Free Edge of Dark by Brenda Cooper Page A

“I’ve never seen so much water.”
    â€œDo you want to go down?”
    â€œCan I?”
    â€œThere’s a path down from here. I can let you off so you can walk to the base of the falls. They have a platform with a rail that lets you get close to the pool at the bottom.”
    â€œOh yes, please. I’d love to touch it.”
    He laughed. “You might not be able to get that close. But it will touch you.”
    She looked puzzled.
    â€œYou’ll see,” he said. “I can’t go. I’ve got Cricket to keep.”
    â€œI can manage.” She turned to him, her eyes bright with the wonder of the falls. “It’s so big.”
    He parked where he could watch her. The path from the restaurant at the edge of the parking lot to the bottom of the falls could be slick.
    She was probably safe enough, but Manny had told him she could buy at least half of Manna Springs. Not that she showed it. In fact, when Amara had asked him about her the night before, the first word out of his mouth had been “sad.” He’d added “curious” and “interesting” and left off “beautiful.” Even though she seemed completely enchanted by the falls, he thought “sad” still fit.
    He felt sad himself this morning, like some ghost of the disturbing conversation he’d had with Manny had stuck to him. It made being here at the falls bittersweet, like he was watching something he could lose. There hadn’t been any direct threat against Lym except the offhand comment from the smuggler boy, but he felt threatened nonetheless.
    Nona wore a green shirt that blended with the spring background. He squinted until he found her, checked her progress, and noted that she had made it further downhill than he’d expected.
    He’d expected to hate everything about her.
    He turned toward Cricket and scratched her nose. “I’m going to watch the station get attacked.”
    The tongat regarded him calmly. She was used to him talking to her.
    He thumbed on the biggest screen the skimmer had, a ten-inch affair in the back of the driver’s seat, meant for passengers.
    Cricket rested her nose on his shoulder, cuddling in a way she only did when they were alone.
    He narrated for no good reason other than that it helped him make sense of the news. “We’re going to see the ice pirates in action, and we may not like it.”
    The tongat nosed his neck, perhaps reacting to his apprehension.
    The High Sweet Home floated in space, the station ablaze with light. True to its multiple purposes, the station looked hybrid. “See that? The right is all warships and cargo ships and—well, and ships anyway. The middle is all bright and full of places people live and grow things. It’s the brightest station we have.”
    Cricket snorted.
    He noticed that he was saying “we” about the stations. “The far side is where they’re building things—new ships and even a small new station, I think. I’ll have to look that up.” Or not.
    One hand roamed Cricket’s coarse coat, and she made a contented sound between a whine and a purr.
    On the screen, ships streamed away from the High Sweet Home.
    One by one, the ships died. They changed shape or imploded or they simply drifted apart, becoming pieces of ships. He tried to see what killed them. Space created different visuals than the bright light of Lym, and this video had been taken by an approaching ship that was still pretty far out.
    Something bigger than the station crossed his screen, something so dark he could only make out its outline by what it blocked. “There’s the station killer,” he told Cricket. “It’s a big, bad thing.” The tiny screen made it look small, but the Next ship must be bigger than any he’d ever seen. It had to be. His chest grew tight and Cricket wriggled closer to him, almost as if she wanted to merge into him. He