Free Marauder by Gary Gibson

no,’ said Tarrant. ‘We
know
it’s out there. We even sent out a pair of our own probes equipped with nova drives to perform a fly-by. Take a look.’
    The image of the spiral arm expanded, fading at the edges as the view rushed in towards a tight knot of several thousand stars that were identified by supplementary information as the
Calafat-Holt Cluster.
    The view zoomed in again, slowing as it approached a nebula that made Megan think of what sunset in hell might look like. Supplementary data told her she was looking at a Wolf-Rayet star, a
bloated ball of gas dozens of times larger than a standard Earth-type, and approaching the end of its life. It had been given the designation C-H45k.
    C-H45k was losing mass at an enormous rate, throwing off great sheets of burning plasma that obscured the star itself from sight. Any kind of approach to such a system was going to entail some
fairly unique challenges.
    ‘It doesn’t seem to want to make it easy for anyone to drop by and visit, does it?’ she muttered.
    Sifra chuckled. ‘Just the same thing we were thinking.’
    ‘This isn’t a mere hop or a skip you’re talking about,’ said Megan. ‘You’re talking about a trip of more than
fifteen thousand
light years. I can
think of maybe only a handful of expeditions that have travelled that far. In fact, you’re talking at least half a year just to get there.’
    ‘Then we need to set out straight away, Miss Jacinth,’ said Tarrant. ‘And the
Beauregard
is already stocked with every resource it needs for a long-range
mission.’
    Megan nodded. At least that explained the final, mysterious cargo shipment. ‘All right, then. Let me see it.’
    ‘Pardon me?’
    ‘The Wanderer,’ she said. ‘You said there was a fly-by. I want to see what it looks like.’
    Tarrant glanced at Sifra, who shrugged. ‘All right,’ said Tarrant.
    More images appeared. At first, all Megan could see was a black outline against a field of stars. But then she pulled the projected data into her personal datascape, the lounge around her
briefly fading from her sight.
    She could make out a massive central body, dark grey and black, with what appeared to be numerous arms extending outwards from its central mass. It made her think of nothing less than the
knotted roots of a tree that had just been ripped from the soil and exposed to the daylight. She might have assumed the branch-like structures were drive-spines, if she hadn’t just been
informed that the Wanderer travelled at sub-light speeds.
    The images sent a trickle of ice running down her spine. There was something about those branching structures that made it look as if the Wanderer were reaching out for her, like some ragged and
hungry beast amidst a forest of stars.
    She exited her datascape, and was aware of Tarrant looking at her expectantly. ‘Well?’ he asked.
    ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’m impressed. But what makes you so sure I won’t turn your offer down?’
    ‘Psychological profiling says you won’t,’ said Tarrant. ‘And, besides, Mr Bashir assured us that you wouldn’t.’
    ‘Having two machine-head pilots is standard operating procedure for any long-range expedition,’ said Sifra, ‘and this one is no different. And, as we’ve already pointed
out, the rewards are
extremely
generous.’
    ‘No,’ said Tarrant, studying her, ‘she’s not really interested in the money. It’s just like Mr Bashir said: life for a machine-head in the Accord means being
tightly controlled and entirely dependent on the mercies of a distant bureaucracy. But the Alliance was never about that.’ He leaned towards her, his gaze intent. ‘This is your chance
to get back the life you wanted – before it’s lost forever.’
    Something made it hard for her to pull her eyes away from his. It was uncomfortably as if he could see right inside her, to all the insecurities she worked so hard to keep hidden.
    ‘But . . . just the four of us?’ she asked, looking around