He smiled. “Hope not, because I’ve got about ten minutes and then I’ve got duties starting up. I’m kind of hoping that we can—”
“I asked you here to tell you two things, Thorn. One, to guard yourself at all times, even from the ON itself.” She drew up her feet and hugged her knees. “You’re one of the few friends I’ve got left—mainly because you know I can’t hex you, or whatever.” She gave a rueful smile. “You kind of made that clear last night.”
Thorn held up two fingers. “I’m not hex-proof, because I for one welcome the form of a frog. Always wanted to jump like that.”
Her bark of laughter scared the attacking mouse-flower. “Good, serves you right, you little menace,” Thorn said. “The second thing? What is it?”
“Yeah. I did a lot of thinking last night after I left the gym. Didn’t really sleep. Just wandered, came here, spent a lot of time thinking things over.” She looked squarely into Thorn’s eyes. “I really do believe Joining is powerful, that it has huge potential. And I can feel mine growing, getting stronger. But I’ve only ever had the most basic training when it comes to controlling it.” She plucked a blade of plant matter, gave it a cursory glance, then dropped it and turned to him. “So I’ve submitted a request to be transferred off active duty and reassigned for advanced Joiner training at Code Nebula.”
Thorn gave a slow nod again, liking the direction she was going. “Sounds like a good plan. More important, though, it sounds like it might help make you happy—or happier, anyway—with how things are when it comes to Joining, and ’casting, and just generally serving the ON.” He made a point of meeting her eyes squarely. “I hope it works out for you, Kira, and that you do find what you’re looking for.”
She nodded. “I hope so, too.”
Thorn checked the time. “I really do have to go. How about I catch you later for dinner. The mess here might make shitty sandwiches, but the meals are actually decent. As long as it’s not pink food.”
“I don’t trust pink food. Or blue, for that matter,” Kira said.
“As usual, your instincts are above reproach. Come see me for dinner. I don’t want the war to steal everything from my past,” Thorn said.
She favored Thorn with a smile that somehow seemed a little sad. “Same. See you there. I’ll call ahead and order.”
“You can do that?” Thorn asked.
“Sure. You do it by color. Anything but pink.” With that, she was gone, leaving him to stand in the fragrance of flowers that knew nothing of the war, or loss, or his wishes.
As soon as Thorn had finished the end-of-day briefing—which wasn’t much more than a succession of variations on, Situation stable, no change, from all the FOB departments—he left the HQ and headed off to find Kira.
“I need a channel to Lieutenant Kira Wixcombe,” he said into the comm. He kept walking as he waited for the comm AI to establish a link to her, heading generally in the direction of the main Mess.
“Wixcombe, Kira, Lieutenant is no longer at FOB Gauntlet,” the computer-synthesized voice came back. “She left a message for Stellers, Thorne, Lieutenant.”
Thorn stopped just clear of a junction between busy corridors. Kira was no longer at FOB Gauntlet? What?
“Go ahead, play her message.”
“Hey, Thorn, if you’re hearing this instead of seeing me, I’m gone—not for good, just for now. I’ve got a long trip ahead of me, and a lot of time to think, but what I know right now is that you matter to me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t say it out loud at least once. I’m sorry we both know loss, and I’m sorry so many stars and miles are between us, because you’re a fixed point between me and the past. I need that past, and I hope you do too, even though it hurts like hell sometimes . . .” She trailed off into a moment of silence. “I can’t hear you right now, but I need to . . . to say it, to say that you’ll fight like a demon against them. Against the enemy and everyone who thinks your power is a bad thing. You’re not a bad thing, Thorn. You’re the best thing in a sea of hurt and loss and shit, I’m rambling.” She paused and took a long breath, and when she spoke again there was a richness to her voice that was far different from the girl Thorn knew all those years ago. “Thorn, come back to me when you can. Through all this emptiness is between us, fight. Survive. Win. Promise me, and . . . I hope this matters, but I’ll promise the same to you.”
Thorn spat a curse. Kira was gone?
She was gone, and yet, she wasn’t. She’d left a thread for him to follow, or for her to follow back to him, and maybe there was something in that. A thing worth nurturing beyond the simple act of surviving. An act of hope that spanned something longer than a single fight, or a running battle that left wreckage among the stars.
“She’s out there,” he said, but no one heard.
He knew, though, and for now, that was good enough.
Thorn resolved to at least record a message to her, and even started to turn back to his quarters to do just that. But a voice over the comm system stopped him dead.
“Specialist Stellers, report to the Hecate, docking bay sixteen-alpha,” the computer said. “Crash departure in thirty minutes. This is not a drill.”
Again, shit.
Thorn did hurry back to his quarters, but only to grab his go-bag, then get to the Hecate. Something urgent was happening, and that meant messages across the miles would have to wait.
For now.
3
The Hecate’s Tactical Officer glanced back over her shoulder. “Captain, the Nyctus ships seem to be making a run for that nebula off to our starboard, low.”
The Hecate’s Captain, a sturdy rock of a man named Galen Tanner, leaned forward as far as his crash suit and seat harness would allow. “Fascinating. They’re trying to lead us into a dust cloud. I wonder why.” He glanced at Thorn. “Stellers, is there anything you can do with your Starcasting to block or undo the Nyctus and their damned dust attacks?”
Thorn shifted in his jump seat. The witchport, set on the ship’s prow, had been damaged in a previous skirmish with the Nyctus and hadn’t yet been repaired. For the time being, that left him consigned to a temporary station on the Hecate’s bridge, so casting meant finding a quiet space and letting his power go.
It was an unusual sensation to hurl magic from a meeting room, or a glorified closet—neither of which had the sense of wonder that the ’port gave him when he stared out into the black. It left him and Captain Tanner as the only ones that weren’t sitting at workstations—the whole ship was Tanner’s workstation, while Thorn just didn’t need one. But while Tanner had a big, sophisticated g-seat, Thorn only had the piddly little jump seat—not even a permanent fixture, being folded up into a bulkhead while not in use.
Thorn felt a lot like a kid when he wasn’t being treated as a questionable member of the ON. Like the jumpseat, Thorn could be put away when he wasn’t in use. The sensation left him bitter, but he said nothing, lost in his moment of reverie.
“Stellers? The dust?” Tanner asked again, sharply.