Morgan, he said, fighting against the forces trying to repel his efforts, Daddy’s . . . almost there. I’m almost—
Morgan shrieked.
A shockwave rippled through reality. Thorn slammed headlong into a wall of rigid denial. His will beat against it, but he might as well have been trying to punch his way through granite.
Daddy, no—!
Thorn’s truth began to fray, starting to unravel. He hadn’t been able to seal and lock together the seams he’d created in reality. It was all just a patch, and the patch was coming loose.
Morgan, please, let me help you—
No, you’re hurting me!
Morgan’s frantic, anguished plea ripped at Thorn, tearing into his chest and slashing into his heart. He lost focus, his will faltered, and reality began to collapse like crumbling brick.
Thorn reacted as any father would, by reaching for his daughter. He focused on snatching her away from Nebo, a planet that had always existed unharmed by the war, and pulling her fully into existence just as she was.
Morgan shrieked again, a keening wail that shook the bedrock of existence.
A soundless detonation washed away the universe. Light that transcended the very concept of white engulfed him, piercing his eyes, filling his mind with nothing but blinding radiance.
Slowly, it began to fade. A pervasive glow still surrounded him, resolving into streams and veils of dust and gas like rippled curtains lit from within by the fierce glow of hot, new stars.
A nebula.
Thorn gaped at the inconceivable forces that had been briefly unleashed. Morgan had fought him, and he’d tried to overcome her resistance. The resultant cascade of power had spiraled up to a titanic blast of power and possibility. The universe had, for a moment, been able to craft its own, mindless truth, and the result had been this.
A new nebula, full of new stars. New matter, brought into existence from nothing.
Thorn slowly cleared his thoughts, then did the one thing that called to him as a father, ringing through his being like a primal call. He tried to find his daughter.
Morgan?
He heard nothing but the silence between the stars.
Morgan? Morgan!
Nothing. There was no hint that she’d ever existed. He tried to push his awareness across the void, driving it further and further, sweeping it over stars, planets, asteroids—
He pushed until his consciousness encompassed such a vast swath of reality that he could see all of it and yet see none of it.
There was no sign of Morgan. Nothing. She simply did not exist.
He had failed.
Thorn had failed to bring his daughter back. Instead, he was left with her final words to him inscribed in his mind in fire and starlight.
You’re hurting me!
Thorn tore himself out of the dream, slamming awake with a violent start. He shoved himself up in his bunk, drenched in sweat, gasping like he’d just run a race. He untangled himself from the damp sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold touch of the deck against his bare feet steadied him, giving a specific sensation to focus on.
Only that coldness existed. That was all. It was all he had to think about. It made no other demands, implied no other obligations.
Thorn took one final deep breath, then looked around into darkness.
“Lights.”
His quarters lit up, leaving him squinting and blinking until his eyes adjusted. When they had, he stood and crossed to the tiny wash basin, then he ran the water. He cupped some into his mouth, then splashed some more onto his face. More cold to steady him.
Finally, he turned and looked back at his bed. It was absolutely uninviting—a place of dire conflict, not rest. Instead of trying to get back to sleep, he got dressed and left his quarters, heading for—
He stopped. Where aboard the Hecate was he going to go?
Thorn headed for the witchport, from where he’d be able to see the nebula he and his daughter had managed to spawn into existence. It was all he had left of her.
Thorn knew its name, even as he went to gaze upon the construct of his efforts.
The Witch Nebula.
4
Kira had just lifted her feet onto the desk. She leaned back and looked out the big viewport, taking in the stars in their vast beauty.
She needed the break. Since the revelation of the ongoing trade deals between the Danzur and the Nyctus, things had been flung at them at an unprecedented pace. It was as though, having given up one piece of information, the floodgates had been thrown open and released a torrent.
Damien just gave a thin smile, though. “It’s another tactic. They’re going to try to bury us in documents and updates and errata and appendices so that we might miss something important.”
Kira glowered. “That sounds, I don’t know, unethical? Belligerent?”
“Unethical and belligerent pretty much sum up what diplomacy is all about. The point is to try to get both sides to be a little less unethical and belligerent to one another.”
Kira shook her head. “Wow. When you said it had taken you a while to get this cynical and jaded about it all, you meant it, didn’t you?”
“Of course. Diplomacy is just another form of warfare.” Damien smiled wryly. “In some ways, a dirtier, nastier, less forgiving form of warfare. And you military types are supposed to have some sense of honor.”
Damien had gone on to prove just how adept he was in the dirty, nasty business of diplomacy. For every incoming document, he immediately requested clarifications, amplifications, and anything else that generated more work for the Danzur bureaucrats. Sure enough, after a day or so of that, the deluge slowed.
So she actually had time to put her feet up and take a break.
Kira?
She sat up. The voice humming through her mind was as familiar as her own.
Thorn?
In the psychic flesh, he replied.
His tone was flippant, but Kira could hear murkier depths to it. Stress, anger, frustration—they echoed in his words, a residue of feelings he couldn’t entirely suppress through the Joining. Not when he Joined with Kira, anyway.
It’s nice to hear from you. It’s always nice to hear from you. But . . . something’s wrong, isn’t it?
What, I can’t check in on how the negotiations with the Danzur are going?
Do you care?
Of course I care. I was one of the first to make contact with them, remember? That kind of gives me a dog in this fight. Or maybe a puppy. Can’t imagine dealing with them is like dealing with a puppy, though.
That’s not why you want to talk to me, Thorn.
There was a pause.
No, it’s not, he sent. Proof that you know me too well, even across the miles. I miss you, for what it’s worth. Nothing about this . . . this life . . . feels natural. I’m sorry, Kira.
Sorry? Her mental tone was one of genuine confusion.
For all of this. Sometimes the weight of our choices comes back to me—my choices, mostly, and you’re bearing the brunt of it, over there acting as a liaison to those opportunists.
It’s my job, and your job, too. We made this choice together. But tell me. Why reach out at this moment? Kira asked.
I had the dream again.
She nodded at the starfield. She’d suspected as much.
Thorn, maybe you should see someone. Not just to talk, but to find a solution for who and what you’re becoming, and what it all means. I care about you in ways you’ll never imagine, but I’m just—I’m an ON officer. My skills are not what you need, even though I want more than anything to help you.