“Chronologically speaking,” Zila nods, “your necklace is ‘of the future.’ It has existed longer than the piece in Dr. Pinkerton’s quarters. Magellan said that time wants to be ordered. So if we can remove the phenomenon anchoring it here, your necklace should snap back to its original position.”
“The anchor is the larger piece of crystal,” I supply.
“The probe it came from,” Nari says. “Down on Level 2.”
“Indeed,” Zila agrees. “If we can cut the probe off from its power source so it’s no longer functioning as an anchor in this time, and apply a comparable amount of quantum power to our piece of the crystal as was used in the blast that brought us here, the temporal shock may cause time to reassert itself.”
Scarlett frowns. “Like … shocking someone after a heart attack?”
“Exactly.” Zila pauses, tilting her head. “Either that or we will be erased entirely from the spacetime continuum. But I believe the odds of success are at least 8.99 percent.”
“THAT MAKES SENSE,” Magellan says. “YOU KNOW, YOU’RE PRETTY SMART FOR A PROTEIN POPSICLE FULL OF TEENAGE SEX HORMONES.”
Zila glances at Nari, frowning. “I am full of no such thing.”
“Okay, so first problem,” I say. “Presuming this tremendous discharge of quantum power doesn’t just delete us from spacetime entirely, it’s not like we just have that kind of energy at our disposal. The power levels you’re—”
“WARNING: CORE IMPLOSION IMMINENT, T MINUS THIRTY SECONDS. ALL HANDS EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: CORE IMPLOSION IN THIRTY SECONDS.”
“CORE IMPLOSION?” Magellan beeps. “THIS PLACE IS IN WORSE SHAPE THAN I AM. WHAT THE HELLS HAPPENED AROUND HERE, ANYWAY?”
“Part of the experiments these lunatics are doing,” I tell it. “They’re running a sail out onto the edge of a dark matter tempest, and the whole place got hit by … oh.”
“A quantum pulse,” Zila supplies.
“… And we know exactly when it will hit,” I breathe.
“Forty-four minutes,” Zila nods.
Scarlett looks between us, color rising in her cheeks. “Wait, you want to hook me up to a pulse of raw dark energy? The blast that’s cooked this entire station and killed us, like, a million times? That’s your power source?”
“WARNING: CORE IMPLOSION IMMINENT. FIVE SECONDS. WARNING.”
I look at Scar and shrug.
“It might tickle,” I concede.
“WARNING.”
BOOM.
23
AURI
When I swim slowly, painfully toward consciousness, I know where I’ll be when I wake up. I can remember all of it, though it hasn’t happened yet.
I’ll be on a slab, naked except for a silver space blanket.
There’ll be a boy on the other side of a frosted glass wall, and he won’t be wearing any pants.
A woman, white as starlight, will come in and tell me that this is the future, and aliens exist, and my family is long gone.
And I’ll ache for them.
And then I’ll find my new family.
And then …
My eyes snap open, and I try to push myself up onto my elbows, an immediate bolt of pain starting in my temples and reaching my fingers and toes in an agonizing millisecond. “Kal?”
The word comes out as a croak, and it’s another endless heartbeat before I realize he’s right there—a tangle of violet and gold curled up in my mind, like a cat that’s tucked itself away for a nap in a hidden corner.
Somewhere else, not far away, he’s asleep. But I can feel his pulse beating in time with my own. He’s all right.
He’s safe.
“He’s safe.”
The voice echoes my thoughts. For one wild moment I feel like I’m in one of those old vids where the main character wakes up from a bump to the head and everyone’s singing, because those two words are delivered in a three-note musical chord in a sorrowful minor key. Then, just as my brain’s pointing out the many holes in this theory, I turn my head and find not a guy with no pants, but the Ulemna member of the Sempiternity Council of Free Peoples.
My breath catches all over again at her perfection, the swirls of blue and purple in constant motion beneath her skin, the serenity of her silver eyes. I just stare, lips parted, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t look away.
She lifts her hands and draws up her hood, and like that, the spell’s broken.
“What was that?” I murmur, still dazed.
Her musical voice sounds amused. “By that, do you mean the way you are drawn to me, or the battle we have just escaped?”
“The first one,” I decide. “And then where’s Kal, and then the second one.”
“It is the way of the Ulemna,” she says simply. “We … hold the attention of others. As for your Syldrathi bodyguard, he is just there.”
She nods to the other side of the room, and when I carefully twist away from her, trying not to jostle my aching head, I find Kal asleep in a chair, his gentle expression marred only by a small line between his brows—and the giant Syldrathi swords he’s got propped against his chair.
“And the Starslayer?”
“He would not leave the Eshvaren ship,” she replies. “But the Waywalkers sense his presence. He recovers, as you do.”
“Tyler and his crew?”
“The Vindicator was not among the casualties,” she says quietly, her three-part minor-key voice growing softer, sadder. I can picture the ships we lost bursting into flame, silent in the vacuum of space.
People who died because the Ra’haam followed me here.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Are we somewhere safe?”
“For now. You won the battle. Brought us to safety.”
I sink back against the pillow, closing my eyes.
I enjoyed it.
I know I was ripping myself apart to give them that power, but son of a biscuit, the thrill of it.
I want to do it again.
She’s still talking. “The council has voted on what our next steps might be. The decision was not unanimous, but …”
My eyes snap back open. “You’ll help?”
I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Their help will be the end of them—they’ll die defending me while I try to throw myself back in time, so I can try to die defending them. At least—how did Caersan put it?
At least I’ll feel like a god while I do it.
“We have seen the price you are willing to pay to right a wrong. To protect us,” she replies. “And there are many among us who, tragic as it may seem, agree with the Starslayer.” She shakes her head. “This is no kind of life. We see no other choice but to help you.”
“Now that I’ve brought this down upon you, weakened you further.”
“No, Terrachild.” Her tone is gentle now. “You have only shined a light on a truth that was always here. Our downfall is inevitable. It is only a matter of time, and not much more of it at that. We have long talked of our last stand. How bright the last fire may flare before it is snuffed out entirely. Now there is a small chance that our end will be our salvation. That somewhere else, somewhen, it will do some good. But even if you fail, ours will be a last stand worthy of the great histories of all our races.”