Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Imogen runs as shouts echo behind her. The voices in her head press closer, threatening to overwhelm her in their intensity, and she can't block them out today, can't make them stop, no matter how hard she tries.

How did she do that?
Is anyone hurt?
I can’t feel my arm!

Her fingertips spark with purple light, and even though her hands are hidden by gloves, she can feel the energy crawling up the scars. She doesn't know for sure that she's being chased, because the voices all sound so close. They always sound too close.

Someone help!
She's getting away!
Stop her!

She grits her teeth against the intruding voices, drives her legs faster as she leaves the cluster of buildings in the town center and Master Faramore's workshop comes into view. The "stables'' he calls the building, but only with Imogen, because she understands his work. The things he builds in there are creatures more than ships, and Imogen has a way with them that no one else does.

Faramore is one of the few off-worlders on Gelvaan, other than the Stratos Throne soldiers stationed here. Faramore crafts living bio-ships, sentient but non-sapient. And Imogen is good with them. Good at taking care of them, keeping them safe, keeping them calm, keeping them happy. Imogen doesn’t question Master Faramore’s strange hobby. Because Imogen understands all too well what it's like to be different. Besides, these are gentle creatures — flighty, but undemanding. Imogen feels connected to them in a way she never has with people.

So it’s Flora that she pets as she enters the stables. Flora's her favourite. “We’re going for a ride, ok? Just one last time.”

Imogen keys in the code to open the rooftop of the hangar and climbs aboard the living ship. As the organic airlock seals itself, her eyes adjust to the faint light from the bioluminescent walls. The cabin of the ship is tiny, enough space for one person, but it would be cramped with two. The controls are minimalistic, a few screens embedded into the walls, and two consoles in front of a seat-like protrusion. Flying one of Faramore's ships is more like guiding an animal rather than piloting a mechanical craft. But Imogen is good at this, especially with Flora, the most temperamental of the fleet.

The ship rumbles as Imogen passes a hand over the console, sends out calming thoughts that she herself doesn't feel. “Just a short trip, then I’ll send you back. Don’t worry.”

Flora’s cadenced pulsing is more like a heartbeat than an engine, increasing in intensity as she picks up speed. Obediently, the ship rises into the sky, and through her screens, Imogen can see people milling about on the ground outside the stables. She imagines her father down there among the crowd, even though she’s already too high to make out faces. "Goodbye Dad," she whispers into the empty ship as the buildings below get smaller and the air above gets thinner. The thoughts of the crowd grow quiet as she accelerates upwards, and soon the low thrum of the ship is the only thing Imogen can hear.

Finally, some peace.

No thoughts but her own. Imogen lets out a long sigh and wipes the tears from her face.

Flora shudders with the exertion of escaping the planet's gravity, but once they break into the quiet of space the ship settles into a steady rhythm. Gradually, Imogen aligns her breathing to Flora’s rhythm, calming herself and guiding them further away from the planet and its star.

The orbital defense stations of the Stratos Throne pay no heed to the tiny ship. No patrol ships are launched after her. Imogen’s not sure that anyone's even told them what's going on. She's not sure they would care. A local woman getting into a fight and bruising some other inhabitants of a backwater planet isn't what the soldiers are here to deal with. This is a frontier system on the periphery of the galaxy. A border province within the Stratos Throne, itself already far from the densely populated empires nearer the core. Had it not been for the relatively recent Apex War and the need to defend the wormhole link to the rest of the Throne, there probably wouldn’t even be a garrison on Gelvaan.

Flora turns towards the outer reaches of the system and speeds up. The wormhole transit station is in the other direction, nearer to the sun and its prodigious amounts of power. The military wouldn’t allow an unauthorized ship there. But the outer system contains only a single gas giant and its handful of moons, all poor enough in resources such that industrial mining stations had never been built.

Imogen imagines that Flora enjoys this sensation, racing across the void into the starlight, and Imogen wonders what it would be like to feel that. She glances to the rear of the ship, confirms that the emergency space suit is there in its storage pod, and she thinks that maybe this will be her chance. This will be her last ride. She's not going back.

Gelvaan hasn't felt like home in a long time.

So she steers the ship towards the red gas giant in the distance, and kicks Flora up to relativistic speeds. It’ll only take a few hours to get there. Imogen has heard of the gigantic red storms swirling across the planet's face, watched them intently from telescopes on Gelvaan. She doesn’t know if these are the storms from her nightmares, but maybe that doesn’t matter anymore either. Because in the dream, Imogen’s mother always tells her to run, but Imogen’s done running. “We’ll just fly by and then I’ll send you back to Faramore, Flora. You won’t miss me.”

“Oi! Someone’s coming.”

Laudna stops humming to herself and looks up at the screen. There's a small ship approaching, one of the biological ones she's seen circling Gelvaan before. None have ever ventured away from the planet in the time she’s been hiding behind this moon with Pâté.

“Did they see us?” Laudna double-checks all the instruments. Her ship is running at minimum power and on strict emission control, with a rocky moon in between herself and the inhabited planet to boot. Her drone sensor net is out, but passive scanning only, and the drones are far too small to detect at this distance from Gelvaan.

“Headed straight for us boss, but we’re orbiting the only planet out here.” Pate's voice feels like it's echoing directly in her mind. Sometimes, Laudna isn't sure if he really speaks, or she has some sort of mental link with her ship AI. He has a fun accent though. Laudna quite likes it. There aren't many friends to be made out in the void of the periphery.

Laudna traces a long fingernail across the blip on her screen. “It’s a bio-ship. A tiny one. Not military. No visible weapons, and not equipped for interplanetary travel. Their course will take them on a close approach with the gas giant if they start a braking maneuver soon. I think they’re headed to the planet, in a pleasure craft.”

“So we stay hidden?”

“Yes. As long as they don’t see us and call the soldiers, we’ll be fine. We just need one more day to fill up the storage tanks with raw materials.” Reflexively, Laudna slows her breathing and heart rate further, even alone inside her ship. A few button presses kill the onboard lights, leaving only the glow of the screens and the controls. The temperature inside drops as well, bringing Pâté closer to the cold dark vastness of space. On the outside of the hull, the nanobot swarm embedded in Pâté reconfigures itself to minimize the emissions profile in the direction of the approaching ship.

Then they watch the sensors as the bio-ship flips over and begins braking. On the screen, the wide band of possible courses shrinks as the interloper slows, until Laudna is sure they are passing within a few hundred kilometers of the gas giant’s atmosphere.

"Gonna skim right over the planet,” Pâté agrees. “Do you want to talk to them?”

Laudna hesitates at the question. Because Pâté knows her all too well. Laudna is lonely. And she would love to talk to somebody who isn’t a ship AI infested with the same nanobot swarm as herself. But talking to people can be dangerous. Especially if they find out you’re carrying a Briarwood variant virus. “No. We don’t even know if there’s anyone on that ship.”

“Eh, that’s too bad. I’m quite horny you see.”

Laudna swats at the controls in mock indignation.

Imogen stands in the airlock and watches the gas giant grow larger in the viewport. The red storms seem contemplative at this distance. She wonders if there’s lightning down there like in her dreams.

With a sigh she runs her bare fingertips over the walls of Flora, feeling the pulse of life one last time. “You leave me and go, ok? Don’t look back, Flora.”

She puts on the gloves of the space suit and seals the helmet around her head. An alarm in her suit beeps to warn her that she has no tether attached, but Imogen silences it. She watches the speed indicator on the ship drop to near zero, then she cycles the airlock and opens the door.

One deep breath, followed by a thruster assisted leap, and Imogen is alone in the vastness of space, surrounded only by the glimmer of millions of stars thousands of light-years away. Behind her, Flora powers away as requested, headed right back towards home. But up ahead looms the planet Gelvaan III, a large red gas giant riddled with large storms. Inside Imogen’s helmet, the display shows her approaching the atmosphere quickly, mere minutes away.

“Goodbye, Flora,” she whispers. And then, “I’m coming, Mama.”

“The ship is leaving,” Pâté says, “but someone jumped out.”

Laudna’s hands dance over the controls as she directs the sensor drones closer. “What are they doing?”

“Standard configuration emergency space suit, civilian model. Should be able to withstand vacuum for several days. However this person is diving into the gas giant atmosphere and the suit won’t survive that.”

Laudna pushes a button and the ship comes to life with a shudder. The lights turn on, the air circulation starts, and the bridge shakes as the engines start. She knows the military outposts might see if she leaves her hiding spot with her engines on, but someone’s out there. Alone. Someone needs help.

Imogen watches in awe as the planet’s gravity pulls her in. Slowly, the darkness of space is replaced by wispy trails of gas in the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Her vision gets redder and redder as the gas gets denser, and the rushing of atmosphere around her becomes deafening. There are flashes in the distance, far below her, and Imogen thinks that they must be lightning. She doesn’t know whether to expect thunder here, doesn’t know how these things work on other planets. Imogen has never set foot on any planet other than her homeworld.

Soon, she can see nothing but roiling red clouds, and her space suit flashes warnings of increasing temperature and pressure outside. Imogen ignores them. It won’t be long now. She allows herself to relax into the free fall, and her mind opens up fully. And even though the physical sound of her body hurtling into the gas giant is bone rattling, she expects to hear nothing from her mind.

But there’s music.

Somewhere in this storm, amidst the raging clouds, there is music carried to her mind, like windchimes playing in the distance.

Imogen thinks it might be lack of oxygen playing tricks on her mind. Or the gravity is getting too much as she falls further and further. But maybe it doesn’t even matter. The music is nice. Fitting even. As her last conscious act, Imogen powers off the space suit and lets herself go.

Imogen wakes in the darkness. The dim light shows only long shadows moving around her. It’s cold. It smells like autumn somehow, like damp earth and dead leaves. But the music is still playing, the music that she remembers from before. It’s clearer now, closer.

Is this what it’s like to be dead? Imogen shivers.

There’s a mind nearby all of sudden, overlaid with the music. There is fear and trepidation and worry and concern. There is a face moving into view, pale and gaunt, with big blinking eyes and dark lips formed into an uncertain line. “Are you all right?” The woman speaks.

Imogen hears the voice of her mother. Run! And she fights the urge to scream. Instead, she sits up and pulls her knees to her chest. “I… I think so.”

The woman is tall and thin, dark hair with a single white streak through it. Her mouth smiles, a little too big, a little too wide, the teeth a little too long. An ashen hand is offered, fingernails a solid black in contrast. “I’m Laudna.” But the music grows stronger, and Imogen is sure it comes from this person — this Laudna, whose thoughts are musical instead of painful somehow.

So she takes the outstretched hand in her own, “Imogen.” The skin is cool to the touch, and Imogen shivers again.

Laudna releases the hand as soon as that happens, retreats into the shadows once more. “Are you sure you’re all right?” And Imogen can sense the nervousness rolling off Laudna, the music growing a little more frenetic.

“Yes. I think—" Imogen sits up straight, shakes her head as if to clear it, and tries her best to smile. "I think you saved me.”

Chapter Text

“Shall I take you home?” Laudna offers from the darkness. "My ship took some damage diving into the atmosphere, but once it's patched up I can take you back."

Imogen considers the question, the figure asking, and the dark room around her. Only the faintest safety lights adorn the floor of the ship, marking out paths and walls. Laudna is mostly hidden again, her face having been briefly visible when she stepped forward to shake hands, but otherwise she’s just a lanky shape in the background.

“It’s very dark in here.” Imogen states the obvious instead of saying she doesn’t want to go home. Somehow, it seems safer not to think about that. The music in her mind is still fast, and when she closes her eyes she can see the red storm of her dreams blending into the atmosphere of the gas giant. “Where are we?” She blurts out.

Laudna shifts to one side, slides the cover up a viewport, and the room is bathed in a reflected red glow. Outside the window are the swirling gasses that Imogen remembers so vividly.

In here though, is a sparse room with very little furniture. The walls and floor look almost wooden and decaying, so unlike the gleaming metal Imogen’s always associated with military ships. The bed she sits on is a tattered mattress with threadbare sheets accompanied by a similarly ragged blanket and pillow. On the floor is her crumpled spacesuit, helmet askance as though the whole thing was removed and discarded in a hurry. A little further away is a table facing the wall, and that table is covered with small knick-knacks and bits of material, little ornaments and tools. An assortment of half-completed crafts is strewn about. Imogen sees spools of thread and a pair of scissors, a mug whose handle is only partly attached, what looks like a child’s doll but missing the head and one leg.

The hair on the back of Imogen's neck rises. Goosebumps form on the exposed skin of her arms.

Laudna notices right away. Laudna sees Imogen looking around then looking at her. So Laudna closes the viewport again, hides herself once more in the dark. “Are you cold?”

Imogen nods, somehow sure that Laudna can see her even without light. “Yeah, it is a bit chilly.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually have guests.” And she busies herself with some controls near the entrance to the room. Almost immediately, the air begins to warm. “Would you like some food or water?”

“Water, please.”

Laudna opens the door to leave.

“Wait.” Imogen calls out, rubbing her own forearms. “Can you turn on the light?”

There's a long pause. Imogen can feel the thoughts swirling around Laudna's head. And she's not trying to pry, but there's no one else here. It's just them, and Laudna's thoughts are singular and loud even before she speaks them. People say I'm scary. "People think I'm scary."

"People say I'm scary too."

"You don't look scary." You look nice.

Imogen reaches out telepathically and connects with Laudna, speaks straight into her mind. Looks can be deceiving.

Laudna turns on the lights and flees the room.

She returns a few minutes later with a glass of water. Her clothes look to have been smoothed and straightened hastily, though that's done nothing for their raggedness. Her hair is tied up on itself, a small hammer-like object holding it in place. Nervous fingernails drum against the side of the glass. Laudna looks self-conscious in the light, and Imogen doesn't know why that should matter.

Imogen accepts the glass as it's handed over, careful not to touch where Laudna's fingers are. She can see inky streaks left on the outside. She sips the water without asking about the black marks. "Thank you."

There's another long pause where Laudna doesn't respond, and the sound of Imogen's drinking seems too loud in this space. "You're not from Gelvaan, are you?"

Laudna laughs, a quick high snort that makes her cover her own mouth in embarrassment. "Whatever gave that away?" But her words are singsong, almost playful, and Imogen suddenly wants nothing more than to hear her speak again.

"Oh, I think I would have heard about you if you were." Imogen brushes purple hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear, continues her thoughts in Laudna’s mind. Sometimes I hear things.

Laudna looks away. I hear voices too.

"That's me," Imogen says out loud, suddenly aware. "I'm the one doing that. But I can stop if you don't like it. We can talk the usual way."

Laudna shakes her head, doesn’t look up. "I don't mind, it's nice to have someone real to talk to, even in my head."

“Are you out here by yourself?”

“It’s just me and Pâté.” Laudna smiles, gestures at the room around them. “Pâté is my ship.”

"Ello! Pâté de Rolo at your service." The voice is accented and rough, charming and ridiculous all at the same time.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Imogen.”

“So you do hear him?” Laudna whispers, “it’s not all in my head?”

“I’m right here,” Pâté protests.

And it’s Imogen’s turn to laugh. She’s heard of sentient ship AIs of course, but she’s never met one. And she doesn’t know if Pâté has an avatar, or if he’s embedded in the ship itself, but for some reason she imagines a bird skull with empty eyes. Maybe it’s an image her subconscious registered as she was plucked out of the atmosphere by the ship. She realizes she doesn’t know what this ship looks like from the outside.

“Thank you for saving me, Pâté,” Imogen says. And when Laudna meets her eyes, Imogen adds, “thanks to both of you. You didn’t have to do that.“

There’s a long pause then, with Laudna staring at the wall, and Imogen thinks that Laudna must be talking in her head with Pâté. Is this what it’s like when Imogen has telepathic conversations? She’s never experienced the other perspective before.

When Laudna’s attention returns, Imogen can almost feel Pâté withdrawing, giving the two of them privacy, even though nothing is said, and nothing in the room changes. Perhaps it’s the weight in the air, or the way their breaths sound, or the way Laudna is now focused entirely on her. “Why did you jump out of your ship?”

Imogen has lots of reactions but no answers. There are feelings and resentments and inadequacies, but none that she can put into words. So instead, she answers Laudna’s earlier question, the practical one, even if it’s not the most important. “I don’t want to go back home,” she says. And it’s the truth, even if she knows she can’t stay here. They’re drifting in the atmosphere of a gas giant with only uninhabited moons, in the outer reaches of a border system on the Periphery, and Imogen has never felt more alone.

You could stay with me. Laudna’s thoughts come unbidden, and with them a wash of loneliness even more powerful than Imogen’s. Laudna’s eyes haven’t moved, unblinking and focused still on Imogen.

Imogen almost responds, broadcasting into Laudna’s mind again, but she holds back. She can’t ask for that. She doesn’t know this person, or this ship, or where they’re going, or what they’re going to do. Imogen only knows that she can’t go back. “I…I can’t–”

“Oi!” Pâté interrupts. “We’ve got two patrol ships incoming, scanners active, broadcasting on multiple frequencies.”

Laudna scrambles up and out of the room. Imogen follows without thinking.

There’s a short hallway and then they’re straight into the command center of the ship. The walls here are covered in large screens with all kinds of information on them. The sensor display shows two military scout ships leaving the orbital station around Imogen’s homeworld and cruising straight towards them.

Over the audio system, plays the automated message being broadcast. “Unregistered ship, you are within sovereign territory of the Stratos Throne without proper identification. Stop your engines and prepare to be boarded for inspection. Unregistered ship, you are–”

Laudna mutes the transmission as she settles into the chair at the helm. The gravity on the ship shifts as it lifts out of the red atmosphere. Imogen slips into an empty seat and attaches the safety harness.

“How much time, Pâté?”

“Forty minutes to intercept, but if they have relativistic missiles they could start launching any second."

The stars on the main viewscreen shift as Laudna turns the ship away from their pursuers. However, a rear view continues to show the planet Gelvaan, and the small specks racing out from it. “Have they seen us?”

"Their scanners are active, and that transmission is tight-beam, pointed right at us. So yes.”

"Recall the sensor drones."

"Already done."

"Repairs?”

"Hull is sealed. Not completely fixed yet, but able to travel. Materials storage is 83% capacity. Point defenses are prepared. The nanofab is ready, but we don’t know what kind of weapons the Stratos Throne has."

Imogen feels the vibration through her seat grow faster, and the image of her homeworld suddenly starts to shrink on the screen. There's no perceptible acceleration though, no force pushing her into her seat. No typical engine sounds either, just a strange creaking and skittering coming from somewhere far below. Was this some kind of advanced ship equipped with an inertial stabilization system? Or even a reactionless drive? She'd heard stories of the AI gods and their agents in the core empires with their godtech ships. This couldn't be one of those, right?

But Pâté had mentioned having a nano-fabricator on board. Master Faramore would give much to have access to one of those — very rare and expensive this far out on the Periphery. And Laudna had one on her ship!

Laudna taps her nails on the controls, and Pâté's humming vibration becomes faster and more urgent still, almost like a whine. “Can we outrun them?” She asks.

“No, those are military scout ships. They’re faster than us.”

So not godtech then. Because while the Stratos Throne might be a significant player in this distant corner of the galaxy, it remained a polity consisting mostly of near-baseline humans and technology, so any transapient ship would outmatch even the military.

"We can give them a good chase." Laudna leans forward in her chair. "We have plenty of fuel. At top speed, we can stay ahead of them for at least a couple of days. Maybe they'll get tired and give up if we get far enough."

"We'll be out of fuel though," Påté points out. "I don't like that."

"They won't give up if they think you're from Aeshanadoor," Imogen chimes in. "The Apex War wasn't that long ago." She realizes then that she doesn't know where Laudna is from either. She doesn't seem like a spy, but what if she's working for the Court of the Lambent Path?

Before Laudna can respond, Pâté jumps in. "We're getting a new message now," and he plays the transmission.

"Unidentified ship, you are in violation of Stratos Throne law. Cut your engines and submit to inspection, or we will open fire. This is your final warning."

The voice is gruff but even. Imogen would call it a command voice, the voice commonly used by soldiers or other authority figures who are accustomed to having their orders followed.

But Imogen knows how often that tone hides fear or insecurity. "Let me talk to them," she says, "I'm a local."

Their eyes meet as Laudna hesitates, and Imogen gives a small nod. She's not sure about this, but it doesn't sound like they can get away, and Laudna did save her, so it's the least that Imogen can do. She can try.

The ship slows and Laudna opens a channel.

"I'm a citizen from Gelvaan," Imogen explains, trying her best to sound friendly and reasonable. "I work with Master Faramore. I had some trouble with my ship and had to eject, but this kind stranger saved me."

"And your name?"

"Temult, sir. Imogen."

There's a long pause, and Laudna wrings her hands together as she imagines the soldiers checking records. Imogen wonders if her father reported her as missing.

The wait drags on, and when the captain finally replies, the demeanor is different, even harsher than before. "Well, Miss Temult, the ship you're aboard is carrying a known malicious virus, so we cannot allow you back." The connection is cut abruptly.

Alarms start sounding right away, and Pâté's next words are ominous. "Weapon launch detected. Eight contacts. Twelve seconds to impact.”

Imogen grips her chair, turning her knuckles white. Laudna guides the ship as the view on the screen swings back and forth. Pâté weaves away from the missiles, but again there's no physical sensation of motion, nothing pressing them into their seats, or threatening to throw them out.

"Decoys released, the nanofab is building more."

Laudna curses under her breath. They shouldn't have stopped. The patrol ships are too close now, and now they don't have the head start that might have let them get away before.

Imogen strains against her safety harness, heart pounding and palms sweaty. She watches bolts of green energy fly across the screen, and the scout ships evade, falling a little further behind as they dodge. "Did you just fire back at them?"

Laudna doesn't answer directly. "If we can disable their scanners, we can get away. We're far from the orbital stations, and without active scanners they won't be able to track us."

"All incoming missiles neutralized, but the ships are still closing," Pâté says. "Another volley launched. Eight additional contacts."

"Countermeasures?" Laudna pushes the throttle all the way.

"Deployed, but we're using up our raw materials." Pâté somehow sounds out of breath, even if that shouldn’t be possible.

"I can stop their scanners," Imogen interrupts. "If you brake and let them pass close to us, I can disable them." See, Imogen knows the size of the Stratos Throne patrol ships. She’s seen them around Gelvaan, sometimes intercepting Master Faramore’s creations as an exercise. Each ship can hold up to a dozen soldiers, though typically crewed by five or six. That’s ten to twenty soldiers likely across both vessels, and though Imogen’s powers are recent, she’d done much worse just earlier today, just in a smaller area. And Imogen knows the Stratos Throne employs cybernetic interfaces on its military ships. That means the ships are dependent on human operators, even if those humans are technologically assisted. And Imogen can deal with humans.

Laudna’s eyes flick up to Imogen, then back at the screens. “How close do we need to be?”

“As close as we can get.”

“Ok Pâté, here we go.” Laudna lifts her hands then, and plunges them into the console in front of her, sinking her arms into the computer terminal. Black goo bubbles up from the console and encases Laudna’s arms up to the elbows. Small ripples seem to move up and down her arms, glittering as they travel. She pulls her arms back, and the black substance follows, long dark strands connecting sharp fingers to an oozing pile of black goop. A small rat-like creature rises out of the slurry, adorned with wings and bone white helmet. Its appendages are attached to strands of shadow, like puppet strings, and it dances as Laudna moves her fingers.

Laudna’s eyes have become pools of pure inky darkness. She did say she was scary.

But Imogen pushes away the mounting fear, focuses instead on the music that’s suddenly louder. She holds her breath and gathers her energy, closes her eyes and sends her consciousness outward. She senses the braking maneuver in her mind more than her body, the crescendo of anxiety building in Laudna. But as Pâté comes to an abrupt stop, she hears the cacophony of other minds pass nearby, a distant overlapping babble of voices, just barely audible. And her mind whips out, lashing out at all those voices, pouring her anger and frustration out in one single instant. Imogen screams, eyes flashing white, and Laudna emits a scream right along with her.

“Both ships disabled.” Pâté announces. "No active sensors or transmissions, no power to engines."

Laudna recovers from the shock quickly, her body and the helm console already back to normal. She sniffs and wipes a hand across her face, where a drop of black ichor leaks from one nostril. “Let’s get out of here.” She punches the controls to get Pâté moving again, before looking over at Imogen. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.”

Chapter Text

Imogen forces herself to breathe. She tries not to think about what she just saw, Laudna covered in black goo, puppetting that strange creature, her arms moving in eerie and unnatural ways. Imogen knows the galaxy is vast, that there are all kinds of people in it, fantastical types created through genetic engineering or cybernetic enhancement or unknowable transapient godtech.

And if she's honest with herself, Imogen isn't any different. She too has strange powers that scare people. So who is she to judge? "Are we going to talk about this?"

Laudna hums, a simple sound in contrast to the nervous stuttering notes Imogen can hear in her thoughts. She doesn't answer right away, instead steering Pâté away from the drifting Stratos Throne ships, heading outside the ecliptic plane of the system, where reinforcements are likely to go looking. Pâté slips through the void, a cloud of nanobots left behind to mask their escape.

When Laudna does speak, it is several minutes later and she answers the original question with another question. "Are you scared now?"

Imogen swallows, considers. "No." She's not sure if that's true, but it's the right thing to say. "Are you?"

Laudna shakes her head, smiles with quiet approval. "You're very capable."

Imogen smiles back.

There's an awkward silence then, that drags on for a long moment. And Laudna is the first to cave, breaking eye contact and looking away, busying herself with piloting the ship, even though Pâté seems perfectly able to fly himself. So Imogen speaks into her mind. Are we gonna talk about this?

Laudna's eyes snap back towards Imogen. She blinks. Yes. Let's. We can take turns asking questions. You first.

And Imogen has a hundred questions to ask, but she decides to start simple. That seems safer. So she speaks out loud. "Does it bother you? When I talk in your head?"

"It's fine. Fine. I hear voices in my head sometimes. So it's nice to talk to a real person every now and then."

Imogen waits for more, but nothing is forthcoming. "Your turn," she prompts.

"Do you want to go home? I know I asked earlier but that was before the whole—." Laudna raises her arms and makes a face, hisses dramatically. "So if you want, I can assemble an escape pod and launch you back towards the planet. We just need to find an asteroid or a comet to salvage for materials."

It's Imogen who looks away this time, staring instead at the multitude of stars on the viewscreen, considering the infinite possibilities of the galaxy beyond. "What if I don't want to go home?"

Laudna laughs, high-pitched and nervous. "You can come with us, we don't have a home."

"Laudna's very lonely," Pâté chimes in.

"You're not helping," Laudna retorts.

"She's kind of a hermit," Pâté continues, and Imogen is struck by how much she would like to be a hermit. To just go, leave Gelvaan behind, and all the noise of people and their thoughts. To travel the galaxy in search of answers about her dreams and her mother. She can't ask for that though, no matter how much Imogen might want it, even if they did maybe save each other's lives, they've only just met.

"Where will we go?" Imogen asks, suddenly aware that she's not bringing anything into this. Pâté is Laudna's sentient ship, armed with Laudna's weapons, carrying Laudna's nanofab, and Imogen has only her unexplained powers and a damaged space suit in the other room. So before Laudna can answer, Imogen backpedals. "If you don't want to take me, I'll go. You don't owe me anything. You didn't have to save me."

"And you didn't have to save me from those ships, so we'll call it even."

Is it true? Imogen asks in Laudna's head, where Pâté can't hear. Are you lonely?

The melody in Laudna's thoughts drops lower, and Imogen knows a lie is being pondered, so she cuts it off. I'll go with you. Wherever you're going. I just want to leave.

The music changes again in steps and stutters, timid, hopeful. "We can leave the way we came. There's a wormhole in the outer reaches of the system, a few light-days away."

"There's another wormhole? Out in empty space?" Imogen is incredulous. She'd never heard anyone speak (or think) of a second wormhole, despite having lived her entire life on Gelvaan.

"Yes, an old one I think. Abandoned, from before the war, before the Stratos Throne, possibly pre-Divergence even."

"You went through an unsupervised wormhole? Is that safe?" Imogen doesn't know the intricacies of wormhole physics, though she's heard all the popular lore. That wormholes are unstable and will evaporate if not maintained. That entering wormholes can be deadly without a precisely calculated trajectory requiring either specially trained AI or transapient intelligence. That's why active transit wormholes usually have a space station in orbit around them, a place to dock transport ships and house traffic control.

"Probably not, but Pâté and I have a few tricks up our sleeves."

At the mention of sleeves, Imogen thinks again of Laudna's arms dripping with black goo, her face also covered, almost veil-like. "You're not from Aeshanadoor, are you?"

Laudna shakes her head. "I'm from Whitestone, in the Tal'dorei sector. That's towards the galactic core from here, but far far away. I've been traveling for a long time."

"Was it nice there? Why did you leave?" Imogen is curious, but she stops herself, smoothes out her clothes. "I'm sorry, I guess it's your turn." She hasn't been counting really, and she doubts Laudna has been either, but it only seems fair.

"Why did you jump into the gas giant?"

Imogen regrets her decision immediately. "I'm… I… I guess…" Imogen trails off. She doesn't have an answer. She has lots of feelings, but no words. She has dreams of red storms and lightning and world-ending explosions. She remembers her father, distant and cold. She remembers the voice of her mother yelling in the storm. She remembers the people of Gelvaan, their intruding thoughts and judging eyes. She remembers anger, and lashing out, and hating herself for doing so. She remembers Flora, and the vastness of space, the blissful peace of emptiness, and wanting nothing more than to drown herself in that silence. But right now, mostly she remembers music, soft and defiant, ringing out against the raging winds and keeping the storm at bay. "Ask me something else. Two questions even. I'll tell you some other time."

"Do you read minds?"

"I can, sort of. Only biological human minds, as far as I can tell. And surface thoughts, mostly without trying, things that people are consciously thinking of. I can dig deeper if I want to, but it doesn't always work, and it's exhausting, and not very pleasant." Imogen shakes her head, as if to clear it. "I won't read your mind, I promise."

Laudna taps a finger on her own temple. "It's not that exciting I'm afraid. But thank you."

There's a pause where Laudna looks like she wants to ask another question, bites her lip until Imogen points at her.

"What did you do back there? To those ships?"

"I didn't do anything to the ships. But the soldiers inside are human. And I can touch their minds. Hurt them too if I have to." Imogen tries her best to look reassuring, gives a small smile. "I promise I won't hurt you," she whispers. "Now do you believe I'm scary?"

But all Laudna does is smile back. "You're the nicest person I've ever met."

Imogen doesn't know how that could be. Most days she doesn't feel like she's nice. Laudna seems much more like the nice one. "Is it true, what the soldiers said?" Imogen blurts out, as if to convince herself that she can't possibly be nice. "Are you carrying a virus?"

Laudna laces her fingers together vertically, then pulls her hands apart, and strands of black goo stretch in between her fingers. The dark substance coalesces into a rat-like figure sitting in Laudna's palm. "If you haven't heard of Whitestone, then you don't know about the Briarwoods, or the nanobot disaster that they caused. They brought the swarm with them to Whitestone, used it to overthrow the rulers and infiltrate the angelnet. They were looking for something, underneath the planet surface, but they destroyed so much in the process, killed so many people." Laudna flinches, and the puppet in her palm dances. "I was infested with the black goo. Pâté was given sentience by it. We're only here because of it. It keeps us alive. The swarm and the virus live on within us. But we're not welcome anywhere because of it." The puppet dissolves away, but the black goo remains, transforming into little discrete blobs that snake up Laudna's arms. They circle around her before falling to the ground and disappearing into various nooks and crannies in the ship. "So that's my secret. What's yours?"

Imogen thinks for a moment, because she feels like she already told her secret. And she's been far more open with Laudna than anyone else, even if they've only just met. But maybe Laudna feels just as lonely as her, just as peculiar, just as strange and intimidating, in an interesting sort of way. So it's a suggestion that Imogen voices, rather than a secret. It's an affirmation of things already said, of promises made but not yet sealed. And Imogen is suddenly shy without knowing why. "I don’t mind being hermits together."

Laudna claps her hands. "Do you hear that, Pâté?"

"Ho ho! Are we making friends?"

"We are!" And Laudna sounds so excited Imogen can't help but laugh.

"And such a pretty one too!"

"Don't be weird, Pâté." Laudna makes a shooing motion, but she beams at Imogen. “Let me give you the tour.”

Chapter Text

"So this is the bridge, obviously." Laudna gestures at the controls. "Then we've got a small galley and storage area through here.” She leads Imogen aft. “On this side is the airlock. Other side leads to the engine compartment and cargo bay, but that's not pressurized so don't open that." The door is criss-crossed with black ribbons and red thread. Laudna points down the hall to the room they were in earlier. “And you've seen the sleeping quarters already. It's not much, but it's my ship.”

"You can't access the ship's systems?" Imogen doesn't know why that makes her nervous. After all, she would not have been able to do more than the most rudimentary repairs of Flora either, despite Master Faramore’s lessons. And who knew what sort of darktech this ship ran on anyway? Imogen wouldn't even know where to begin if she had to fix anything.

"No, that belongs to the nanobots,” Laudna warns. “It's all black goo down there. No life support either. Pâté and Delilah run the ship. I just fly it."

"Who's Delilah?"

Laudna shakes her head. “It's the voice I hear, Lady Delilah Briarwood. Maybe it's just her likeness, or maybe it's her actual consciousness uploaded to the nanoswarm? I don't know how it works. All I know is sometimes she talks to me, and sometimes I talk back.” The lights flicker then, as if to punctuate the point, and the ship's interior is cloaked in darkness for a few seconds. Laudna smiles when the light returns, showing teeth that seem just a little too sharp. “Pâté says he can hear her too.”

Imogen feels cold all of a sudden, and there are so many other questions to ask, about Delilah and nanobots and the nature of consciousness, but she pushes the fear away, changes the subject instead. “How long until we reach the wormhole?”

“Four days, give or take. If you're bored, I have a small library downloaded from the last time I was on the ‘Net, but it's a few years old. And I don't think the Stratos Throne would appreciate us trying to use their network wormhole near the sun.” Stable connections were hard to come by on the fringes of the Periphery. Communications wormholes tended to be built near population centers or military outposts, neither of which were welcoming to Laudna.

“You don't have to entertain me. You've given more than I could have asked for. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Laudna’s face softens. “You can help with dinner.”

—

They are seated at a small table for their meal, and Imogen doesn’t know how much she actually helped with the cooking, but Laudna seemed to genuinely enjoy having company, chattering away while they assembled ingredients and cut them, throwing them into the pot and stirring. And Imogen had never seen a kitchen aboard a spaceship, but it didn’t seem so different from the implements she had back home, albeit more technologically sophisticated.

It’s a simple enough meal, a bowl of soup for each of them, some crusty bread, and fresh fruits for dessert later.

“Do you cook often?” Imogen asks.

“Yes, Pâté can make survival rations with the nanofab, but those aren’t nearly as fun to eat. And I have lots of time by myself, so it gives me something to do.”

Imogen slurps a spoonful of soup, smiles at the bright hot taste of it. “This is very good.”

Laudna claps her hands. “Made with real vegetables! Grown in actual soil on an actual planet, not one of those hydroponic spaceborne farms. I bought them from a smuggler some weeks back.”

“I didn't realize how rare that must be for you. I've only ever lived on Gelvaan, where almost all the food was grown on the planet. Sometimes Master Faramore would have some fancy offworld stuff he would let me try, but that was always expensive and rare. If I had known, I would have brought you some produce. You should have saved that for yourself.” Imogen doesn't remind her that she left in a rush, that she hadn't thought to pack anything at all, much less fresh vegetables, because she hadn't planned on eating really. Her face falls. It seems so stupid now.

“But you’re my guest.” And Laudna smiles. Even without probing, Imogen can feel the warmth coming from her thoughts, and Imogen can’t stop her own lips curling up just a little.

“Thank you so much.” Imogen means more than for the meal of course. It's for everything, for saving her life, for taking her away from this place, for leaping into the unknown with her.

But Laudna changes the subject then, as if she is one who can read minds. “Who’s Master Faramore?”

“Oh he’s the man I work for. Worked for, I guess. He bioengineered the ship I was flying. He's from Jrusar, but he travelled a lot before settling on Gelvaan, and he has stories from adventures all over.”

“Where’s that? Jrusar, I mean.” Laudna tilts her head, the neck hanging just a little too loose, and it’s strangely unnerving to Imogen.

But who is she to judge? She’s never met anyone infused with nanobots before. Master Faramore had told her about the genetically engineered soldiers of Vasselheim, of the gene tweakers and cybernetic augments on the Periphery, and the unimaginable darktech that must exist on the uncountable core worlds of the AI gods hidden in their domains. “It’s in Marquet, the Oderan Wilds, the area controlled by the Chandei Quorum.”

“I’ve never been there.”

Imogen shakes her head. “Me neither, but I would love to go someday. Master Faramore told me about the Starpoint Conservatory, a place of research and learning in Jrusar. He knows about my powers. He knew my mother too, and he thinks I might be able to get some answers there.”

Launda hums thoughtfully, returns to her meal, and there’s a quiet interlude where they slurp their soup. The silence feels natural, not awkward or uncomfortable, and Imogen is relieved that the music in Laudna’s mind is not nervous either.

She watches Laudna eat, the metal spoon bringing red soup to dark lips, the thin lines of jaw and somewhat hollow cheeks moving as the broth is drawn in. The skin is so pale in comparison to the soup, and when the liquid disappears, there is a glimpse of teeth that seem just a little too long, a tongue that seems just a little too pointed. The jawline turns up into a delicate ear, seeming rigid and almost bony though. The top of the ear is obscured, hidden behind a jewelled gold cap that covers the outside with a small chain joined to earrings.

Laudna sees her watching and smiles.

Imogen looks down and blushes. “Tell me a story,” she blurts out. “What do you have on your ears? I’ve never seen jewelry like that.”

Laudna’s smile disappears just as quickly. She adjusts her hair to try and hide. “It's not a happy story. Maybe another time, not over dinner.”

After they eat, Imogen helps Laudna clean up.

They’ve talked about other things, like weird thoughts Imogen has overheard from others, or bizarre planets Laudna has seen travelling the Periphery. They talk about mundane stuff too, like where to put away the dishes, or how Laudna likes to organize things for breakfast the next morning. (The cups go upright, Imogen remembers that Laudna was quite insistent about that.) Imogen remarks that she’s never spent a night on a spaceship before, never gone offworld for more than a few hours at time, that this is in fact the furthest she’s ever been from Gelvaan.

When the lights dim gradually to simulate night, Imogen yawns. It had been a very stressful day.

Laudna points towards the door “If you’re tired you can go to sleep. You take the bed, you were in it before anyway, and I don’t sleep much. Pâté runs a standard daytime cycle, but out here the time doesn’t really matter. I don’t have anywhere to be, and I can rest whenever I want.”

“I can’t put you out of your room on your own ship. Give me a blanket and I’ll sleep in one of the bridge chairs.”

Laudna retorts. Imogen argues. Laudna insists. “My ship, my rules. Besides, Pâté listens to me.” And in the end, Imogen acquiesces out of fatigue and politeness.

So Laudna tidies up the room a little for her, gets a fresh set of sheets, and grabs the discarded space suit off the floor. That will go into the recycler, so the materials can go to the nanofab to produce a spare space suit now that there’s an extra person on board.

“Goodnight, Laudna.”

“Goodnight.”

And Laudna feels the eyes on her more than anything else. She stops in the doorway, looks back at Imogen with her knees pulled up in bed, and Imogen is staring right at her.

Thank you for everything. Imogen’s voice sounds in her head. Truly. I don’t know what I would have done without you. There’s a small smile.

And no matter how shy she might feel, Laudna can’t help but smile back. You would have been fine. You’re very capable.

The door closes then, leaving Laudna alone in the hall. Without thinking, she goes to the bridge and pulls up the starcharts, the official if somewhat outdated maps she has, as well as her own notes on the shadow network of abandoned wormholes she and Pâté had explored themselves. She spends hours poring over the routes, looking at wormhole links and what size ships they can accommodate, who controls each end of them.

The Oderan Wilds are far away. Laudna hasn’t been to that side of Marquet yet, and it would take months to get there while avoiding official government controlled wormholes and military outposts. Not to mention how to get into the system undetected with the nanoswarm. But it looked possible to get close at least, even if a few of the jumps might involve finding the right cargo to trade to the right smuggling group. And they weren’t in any rush, right?

“I know you’re thinking about it.” Pâté intrudes.

“We could take her. We’re not doing anything. We haven’t done anything in years. We’re just getting by here, drifting out in the Periphery, getting chased from one system to the next whenever someone finds us.”

“Are we really going to do this?”

Laudna traces a finger over the map on the screen, hovers over the blob marked out as the Chandei Quorum. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have an objective again, a destination?” There’s a long pause for breath, even by Laudna’s standards. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend?”

“Oi,” Pâté sounds hurt, “aren’t I your friend?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. We’re different.”

Before Pâté can respond though, there’s a cry from the sleeping quarters, a loud thump, and Laudna is running.

Imogen is on the floor, the sheets tangled around her legs, and her head cradled in her hands. She looks up when the door opens. Her hair is in disarray and there's the sheen of sweat on her face and neck. “It’s ok,” she breathes in between rapid panting, “just a bad dream.”

Laudna doesn't know what to do. She thinks she can feel Imogen’s mind swirling, as though some unseen force were churning through the room, so Laudna tries to think calming thoughts.

But it doesn't seem to help, as Imogen bolts up and lifts the cover on the window to look outside the ship. There's nothing out there of course, just the distant starfields of deep space. “I'm ok,” Imogen repeats, “we're ok.”

“Let me get you some water.”

When Laudna returns, Imogen is back on the bed and the blankets have been rearranged. The glass of water is handed over, and Imogen takes a small sip. “I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I have nightmares sometimes.”

“It's all right, I understand.” Laudna doesn't know that she does, but it seems like the right thing to say. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Imogen shakes her head. “Not yet.”

There's a pause that drags on, while Laudna ponders her next words. She can almost picture Pâté looking at her with his empty bird skull eyes and rubbing his little paws together. Imogen swallows another sip of water.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” And Laudna points at the bed, even if maybe her real question was do you want me to take you to Jrusar?

Imogen looks up then, tilting her head to consider Laudna. “You don't need to, I'm fine.” But then she puts down the glass, and even if Imogen’s hands are the ones shaking, she takes Laudna’s into hers. Imogen's fingers are warm against Laudna's palms, her eyes glowing purple, Imogen’s pulse still racing, and then she continues speaking. “I heard your other question. The one you thought, but didn't ask. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, but I just woke up and I was distracted and—”

“I’ll take you,” Laudna says. “I know it’s crazy. We barely know each other, and people are scared of us. But I’m not scared of you, and I hope you’re not scared of me. But I’m not doing anything, and I have a ship, so if you want to go to Jrusar, why the hell not?”

“You would do that?”

Laudna nods, and Imogen smiles. Imogen moves closer, wraps her arms around her, and Laudna can’t remember the last time she was actually hugged. There’s the briefest moment of shock where she stiffens, but then she sinks into Imogen’s warmth.

Thank you. Thank you. They both think it at the same time, and then they shake as they giggle together. Laudna feels like a girl again. She relaxes, and Imogen mirrors her.

You sound different, you know. Imogen’s eyes are closed now, but her voice is clear in Laudna’s head. Other people give me a headache sometimes, but not you. Your mind is a different pitch, soothing, almost like music.

And Laudna doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything, but there’s a shiver that runs down her spine. They stay entangled for a few minutes, quiet, until both of their breathing has gone back to normal. Imogen shifts then, onto one side of the bed, spreads out the blanket in between them. “You don’t have to go. The bed is big enough for both of us. I’ll just sleep on this side.”

“Are you sure? Because I can go, I—”

"She's quite a good snuggle buddy." Pâté chimes in.

“I said to stop being weird, Pâté.” Laudna blushes. But she sees Imogen’s smile start before it’s hidden behind a hand.

Imogen lays down with a respectful distance between them. Goodnight, Laudna.

Laudna can’t tell if it’s all in her own head, but she swears this “goodnight” is even softer than the one from earlier. So she stifles the giggle that threatens to burst out, closes her eyes tight even if she knows they will fall open again once she’s asleep. Goodnight, Imogen.

And somehow, even without anything spoken aloud, Pâté knows to turn out the lights.