I can feel the fear resting in the pit of my stomach, but it’s drowned out by the glow. Even with the suit doing everything it can to keep the light from baking my insides, filling me up with tumours and tremors and who knows what else, I can’t help but stretch myself out in the warmth.

“We’re holding orbit about a quarter of the way between the Transition Point and the outer sectors of the Eye.”

“Transition Point?” asks Salt.

“If you hadn’t guessed it, you’re some way out to sea, convict.” She rings a fingertip against the glass again. “Distance is a messy thing in here. The Transition Point is easy to find on this side, so long as your velocity is right, and you’re working the right equations. It’s easy enough to get back to normal space.” She cocks her helmet at the Eye. “It gets more complicated when you’re reaching for that. Every company’s tried getting closer, but no one has ever made it anywhere near. Not that I know of, anyway.” She traces an outline with her fingertip, where light curls around things we can’t see. “All we have is the rim, and it looks like you can’t reach that either, no matter how hard you push your engines. You always stall out, or find yourself turned around.”

I’m only half listening. The light holds me in place, wraps me up, washes in through my eyes, past them until it’s all I can see.

This is what it feels like to fly.

Not the turn and burn inside an atmosphere; a dirty curve of air and dust that doesn’t do it justice. The void isn’t much better; you can push yourself to the limit, pull so much gee that you’re splitting veins under the pressure, and all you’ll ever get is the pinprick scatter twisting past your cockpit.

This is what it should be.

Carried on winds that run forever, over clouds that rise like wave-tops on an endless sea.

I feel Hail’s hand on my shoulder. “We don’t have long, I need you on point.”

“Sorry.” I find her silhouetted. “Thank you,” I say, out loud, but it isn’t meant for her.

3.29, reads the counter in the middle of my visor.

The Juno has followed me out, kept just the echo of a connection between our systems. It filters in through the corners of my eyes. Something half remembered, and the feeling of wings and engine fire. Falling forever, or diving to impossible depths, fading away as the counter drops back to almost nothing.

I don’t feel the room tip. I don’t feel myself lose connection to the floor.

Hail catches me by my shoulder, hauls me up and fills my visor with her eyes. “Are you all right?”

I have to blink the sparks away. “Head rush,” I manage.