Chapter 8 – Space Math

  Outside Aurelion Prime’s orbit – drift 4

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  David gripped the edges of the worn chair, his knuckles white. Vibrations from the engine hummed up through the seat, into his bones, and into his skull. He was seconds from passing out, and he was going to vomit.

  “Do not expel food residues on my floor,” Dice chimed, voice unbothered.

  He swallowed hard, forcing the bile down. He hadn’t eaten all drift anyway, so he focused on his breathing. In. Out. Count to four. Again.

  Nothing about this was fine.

  Beyond the ship’s cracked view panels, space stretched in every direction—black, still, endless. There was no movement or shadows. No Omma and her heavy shadow. Only the quiet pressure of the void.

  They had been in transit for hours, drifting toward LG-01AUR–32, which Remulus called the Aurelion Leap Gate.

  “It’s not much farther,” Iliana said beside him.

  Her voice stayed casual, almost bored, as if they weren’t skimming through the vacuum in a barely functional ship that talked back.

  “Some gates are closer to the planet, but not by much,” she continued. “Aurelion was colonized after they found this rupture.”

  “Rupture? You mean the passage?” His voice came out small, tight.

  She pointed ahead. “So this gate is conveniently placed in this system, near that orange dot there.”

  He squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Exactly.” She leaned back in her seat. “That’s Lumen. Not habitable. No one to complain if a trajectory goes wrong.”

  Dice hummed. “Even I wouldn’t open a corridor near a residential dome,” the ship offered. “Not unless provoked.”

  Remulus, strapped in at the helm, snorted. “Don’t worry too much, kid. I must have jumped half a million times.”

  “I calculate 131,023 jumps in total. Including your private record that I may or may not have seen,” Dice added unprompted.

  David said nothing. Remulus said nothing. Iliana tried to say nothing but failed and burst into charming laughter that David thought was more akin to music.

  For a long moment, the void held steady, a black so deep it gave off nightmare fuel. Stars winked in and out across the panels, distant and insignificant. Then, slowly, the light began to shift.

  Not sudden—just a soft glow threading the edges of the frame. Not white. Not yellow. Something colder. Pale silver, blooming at the corner of his vision like fog on glass.

  A star—the star, Aurelion’s sun—crested into range behind the ship, casting slanted rays ahead, stretching across the blackness. And in that light, something began to take shape.

  A planet.

  Lumen.

  At first, it was only a sliver, a fragile crescent like the curve of a cracked eggshell. Faint orange traced its edge, revealing craters and shadows. No color. No clouds. No signs of movement. Just the silent curve of something lifeless and still turning.

  And in front of it, closer and massive, almost brushing the planet’s pale limb, was the Leap Gate.

  Invisible in the dark.

  Now, light caught on its edges, black on black, until he knew how to look. Then it became all angles and symmetry. A vast square, larger than the hangar bay, pointing down like a portal punched into space, with faint lines of white light glowing along its ridges. Not illumination. Not yet. Just the faint circuitry of power, waiting.

  He leaned forward, not realizing it, as his tension eased and was replaced by awe. It was magnificent. He had traveled before on Library ships, but always as a passenger behind sealed walls and boxed-in corridors, and only to Omma. This Gate felt alive, and it seemed to take him in.

  Iliana’s voice grew quiet, almost reverent. “LG-01AUR–32. Aurelion’s only gate. They found the scar near Lumen’s orbit,” she said. “A rupture left behind when the system’s black hole finished decaying. Well, you know what a Gate is. I don’t need to explain it to you.”

  “Only in theory,” David managed.

  Remulus tapped a sequence on the console. The ship answered with a low tone, and outside, the gate began to glow. It started as a soft pulse, then grew brighter, racing along its edges like fire tracing a pattern into cold metal.

  “That’s it, aligning,” Remulus muttered. “Calculating drift error, solar velocity, and dark matter pull. One small miscalculation could send us halfway through a planet.”

  David’s mouth went dry. “Drift error?”

  “Planets don’t stay still. Neither do gates. They drift, some faster than others. So do you.”

  Remulus added, without looking up: “That’s why the math’s a bitch. The leaps are calculated before we jump. Some ships can chart the entire trajectory up to eleven gates and predict passing asteroid fields or other ships. Dice here is an older model. She negotiates each leap individually. Down to the decimal.”

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  He swallowed hard. They were about to thread a needle the size of a city block through the eye of something almost invisible, also moving, and sometimes faulty.

  “Space math,” he sighed.

  Remulus grinned like someone who’d lost a bet but still got the drink.

  “Now you’re catching up.” He tapped the console again. “Dice sends power to the gate. If the gate accepts, it opens the corridor. But she has to calculate the entire route first, allowing for drift. That way, we don’t run out of power after a leap or two and get stranded midway. Most destinations need multiple jumps.”

  “Gates aren’t in every system. Figure one every few systems. You grab a corridor where you can, then angle for your real destination. If you’re lucky, you only travel for a day or so in FTL, but some are as far as a few months.” Remulus’s fingers moved faster across the screens. System maps flickered, replaced by new ones.

  He leaned on the edge of the console, eyes fixed on the black arc forming in space. A sliver of light skimmed the inner edge of the gate, circling like a halo caught in mid-spin.

  “What happens if you do run out?”

  Remulus didn’t look up. “Usually? The gate denies access. You drift. Harvest ambient energy, space matter, dark waves, you name it. Anything can be energy if you have a converter. Or you can pay in value, if the gate supports it, and the gate supplies you with the energy required for the Leap. But not all gates do. And not all gates have reserved energy to give back.”

  Iliana spoke softly, almost absentminded. “Gates track every ship’s history. Dice keeps a ledger, with small deposits of energy or value paid upfront. It adds up over time, so she rarely gets denied. Unless the gate is running dangerously low.”

  He frowned. “I thought it was automatic. Like… the gate just reads your levels.”

  “It is,” she nodded. “But there’s still a transaction. Dice runs the numbers, distance, load, energy reserves, then sends a request.”

  Remulus cracked his neck. “Right. So… negotiating.”

  Dice beeped, dry and unimpressed. “I don’t negotiate. I break deals. It’s not the same.”

  David shifted, his eyes flicking to the console. “And what are you doing?” he asked. Dice’s role was becoming clear, but Remulus’s part still felt confusing. In theory, the ship’s internal AI set the route, supplied energy, passed through the gate, and exited at the designated location. No negotiating, or, he frowned, bouncing.

  Remulus didn’t look away from the orange planet hovering on the display. “Mapping our course while Dice gets us access. See this blue dot next to the yellow one?” He pointed at the screen, which zoomed out with a flick of his fingers.

  “A binary system,” David said automatically.

  “That’s right. That’s D5-B.”

  For a split second, the world went quiet. Dead quiet. Like his ears had suddenly stopped working.

  David’s world stuttered. “Devon Five.” The words rattled in his skull. “But that’s—”

  “That’s your destination, right?” Iliana asked. She’d moved closer to the console, close enough for him to scent the faint salt of her skin.

  He turned, staring past her, past the console, past the ship and the void, and past Aurelion, with Omma long lost to the darkness of space.

  “That’s where Emma is,” he breathed out. “She’s at the monastery on Devon Five. How is it possible that the variant I’m looking for is on the same planet as my sister?”

  “Wait, we’re following Library ships?” Remulus cut in, oblivious to David’s revelation. “We’ll never catch up. This ship makes two, maybe three leaps in a row if we’re lucky and have the value to spare. Library cruisers—”

  “Were you even listening when he explained what he needed?” Iliana snapped.

  “Not really. I heard ‘D5-B’ and ‘payment.’ That’s five leaps. I wasn’t too busy.” He shrugged. “Also got some supplies to pick up from the Scorch Market. They make excellent spirits.Something made from a local critter, apparently. I didn't ask.”

  “Remulus…” Iliana sighed, shaking her head.

  David’s world returned, one blink at a time. Of course it was Devon Five. The file hadn’t been subtle. He just hadn’t looked closely—too anxious, too desperate. He’d seen D5-B, seen unverified, and bolted like a kid with something to prove. He ran a hand through his hair. It came out greasy, a few loose strands of hair snagged in his scraped palms. When was the last time he’d washed or eaten? A quiet laugh slipped out. Just embarrassed. It didn’t matter. He looked up again at the glowing route line on the nav screen: Aurelion to D5-B, LG-17DEV–05.

  “That’s where Emma is,” he said, his voice steady now. Clear. Then, quieter, as if it settled something inside him: “That’s where the Silence Rite is being held. At the Monastery.”

  He wanted to believe she was fine. “She’s probably already there.”

  Iliana stood beside him, smiling softly, “Maybe there's a connection. The Monastery's old.”

  “The monastery has been on that rock forever,” Remulus said. “One of the last religious places in Lyra, I think. It was also one of the first planets ever settled in Lyra Nine. Just monks now, and a few merchants. Great spirits, as I said. And medicinal tinctures, all sorts of remedies, aphrodisiacs, and even a few tranquilizers if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “Remulus, he’s only a child,” Iliana chided. David didn’t know what exactly she opposed. The alcohol? The tranquilizers? He didn’t ask.

  “He looks old enough to me.” Remulus locked in the route with a soft click. The screen showed a straight line, though David knew it wasn’t straight at all. “Well,” he muttered, still focused on the console, “lucky for him, we’re already heading that way.”

  Dice chimed in, flat and immediate: “And lucky for you, Captain, fuel value is non-refundable.”

  David almost smiled. His palms were slick. His stomach was still trying to expel nothing at all. But he was on a ship. With a route. And a chance. Ahead, the gate bloomed with soft circular lines, beginning to shine along its edges—an eye opening, bright white light spilling around it.

  “Ready, curly?” Dice called out, expectant.

  The gate widened. Its corners snapped free, like a painting breaking out of its frame. Lines of light spiraled inward, a slow breath drawn in reverse, pulling reality apart. The swirl at the center spun faster. Faster. White on white, edged in pale blue. Limitless. Like a storm with no sound.

  Remulus gripped the harness across his chest with one hand, steady at the console with the other. Iliana was already braced, eyes half-lidded, as if she’d done this a hundred times and was standing in a breeze. Maybe she had. David stared at the glow, hands clutching the armrests harder than before.

  This was it. No turning back. Dice’s voice chirped one last time: “Brace for transit. Or don’t. I’ll survive either way.”

  The gate swallowed the ship in an inhale.

  No sound.

  His breath caught in his throat. His stomach dropped, then snapped back. His fingers locked on the armrest. The stars blinked out. He opened his eyes wide, trying to see and witness. His hands relaxed, and his feet lifted off the deck. Was he weightless? It felt like falling sideways, then—

  Light.

  Then dark.

  Then—

  They were through.

  Just like that.

  A breath escaped, slow and uneven.

  One leap down.

  Four more to go.

  Dice’s voice cut in, calm and precise:

  “Trajectory stable. Recommend calibration: minimal. Waiting time for next programmed jump: calculating.”