“I’m saying that we’re not some kind of sleeper agent for the delvers,” I said. “We predate them, in fact. What’s happened is that cytonics have blended with the nowhere—giving us access to it, letting us bend our reality to work the way it does.”
He nodded slowly. “If what you say is true, then we could potentially make more cytonic people.”
“There’s a portal,” I said, “on Detritus, in the tunnels near Igneous. Search northeast of the cavern, near some old pipes in a place with some strange patterns carved in the stone. You might want to study it.”
“I’ll put some people on it,” he said.
“Be careful,” I noted. “A cytonic can fall through and get stuck in here—and it’s hard to get out. So don’t, you know, pull a Spensa.”
“Will do,” he said, meeting my eyes in the reflection. “This is important. I’m glad you stayed, even if it means…well, this.” He gestured at my ghostly state.
“I’m going to continue on the Path,” I said. “First I have to deal with a bunch of pirates though.”
“There are pirates in the nowhere?” he asked.
“Yeah. Awesome, isn’t it?”
“I thought the place was…well…nothingness.”
“Kind of is, kind of isn’t?” I said. “It’s complicated. I’m going to steal a starfighter tomorrow, which should let me get to the next memory dump.”
He backed up to lean against the wall, his arms folded, thoughtful. And for the first time I noticed how tired he looked. It was tough to tell with Jorgen, who always seemed so upright and solid—his dark brown skin making it harder to make out signs of fatigue like bags under his eyes.
“Jorgen?” I said. “You all right?”
“Things are tense here. We’ve found a way to protect ourselves—the planet’s defenses are fully online, thanks to Rig and the engineers.”
“Well, that’s good. You’re safe.”
“Too safe,” he said. “The galaxy is collapsing under the control of a tyrant while we’re hiding. I know we barely started playing on the galactic stage, but it feels wrong to hide. We should be doing something.” He grimaced. “It’s politics, Spensa. You would be indignant if you were here.”
“You can be indignant on my behalf.”
“I’m trying,” he said. “But you know how my parents are. I love them, Spensa, but…they’re partially responsible. They would have us keep hiding, hoping the enemy will just leave us alone. I know that will never happen. I knew it before you told me about what’s happening with the delvers.”
“Maybe my news will be enough to get them to listen.”
“Maybe,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced.
I glanced around at the decor. I’d noticed that this wasn’t some standard DDF bunkhouse latrine, but now I saw more. Was that gold on the trim? White marble?
“You’re home,” I guessed. “Trying to persuade your parents?”
“I thought maybe they’d listen if I could talk to them outside a formal context. I should have known—they’ve arranged four dinners for me, all with eligible young women from the lower caverns.”
The rich caverns, he meant. The ones best protected from surface attacks. “Good thing I’m not the jealous type,” I said.
“Kind of wish you were,” he said. “If you’d swing by and decapitate one or two of them, maybe the others would give up.”
“Jorgen, please,” I said. “Decapitation is reserved for worthy enemies on the battlefield.”
This coaxed a full-on smile from him. He walked back up to me, and though we couldn’t touch, I could feel his mind behind me—and I successfully resisted the urge to probe his mind with my new talents. We stood there, looking, feeling, for a short time. Because it was all we had.
“You know,” I finally said, “I’m a little surprised to find out you don’t shower in your uniform. I half figured there was some outdated rule that required you to wear it at all times, or suffer one sixteenth of a demerit.”
“Wait until someone hears that I had a girl in the bathroom with me,” he said.
“I’m sure invisible girls don’t count,” I said, and felt myself start to fade. “Take care of yourself, Jorgen.”
“Same to you,” he said. “Consider it an order.”