She yanked herself into the open doorway and looked back toward the Tempus. Halfway across, three figures floated in the void, cast in the harsh light, reaching out and pulling themselves forward, as if clinging to a nonexistent tether.
The figures’ edges blurred, skittering back and forth along the path between the ships and it took Adequin a few seconds to recognize what she saw—Griffith and Eura aiding the unconscious Ivana across the expanse, exactly as they had minutes ago, their synchronized progression lit by sporadic flashes of light as the Divide grew closer. The doppelg?ngers seemed completely unaware of Adequin and Jackin’s existence as they pulled themselves across an invisible tether toward the Synthesis.
Adequin glanced at Jackin, who gaped at the time ripple—the reverse time ripple—in total disbelief.
In a jittering flash, the three figures flickered and disappeared. The safety lockout cleared, and Adequin snapped back into the moment, punching commands into the screen. The hatch slid shut and repressurized. She and Jackin both botched their footing and fell to the ground as the ship’s simulated gravity pulled down.
“Rake…” Jackin breathed heavily, bracing himself on his elbows. “That was the past.”
She swallowed, nodding slowly as she met his gaze through their visors. His bloodshot eyes were full of worry, and the charred burns that ran up his face were blistering and black around the edges.
“Quin!” Griffith’s deep voice cracked over the suit comms. “Cockpit—now!”
Adequin leapt to her feet and ran for the cockpit. Jackin tossed his helmet aside and followed.
* * *
Adequin hastened up the two decks to the helm of the Synthesis. Griffith sat strapped in the copilot’s seat with a half dozen holographic screens already docked above the control terminal. Jackin limped to the defense station on Griffith’s right, while Adequin made for the pilot’s seat on the left.
“Shields up,” she ordered, tossing her helmet aside.
“Workin’ on it,” Griffith rumbled as he tapped furiously at the interface.
“I’m here, Bach,” Jackin said, pulling his harness over his shoulders. Griffith palmed one of the large screens and passed it along the dash. It cut out briefly as it jumped across to Jackin’s starboard-facing terminal, which lit in a flurry of holographic screens as the defense station activated.
Adequin pulled the loose safety harness over her head and buckled it, yanking to tighten the straps that’d been set for the Drudger captain’s much thicker torso. She spread out a slew of screens onto the dash and tried to arrange the unfamiliar layout closer to what she’d expect in an SCL vessel of similar make. She supposed their trip out could have been spent setting control preferences and familiarizing herself with the ship’s systems, rather than just standing there, anxiously devising every terrible scenario in which she might find Griffith dead or dying.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“Setting Ivana up in the medbay,” Griffith answered. “I sent your oculi down to make sure the warp core is seated—sublights are currently off line.”
“Copy. Opticals on screen.”
Griffith grunted. “Exterior cams are nothin’ but static.”
“Perfect,” she grumbled. Having to rely on sensors alone would make their withdrawal that much less fun.
A pang of shame tightened her chest at the errant thought—an instinctive reaction engrained in her long ago. She knew better. It’d been one of Lugen’s many mantras: Visuals were nothing but a security blanket. A way to make your brain feel like it might be doing something right—and certainly nothing you could ever rely on. The data was all that mattered.
“Finally,” Jackin said, “Shields up. At one hundred.”