For a single moment, a gap opened in the chaos patterns at the side of the tunnel. The screen showed something beyond. A lump that could be metal.

Surit’s free hand hit the launch command for his tug.

“Sir?” Basavi said urgently. “Sir, are tugs launching?”

The gap was tiny and already closing. If a tug became trapped in the currents of chaotic space it would be torn apart. Surit wouldn’t order anyone else to risk themselves. “No,” he said. “Just me.”

The tug dropped off from the shuttle with just Surit inside. Had that detection really been Marit’s ship? Or just a piece of junk from the salvage that the rest of the fleet was flying toward? A deeper part of Surit didn’t care. If he didn’t try, he would never forgive himself. He flung his pod toward the gap in the currents.

“Surit!” Tennal said over comms. “Guidance fucking Lights!”

“I won’t be long.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Basavi pinged Surit’s tug urgently. “Sir, you’re out of range, and the bridge won’t scan your path—”

“It’s all right,” Surit said, as he drew on reflexes he hadn’t used since training to avoid a strand of disturbance across his path. “Retrieval Two, keep your previous course.”

“You’re heading toward a dead end,” Tennal said sharply. Surit didn’t understand how Tennal could see the patterns of chaotic space, but readers were clearly sensitive to them. Or maybe Tennal could see the scanners on the bridge. “Lights, there’s a lot of lag. Can you see a path?” Tennal hesitated, apparently trying to read off unfamiliar equipment. The pilot jargon was clumsy in his mouth. “Sternward, about two-ten.”

Sternward meant in relation to the back of the flagship, the Fractal Note, behind him and traveling in a different direction. “I see it.” Surit veered to the left, into a tiny gap that had just opened. He shot through it.

His tug ended up in a sudden ocean of silence.

He floated in a clear pocket within chaotic space, a smaller version of the ones the Fractal Note, now out of view, was relying on to travel. But this one was nearly entirely cut off from the safe paths. It was a pool of quiet.

And in it, tumbling quietly in an infinitesimally slow rotation, was a huge mass of jagged metal. A module of a ship, broken violently from its place. Still visible on the side—burnt, divided, but still recognizable—was Marit Yeni’s twin-star mark.

Surit hadn’t really believed he’d get here. He couldn’t quite remember how to breathe.

His comms to Tennal were still working. “Someone’s behind you.”

Surit jerked his head around, absurdly, then looked down at his display. Another tug-pod had fallen through the gap. Its identity was Istara’s.