I set the readout in my cabin to show the time, and to mark every twenty minutes. Then I stretched the kinks out of my neck, rolled my shoulders, threw a rag on my chair to protect it from my sticky and still tea-imbued pants, and got down to work.

  Hao would have likely called it ‘taking a nap’. The position is similar, reclining in my chair, letting the individual pressure plates adapt to my weight and distribute it evenly, making me feel like I’m floating. After a moment, the built-in cooler started up, the fan adding a tiny whine to the quiet whooshing of the ventilation system.

  I noticed my clenched jaw, the tenseness of my shoulders, the stiffness in my fingers, and willed myself to relax. Decades of meditation practice came to the fore, my focus shifting to calm, my tensions melting away one by one. Not as quickly or completely as I would have liked, but better than nothing.

  Then I conjured up a few threads of cold force from the void, and started imbuing my broken ward net.

  Most of the wards hadn’t shattered. The plates were still whole on the outside of the Bucket’s armored skin. A few wards cracked when I touched them, some soaked up the threads and remained dead. Painstakingly, I reassembled what I could, using only existing plates, and no threads bridging the holes.

  I couldn’t risk it.

  Surviving the spike had been a one in a billion chance. It made me understand the warnings my professors at the Academy had kept repeating about holding too many active wards in your mind. I’d gotten lucky once. I wasn’t about to bet on it happening again.

  The readout pinged, eleven high chimes. Almost three hours had passed. I’d managed to imbue a dozen wards. Maybe I’d slept a while, or fainted. Twelve wards would have to do. I got up and belatedly changed my pants. It’s important to keep your promises, even to yourself.

  Hao was still in the cockpit when I got there. My pilot’s couch was clean. It was actually cream white, not the color of old parchment, like I’d thought.

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  “Woah,” I said. “How’d you do that?”

  Hao shook a half-full bottle, then handed it to me.

  “We have furniture bleach?” I said.

  “I have furniture bleach,” Hao said. “Also detergent, scouring pads, hydrochloric acid, and, in case the captain ever feels suicidal, a canister of pure fluorine.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. How far to the cloud?”

  “The object, you mean.”

  “You managed to get a visual?”

  “I’m extrapolating.” Hao shifted in her couch, trying to find a position that didn’t involve her head being pressed against the ceiling. She failed, and grimaced. “Next refit, I require a better seating arrangement.”

  “Take it up with the repair yard,” I said as I called up the sensors on my readout.

  They activated, giving a very limited read on the surrounding void. A few green specks showed up, everything else was dark.

  There was no sign of our pursuers. But we could calculate when they’d catch us, based on our current speed, and what we knew of theirs. I did a quick estimate, looked at the clock, and hoped I was wrong. We needed to figure something out, fast.

  “It’s huge,” Hao said, staring at her readout.

  “What is it?” I checked the pilot’s couch before sitting down. I’d rather get my hand wet than my new pants.

  The couch was dry, wiped clean. Hao might have an attitude, but she was conscientious. I’d have ignored the order, or tossed an old towel on the couch.

  “No idea,” Hao said. “But collating with the old information would indicate that it covers a cubic volume in the billions of kilometers. And it’s artificial.”

  “Say what?”

  “Built by someone,” Hao said. She pointed to another chart. She was pulling them out of the com faster than I could read them. She touched numbers, what looked like percentages. “Iron, carbon, neon, nitrogen. None of these tend to exist in these concentrations in deep space.”

  “So what is it?”

  Hao gave me one of her icy-blue looks from beneath a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, yes,” I said. “You did say you didn’t know. I’m a slow learner.”

  “But not an old dog,” she said.

  “Meaning?”

  “That you can still learn new tricks,” she said, grinning.

  “Crudmuncher,” I said, without rancor. “Can you do anything to improve the engines?”

  “No. They’ll need a complete overhaul at a decent repair facility.”

  “I’ll let you know when I find one,” I said. “Keep an eye on the engines and let me know when you can see what that thing is. I’m going to the mess to get us some—” I glanced at the time on the readout. “Breakfast, I guess.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hao said, saluting.

  I had the feeling she was fairly serious about the salute.