Puck’s eyes just about bulged out of his head, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed a response. “Oh, uh, okay. Sir…”
Mesa fell in beside her as Adequin left a shocked, silent bridge behind.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cavalon’s first thought as the SGL began to decelerate from warp speed was to wonder if his name carried enough clout to buy his way onto a transport.
After all, he should still have access to his private accounts, not to mention his trust fund. His father had been the progenitor, so Augustus, in theory, wouldn’t have been able to touch it. However, that keyword, “theory,” he couldn’t ignore. His grandfather’s reach was unmatched, and as the unofficial autocrat of the Allied Monarchies, he may have found a way to get his hands on it.
So Cavalon might have been destitute. He really didn’t know. The more important consideration was if anyone at Kharon Gate would even question it. Cash on delivery to the Core—from the mouth of a Mercer. It could be a viable escape route.
But any contemplations of going AWOL quickly evaporated when they slowed to cruising speed and approached the gate.
“Uh…” Emery ceased her obnoxious gum-chomping as she gaped at the viewscreen. “Is that normal, sir?”
Jackin shifted uncomfortably in the pilot’s seat. “No,” he said simply. He opened the comm link again. “I repeat: Kharon Gate, this is the SGL via the SCS Argus, requesting permission to dock.”
No response. Cavalon stood over Jackin’s shoulder, trying not to gawk too openly.
The Apollo Gates were another technology owed entirely to their former subjugators, the exorbitantly advanced Viators. The relays were the only reason mankind had been able to traverse and populate as much of the galaxy as they had. Cavalon’s understanding of how they worked started and ended at the involvement of teracene, a metamaterial devised by Viators that humans had yet to successfully reverse engineer. As far as Cavalon knew, no one had been able to figure out exactly how it worked, only that it did, and that if they kept the stations powered and operational, the teracene continued to function. His handful of degrees had focused on human-originated sciences, so he’d have to leave it to the likes of Mesa to understand anything beyond that.
The station’s construction reflected the typical Viator design motif of everything in threes. Its hull gradually increased in size from aft to bow—a long, narrow, triangular prism of matte-black compressed aerasteel. Along the front face, three enormous, vicious prongs protruded from each peak of the triangle, like some horrible three-beaked swordfish. Nestled between the spikes, usually, sat the churning ball of teracene.
But not today. Instead of the raging yellow-green swirls of concentrated light, ready to fire your molecules a million light-years across the universe, the entire structure sat dark. Not a single ship docked at the bank of air locks along the port or starboard side, and no one hovered nearby, waiting for their turn in the queue.
The SGL’s spotlight cut through the abyss and swept across the outside of the enormous station, easily five times the size of the Argus. Though it appeared intact, it showed no signs of life.
They were still much too far from anything for any natural light to fall on the structure, but it shouldn’t have been needed. Not only should the teracene have been operative, casting its sickly green hue out like a beacon into the void, but the structure itself should have been dotted with illumination from hull lights, or the glow of observation windows within. Even for a gate this far on the edge of nowhere, there should have been some activity. Even if only from the crew who ran the thing.
Cavalon scratched his chin. “I guess that’s why I didn’t come in this way.”
Jackin broke his despondent stare out the front of the ship to look at him. “Yeah … I guess so.”
Warner rested his thick arms on the headrest of the copilot’s chair. “Sir, has it been decommissioned?”