“I don’t know. We’re gonna be pressed for time, for sure.”
“We can check the atlas on the way, see if it looks like it’s updating or not. But we should leave ASAP.”
“They’re on-loading the supplies now,” Jackin assured. “Shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.”
“Good.”
Jackin grimaced, rubbing his fingers gingerly over the healing burn marks that’d cut a path through his beard.
“How’s it feel?” she asked.
“Better. Starting to itch, is all.” He scratched at the unmarred half of his beard. “I should probably shave it, huh?”
She tilted her head. “Nah. I kinda like the asymmetry.”
He quirked a brow.
“Makes you seem edgy.”
A grin twitched on his lips for a brief moment before being overtaken by a frown. “Rake?”
“Yeah, Jack.”
“We haven’t had a chance to talk about Bach.”
Her eyes fluttered down to the terminal screen. “I know.”
“Are you okay?”
“As okay as I can be.”
“I know you like to blame yourself for things. Just … don’t. It’s not your fault.”
She continued to stare down at the terminal. “I don’t blame myself,” she said. “I blame the Legion.”
He grinned. “About time you joined the party.”
She smiled back. “I think my invite got lost in transit.”
“Probably. You know how well comms work out here.”
She let out a heavy breath, then stood. “Ready for this, Jack?”
He stood as well. “Ready, boss.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Adequin could do nothing, and it drove her fucking mad.
She’d helped off-load the supplies along with Griffith and Puck, then gone into detail with Jackin about the Divide’s position, checking the atlas to determine its approximate location and speed. They had an hour, maybe less—but they couldn’t be sure. The atlas appeared to be updating, but they didn’t know the severity of the delay.
But as they’d flown the SGL back toward the enormous structure, Adequin had seen the telltale static sparks flashing as the various debris, stray gases, and random stardust that lay outward were extinguished from existence. So she knew it was close, and growing closer every minute.
Once they were inside, she could only stand there as Cavalon and Mesa fluttered around within the enormous bronze sphere—apparently an extremely powerful fusion reactor—and watch. Wait for them to figure it out. Try to interpret their rushed requests if they called out for things. But mostly it’d been a two-person operation, and she could do little but stand back and wait to be summoned.
After a time, she’d taken up post outside the door to the curved corridor and deemed herself responsible for running interference between doppelg?ngers and the real Mesa and Cavalon. It’d been a bit of a time-ripple nightmare, exacerbated by the fact that approximately every three seconds, Mesa or Cavalon changed their mind about something. That sent their duplicates into rippling, confused choruses of possibilities, and they were not quiet about it. The Mesas were enraged that their work had been hindered, and the Cavalons immediately became flustered and unsure of what to do with themselves.
Griffith had offered some sage advice—apparently approaching a duplicate with a bit of a paradox could expedite its disappearance. If you informed it that it was not in fact real, pointed out the present version of itself, or better yet, did something to the present version of itself that it couldn’t have recalled happening, because you’d just decided to do it, it would vanish much quicker.