint this moment, this space."
Atone drilled a mantra until the very thought of the word recreated her and Slate's chamber.
Chels lost track of the time, going in and out of trance until she could submerge within minutes after closing her eyes.
Slate's comm broke the silence in the room. "Chels, I've got you passage. The Crossed Swords will barnacle in two hours."
"I hope Rowland lets us leave," she replied.
"He should, your barnacle passage is on one of his scouts."
"How the hell did you manage that?"
"Treaty terms. He wants to pretend he's following the peace accord. And I had to make one or two commitments. Nothing we can't live with if the Confluence backs up Rowland."
Atone asked, "Will she be safe?"
"As your deputized agent, yes. The one agency the admiral apparently respects is the brotherhood. This is your last chance to back out, Chels. We can always try to find someone in the Eddy to chaperone Altman."
"Thanks, but I'm all in now. Just promise me you'll have a warm bed and lots of love waiting when I return. I'll need it."
"Done. Love you, Chels."
"Me too."
"Get rolling, Altman's in transit to the Crossed Swords."
She stretched her legs and stood. "Whoa, I'm woozy."
"You'll feel that way coming out of jump. Take your time."
"Time we don't have at the moment. See me to the Crossed Swords. Any message for Pious?"
"Tell him I'm trying."
"I'm sure he knows you are." Chels prayed she would be in condition to pass the message when she emerged on the other side.
*