Page 119 of Last of Her Name

“It’s the Leonova research station. That’s where it all began.” I turn to Mara. “Can we dock?”

“Only one way to find out,” Mara mutters, concentrating as she activates the thrusters, directing the ship into the docking port. The silence of the engines, the creak and groan of the ship, it all reminds me of when Pol and I were trapped in the dead caravel. TheValentina’s backup systems are more sophisticated, so we’re not as helpless as we were then, but even so, if Volkov’s ships were to drop out of warp this moment, they’d have all the time in the world to shoot us down. We have no guns, no shields, nothing.

Mara makes connection with the station, theValentinalatching onto the docking port like a lamprey fastening to a shark.

“Nice flying,” Natalya comments, her eyes lingering on Mara appraisingly.

“Thanks.” Mara blushes, something I’ve never seen her do before.

We put on space suits, topping off our O2supply before depressurizing and opening the dock hatch at the back of the clipper. Then we file out, floating into zero g inside the old station.

I lead the way with Pol at my back, a gun in his hand. Riyan has his staff. Mara brings up the rear. Natalya stays on board the clipper at Riyan’s quiet request; he still doesn’t trust her, even though I know the brain-jack chip is dead. And judging by her demeanor, Natalya doesn’t trust herself.

I find a control panel and switch on the artificial gravity and lights, doubting they’ll even work, but then we all drop an inch to the floor as the gravity generator cranks on. The life-support systems are down, though. We can walk, but we can’t breathe. Our helmets stay on.

I recognize the bay we’re in—it’s the same one Danica took me to, where she and Zorica first discovered the Prismata. They must have transformed the ship into a permanent station, and from here, their descendants would monitor the Prismata through the centuries. It’s less cluttered now—no coffee cups or trash, and most of the scientific equipment is gone. While the windows are clean, in one corner I spot a few smudged numbers, proof that the sisters were here centuries ago. I touch my gloved fingers to the equation, and a shiver runs through me.

The station controls require a password, but figuring it’s equipped with a biometric scanner, I remove my glove just long enough to press my bare hand to the screen. My touch bypasses the lock and takes me into the station’s mainframe. A chill runs down my spine at the message that pops up.

DNA match confirmed. Welcome, Empress.

I delete the words before the others can read them.

Thanks to my DNA, I have full security access. More screens light up, grainy images showing close-ups of the Prismata. It looks like the Leonovs used to run drones to monitor the crystal, but they’ve all broken down by now. Their last transmissions are frozen on the screens, displaying data that indicates the Prismata has been steadily growing for centuries, at a rate of about a millimeter per year or so.

“Look at this,” Pol says, tapping a screen.

It’s running looped footage of one of the Prismata’s spikes. As we watch, the tip breaks off and floats away, a perfect diamond, to join the masses like it that cluster in space.

“So that’s how baby Prisms are made,” I murmur.

While the others study the Prismata data, I pull up the station log.

“Last time anyone was here was seventeen years ago. The emperor and the oldest prince, looks like.” I pause, swallowing. “The day Emerault’s moon blew up.”

“They did it from here?” asks Riyan.

I nod, pulling up a record of their visit. “They could reach any Prism in the galaxy from here, through the Prismata. All the crystals are still connected to this core, drawing energy from it. Send a high enough surge of that energy into a Prism, and it and every piece of tech connected to it will explode.”

“It’s all one vast, living organism,” Riyan murmurs, staring at the Prismata through a narrow window. “Pure energy.”

“And we’ve pulled and stretched that energy, woven it through billions of circuits and wires and batteries, across nine star systems.”

“And if Volkov destroys it …”

“All that energy will vanish.”

We stand in silence for a long moment; I know the others are thinking the same terrible thing: How many would die? Would our civilization ever recover from such devastation? Volkov seems to think it an acceptable risk, but I can’t.

Pol breaks the silence with a cough. “Guess we’d better do what we came here to do.”

“Which iswhat, exactly?” Riyan turns away from the window to raise an eyebrow at me. “We came here to stop Volkov from destroying the Prismata, but how are we going to do that? It’s not like we can move a thing that size. We can’t defend it, either—the five of us against the whole of the Union fleet.”

“Mara’s got the most military training of all of us,” I say. “Mara, what do you think?”

She jumps when I say her name. She’d been staring, not at the Prismata, but down the corridor, fidgeting with her gun.

“You all right?” I ask her.