“It’s Eshvaren crystal.”
And yeah, that is weird. We’d found Eshvaren crystal in the Fold before—the probe that led Auri to the Echo. But that doesn’t really explain why the academy commanders gave me a necklace of the stuff.
Or why we’re not dead?
The adrenaline of almost dying and almost kissing and then definitely not dying but, yes, definitely kissing is wearing off now, and my hands feel shaky. But my eyes still roam Finian’s body as he looks around the corridor in that annoyed/ confused way he has, like the universe has decided to inconvenience him specifically. Limbs wrapped in the silver cladding of his exosuit, ghost-pale skin, and pitch-black eyes narrowed as he tilts his head.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says carefully. “But we’re dead-stick in a Syldrathi ship during a massive fleet battle inside Terran space. Even if we survived the blast from the Weapon … shouldn’t some Terran fighter jock be blowing us to pieces right now?”
I frown, tapping comms.
“Zila? What’s happening out there? Can you see the Eshvaren Weapon? What’s the status on the enemy fleet? Are we in danger?”
“We …” Her voice fails.
“Zila?”
And I look at Finian, and I can feel it in him, just like I can feel it in me. That creepy-crawling right up our spines. That feeling like …
“Scar, this conversation seems … awfully familiar.”
“I know what you mean.”
He shakes his head, frowning. “It sounds crazy, but I’m having the strongest feeling of—”
“Déjà vu.”
He blinks. “What the hells is déjà vu?”
“It’s a sensation. The impression you’ve said or done this before.”
“Oh. Right.” He nods vigorously. “Yeah. I’m definitely having that. But Betraskans call it tahk-she.”
“Yeah, I know. But on Terra we call it déjà vu. It’s French.”
“I don’t know any French.”
“Stick around,” I wink. “I’ll teach you some.”
Zila’s voice breaks over comms again, laced with urgency. “Scarlett, please hurry to the bridge. Diplomacies are required.”
And again, I’m struck with that feeling. That we’ve said, done, lived this moment before. And more, that it ended really, really badly. I hold out my hand, and Fin takes it without thinking, and we’re running up the corridor together. Fin’s exosuit seethes and hisses as we sprint, boots pounding the metal as we take the stairs up to the cockpit.
Zila is seated in the pilot’s chair, looking slightly frazzled, which for her almost constitutes a complete nervous breakdown. At first glance, our vis-systems all look dead—nothing but blackness on any of our viewscreens. No planets, not even any stars, which is kinda—
No, hold up. Some cams are still online at least. I can see a small, dumpy-looking space station on one viewscreen, trailing a heavy cable out into that otherwise perfect darkness.
This makes no sense… .
We were in the middle of a massive space battle on the edge of Terran space a few minutes ago. Where did the fleets go? Where did this station come from? And why aren’t there any stars out there?
Zila meets my eyes as I look to her for explanation, and I know it sounds insane, but a part of me knows knows KNOWS …
“I take it you are also experiencing a sensation that suggests this moment is repeating itself,” she says.
“It’s French!” Finian declares.
A pulse of light flares on the viewscreens. It’s dim, deep mauve, only a few seconds long. But my stomach does an ugly little flip as I realize it’s not just darkness out there. There’s some kind of … storm happening. A greasy, rolling collision of dark tendrils, so big it almost breaks my brain.
Fin blinks. “Is that … ?”
“A dark matter tempest,” Zila murmurs. “Yes.”
I glance to the commscreen, the taste of burned metal on my tongue, luminous Syldrathi script crawling across the readouts. I can see the features of what’s definitely a Terran on the monitor—female, young—but her face is mostly obscured by a pilot’s breather and helmet. She has two diamond insignia on her collar marking her as a lieutenant, but that’s definitely not a Terran Defense Force uniform she’s wearing. My first impression is she’s a 17th-level badass. But her voice sounds just a tiiiiiiny bit uncertain.
“Listen … you need to identify yourself and provide clearance codes. You have ten seconds.”