Vera gives a nod. “Prepare for takeoff.”
I pocket Lament’s flight list and start toward Moon Dancer, reaching to grab the handholds to haul myself into the cockpit. I’m halfway up when I realize how quiet the deck has grown, the flurry of movement replaced by stillness. I glance back to see all the Sixers staring at Lament. And, a beat later, I realize why.
This will be his first flight with anyone since Bast.
I hesitate, one foot on the small boarding step, fingers curled around the rim of Moon Dancer’s oval cockpit. For one horrible second, I think maybe Lament won’t do it, that he’ll say he’s changed his mind, that someone else will have to fly me to The Parallax. But then he meets my eye and says, “Here we go.”
The Sixers break into smiles.
Moon Dancer’s interior features a cockpit with two seats, one down in front (that’s mine) and the second right behind it (Lament’s). We share the same arched windscreen, which spans up and over our heads for a full range view, and we each have our own control panel. Mine wraps around me in 180 degrees of knobs, joysticks, and green, night vision monitors.
Usually a gunner’s seat is small and cramped, positioned near a fighter craft’s nose. While Moon Dancer’s isn’t exactlyroomy, I do wonder if Bast was as tall as I am, because there’s actually a fair bit of leg space in here. I get myself seated and adjust my ray gun so it doesn’t catch the harness, then pull on my headset and start hunting for the craft’s ammunition release. It’s not in its usual position on the lower right-hand corner of my control panel, which is when I remember that Bast was left-handed. All the controls are flipped.
“Um,” I say, blinking at the array of buttons, which are a mirror image of where they’re supposed to be. “He had to be a lefty, huh?”
“Oh.” Lament climbs into the pilot’s seat situated slightly above and behind me. He looks concerned. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No, ah—just give me a minute.”
“Boys.” Vera’s voice comes in on our headsets. “Everything good?”
“Hartman’s working out the controls,” Lament replies.
“Well, tell him to work faster. We need to get airbornenow.”
“Hartman?” Lament covers his headset mic. “I won’t fly this thing until you’re ready.”
“You’re just hoping for a reason to abort,” I mutter, still fumbling with my panel.
“That’s not true.” He sounds so serious. “I’m just not willing to put you in a position that makes you uncomfortable. Ever.”
Which is incredibly touching. And veryhim. But also not exactly helpful at the moment. “That’s good to know, but I’m fine. I can do this in the air.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Vera taxis her Sky Runner beside ours and gives a salute, which Lament returns. Behind her, Caspen and the others are loading up The Bargainer with boxes that contain an array of explosives, fighting equipment, escape tools. Lament presses a button to seal the cockpit’s glass dome, and everything goes silent.
A countdown comes in over our headsets as the flight deck depressurizes and the metal doors open to reveal outer space, but I’m not really paying attention, partly because I’m still working out the backward controls (I won’t tell Lament, but it’s totally hopeless) and partly because I’m once again battling a feeling of overwhelm. My senses are straining, my mind racing ahead, wondering how Moon Dancer is going to fly, wondering how Lament will. Vera gets her Sky Runner airborne first, disappearing smoothly out into space, followed by Caspen’s much larger cargo craft, which hops and stutters its way through the portal. And then it’s just Lament powering up Moon Dancer, shifting gears, and almost without warning we’re off the deck, gaining speed, blasting forward and I just—
Oh.
I’ve flown with dozens of pilots over the years. ARCAN Aviation Academy is known for their flight program, and many of my fellow cadets were great aviators. But flying with Lament is… it’s different. And I don’t know if it’s because it’s him, or it’s mewithhim, but I’ve never felt so weightless, so perfectly in tune with a craft. We slip away from Skyhub until it’s nothing but a speck against the blackness of space, moving seamlessly, elegantly, soaring through the void. With less than an hour until arrival, The Parallax’s coordinates have activated in our system, and we follow them out of Skyhub’s sector, past solar systems and space stations and planets, entireworlds filled with people living lives we’ll never know. Lament increases our speed, though I never feel the change in force. I only see the stars smeared to beams as we sail by.
I take it all in. The starlight against deep black, the quilt of passing colors. And I know it’s blatant of me, but I want to see Lament’s face right now, so I turn all the way around in my seat and just… look. At him, there behind his control panel, his eyes flitting between the dashboard and our surroundings, his hands manning the dual joysticks. His face is more at peace than I’ve ever seen, lit up from the glow of his monitors and a few nearby stars. In a strange way, he looks less real here, all the angles of his features cutting into the dark. Nose and chin, curves and lines. An ephemeral ghost given bones. I want to touch him, make sure he’s not a figment of my imagination. Because that’s how it feels sometimes. Like I’ve dreamed him up.
Lament’s eyes flick down to me. He gives a self-conscious smile. “What are you doing?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. I just… I’m having all these feelings. All these confusing, conflicted feelings. I want to touch Lament again. Get one hand in his hair, the other up under his shirt, kiss him like I kissed him yesterday.
I need to stop. I’m not—I can’t—this isn’t supposed to be happening, not right now. I’m tangled up in a Determinist plot, about to risk my life for an uncertain outcome, and Lament is Lament. He’s got his own monsters to battle. His own shackled past. Except, we’re here, aren’t we? Flying together when I wasn’t sure we ever would. And maybe that’s why my mind has decided to go down this path, now of all times, because this moment is delicate and unlikely and important. A solar eclipse, blocking the light and somehow making that a wonder.
“Destination spotted,” Lament says into his headset. “Prepare to approach.”
I look out the window and see it. They’ve taken The Parallax out of stealth mode in preparation for our arrival, and it’s larger than I’dimagined. Almost beyond comprehension, actually. The craft is entirely black, and I think it must be coated in Skeleton Paint, which absorbs 100 percent of all visible light. Either that, or they’ve found a way to activate Stealth Mode on individual sections of the spaceship. To my eye, it looks like parts of the body are missing, just vanishing into the blackness of space. My brain is still struggling to grasp it when a series of red lights appears along the ship’s side.
“That’s us,” Lament says darkly.
