Dragon Pearl(20)

We pierced a murky veil of clouds and angled ever upward. I could no longer hear what the voice was saying because of the roaring in my ears. My stomach dropped. My seat—no, the whole flight deck—vibrated, which I hoped was normal. It didn’t seem to bother Byung-Ho.

After a few dizzying minutes, the acceleration eased and we were soaring through space. The sky bloomed black before us, lit by the pinprick fire of stars. My breath caught at the unexpected beauty of it, as well as the knowledge that, for the first time in my life, I was free.

“We got away without even a warning shot?” I asked as soon as I’d recovered from the takeoff.

“You’ve been watching too many holo shows,” Byung-Ho said with a dry chuckle. “If they shot down everyone who had to leave a step ahead of the authorities, no one would bother touching down on a backwater planet like Jinju. I made sure we were paid up this morning. They save their defenses for real threats.”

The voice from the spaceport was still lecturing us. Byung-Ho reached over and flicked off the communications channel. “There,” he said. “The navigation system will alert us if we’re about to smash into anything, so there’s no need to endure that.”

I couldn’t believe how quickly we’d catapulted beyond the thin veil of Jinju’s atmosphere. We swerved past a moon, and in the distance I could see one of the system’s swirly green-blue gas giants as a distant disc. In reality, I knew it was many times larger than Jinju.

“Now tell me,” Byung-Ho said, “why are you going to the Ghost Sector? Do you have gambling problems of your own?”

I glared at him.

“If it’s not that, it’s gotta be something just as seedy,” Byung-Ho said, making a placating gesture with one hand. “Like looking for treasure, or smuggling for mercenaries, or dealing with traders from the Jeweled Worlds. I’ve heard it all.”

“I would never!” I said indignantly. Raiders from the Jeweled Worlds attacked the Thousand Worlds from time to time, but that didn’t stop less scrupulous people on our side of the border from illegally buying goods from their traders.

“Whatever it is, you must be one tough cookie. Either that, or desperate.”

He was right about the desperate part. I didn’t dare tell him about my brother, though. I had no idea what kind of trouble Jun had gotten himself into, or whether he really did know where the Dragon Pearl was. I definitely didn’t want to lead a stranger to such an important artifact, even if that stranger happened to be helping me.

“It’s for my family,” I told him, because I had to say something. “We’re poor, and I want to do my part to help.” I said it like I was ashamed of it, which grated on me—maybe because it was true and I was ashamed of it. I’d finally gotten away from home—Jinju was dwindling to a speck behind us—but the memories of omnipresent dust and threadbare clothes and worn-out furniture would always haunt me.

Byung-Ho nodded. “Well, you’re not the first adventurer to go into space seeking her fortune,” he said. “And the Red Azalea has friends at Gingko Station. There’s no direct Gate there, but the fastest route will take us there in two hops.”

Even steaders like me knew the basics of space travel. In order to cross vast distances, you had to use a special stardrive to punch your way through a local Gate. Each Gate only connected to a handful of nearby ones, so voyages could involve a lot of hopping. Plus, starships had to be recharged between jumps. For this reason, spaceports had sprung up near Gates to cater to travelers. Jinju’s Gate didn’t see much activity; right then I was grateful it existed at all.

“I’m warming up the jump drive,” Byung-Ho added.

“How bad will it be?” I’d heard stories of what it was like to pass through a Gate. Some people got sick. Others were tormented by dreams that were reputed to be half prophecy, half nightmare. Seasoned spacers got used to the visions over time, though they tended to become superstitious about them. Certain Gates had reputations for causing more unpleasant experiences than others. Jinju’s Gate was supposedly one of the worst.

Byung-Ho shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough. Try not to be too loud, if you’re a screamer.”

“I never scream.”

He wasn’t paying attention. “Drive’s ready.” He pointed to the blue flashing indicator on his panel.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that the battered freighter was eager to make the jump. In the old stories, older even than the Thousand Worlds, a humble carp could become a dragon by leaping up a waterfall. If a fish could dream of upgrading, I didn’t see why a starship couldn’t, in its secret crystal heart, have ambitions, too.

“Here goes nothing,” Byung-Ho said. He pulled a lever and the ship surged forward.

At first I thought nothing had happened. The ship seemed to freeze in place. Then a great swirl of shimmering rainbow colors, like on an abalone shell, spun around us. I closed my eyes, but the colors followed me, as though they had seeped behind my eyelids and pressed their patterns into my brain. If I concentrated on the patterns, I could almost read them.

I saw faces, indistinct at first. Then one of them drifted close, smiling sadly. I gasped as I recognized it from the silk portrait I’d lost earlier that day. Dad! He opened his mouth as if to say something, and I leaned forward, eager to hear it.