Mira nodded, face serious now. “I know. There’s so much we don’t know about the Armati. Even among the Cadre, they’re legendary. They were created long before we were born … some say before we came”—she looked around the hold of the ship, but her eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular—“before we came here,” she finished after a moment.
“Here? The Andros?”
“No, the empire. This place,” she said. “We’re not from here. It’s not taught much today, as it’s ancient history. The legends say that we came from someplace very different. There were no burning skies there, and they say that the sun went away for twelve hours of every twenty-four.”
Brennan snorted, then burst out laughing. “That’s insane. Where would it go?”
“I don’t know. The legends aren’t clear on that,” Mira said, chuckling with him. “A lot of the old texts were destroyed long ago; most of what we have in the archives are fragmentary … unclear. They said that there was a time each day called ‘night,’ when the sun would vanish and lights called stars would appear. It was a very different place.”
“Apparently,” Brennan said dryly, not believing it for a moment.
“At any rate,” Mira continued, not interested in trying to convince him, as it wasn’t relevant to the discussion, “the Armati are a leftover from those days, and a great war. One we lost, and were then forced to flee.”
Brennan sobered. He couldn’t remember any tales of the empire losing a war. They’d been the major power in the region—hell, the only real power—for as long as the history books existed, it seemed. There were wars they declined to fight, such as the small kingdoms his father had left to squabble among themselves, but no war that, once engaged, had not ended in the empire’s favor.
“The Armatis are, possibly, the finest masterworks in the empire,” she said, “and they’re priceless relics of our forgotten heritage. Your brother entrusted you with his Bene, and in the absence of any empire I recognize, I don’t see fit to question his judgment. Corian, on the other hand, would kill hundreds for less than that weapon on your belt. Guard it well, and it will guard you and yours in turn.”
Brennan nodded. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a lot more work to do.” Mira grinned evilly at him. “Now that I’ve seen what you need to work on, we can get started.”
“Oh joy.” Brennan rolled his eyes. “And what do I need to work on?”
“Everything.”
Three days after the repairs had been completed on the Andros and two days after Brennan’s training had begun, he found himself standing on deck as they sailed the second wind layer, heading up spin along the path tracked by the Great Islands.
Brennan loved the open skies, and though he preferred to be at the controls of a smaller skimmer, there was a lot to say about walking the deck of a large ship under sail. You could see all the way to the edge of the mist in every direction, and even farther if you looked up over the endless shroud that obscured the world.
He was trying to imagine the world Mira had told him about, looking up into the sky and seeing blackness dotted by small lights. It was so absurd.
Above him the sun shone steadily, without the flicker induced by atmosphere in the lower skies, a halo around it obscuring that section of the sky. Beyond the halo, however, he could see the rich blues and greens that made up the real sky. At this altitude, he could even just make out the dark squared-off grid that seemed to measure everything with regularity.
Brennan laughed.
Legends. What nonsense.
The world and the universe were what you could see. Maybe there was something beyond it, but what did it matter? The empire mattered. Family mattered. The endless sky mattered.
Everything else?
None of it was worth the time spent wondering about it.
“You look like someone hung you off the back of a hyper train and left you there for the whole trip.”
Brennan turned, relaxing marginally when he recognized Kennick approaching.
“I don’t feel much off from that,” he admitted. “Haven’t seen you around much.”
“Been working third shift. You usually sleep then,” the former legion man said. “Heard you’ve been training with the captain.”
“Is that what they call it? I thought she was just whaling on me.”
“I’ve seen people she ‘whaled’ on before, kid.” Kennick laughed. “They wind up looking a lot worse than you.”
Brennan shook his head, half wanting to disbelieve the man, but knowing damn well that it was true.
“We’re a few hours from anywhere in particular,” Kennick said casually. “No settlements in the area and certainly no legion outposts …”
“Yeah?” Brennan wondered where the man was heading.
“Captain suggested you might like to take your new skimmer out for a run.”
“We’re in the sky. Is she landing?”
“Hardly. You ever launch from the air before?” Kennick asked, grinning.
Brennan shook his head.
“Oh, you are going to love this. Come on, kid. Let’s go flying.”
Lydia sat across from Dusk at the small table afforded her quarters, watching as the other girl worked diligently on a local interface.
“You’re skilled,” Lydia said finally. “More than I’d expect.”
“I grew up with an interface.” Dusk shrugged. “It’s not so uncommon.”
“Maybe,” Lydia replied.
It was possible, she supposed. Lydia was well aware that her own experience, while quite rich in some regards, was also grossly disconnected from how the rest of the empire lived. She grew up with interfaces around her, of course, but she’d never had the need to master them to the degree Dusk apparently had.
That wasn’t to say she was incompetent with them, far from it. But she’d never learned to push the systems to their limits the way Dusk could.
There was a difference between being very familiar with an interface and being able to make it dance on command.
“What are you working on?” Lydia asked.
Dusk looked up, almost startled by the question, then ducked her head back down and mumbled, “Just making some improvements to the code for the Fire Naga. I wanted to do more, but the captain shut down access to the Imperial network.”
Lydia nodded. “There’s always a chance of being tracked if someone makes a mistake or lets something slip intentionally.” She smiled a little wanly. “Welcome to the life of an outlaw.”
Dusk smiled back. “It’s not so bad. Better than the camp.”
Lydia watched the other girl shudder, but didn’t feel it was time to push on that. Instead she leaned in and asked, “Can I help?”
“Remember what I told you, kid,” Kennick said as the pair sat in the cockpit of the Fire Naga with the canopy still sitting open.
Brennan nodded. “Wait a few seconds after the drop, and then angle away from the ship before firing the sails. Got it.”
“You’ve done free-fall maneuvers before, right?”
“Of course!” Brennan sounded a little insulted, though the question wasn’t one with an obvious answer.
Killing your sails in a skimmer was something only the most experienced and daring of handlers tried, and it killed more people than any other ten advanced maneuvers combined. If you misjudged your altitude, you could easily slam into the ground before your sails caught the wind, and that was just the most obvious of threats.
“OK.” Kennick accepted the answer, leaning back in the gunner’s seat and kicking the canopy pedal.