Jack’s hands still shook as he navigated the darkened walkways of the Junker. It was the night cycle, and the crew were mostly asleep—a luxury now withheld from Jack. The shocking behavior of his brother had made him question his own sanity until the pieces had begun to connect. He thought he knew Theodore, and such an outburst could never have been provoked by the insult Staffer had given. It could only mean one thing—his brother was at risk of losing control of the cartel.

But what Staffer had said had not been meaningless, and as he reflected on the moment, Jack felt another flash of suspicion ignite in his mind. He had spent the nights since their departure from Raisa roaming the freighter’s corridors, checking the cargo holds. He didn’t know what he would find, but he knew that he had to make sure, if only to satisfy the desperate curiosity that kept him from sleep.

Hold eight was the last place he hadn’t checked. When he entered, he saw what he expected to see—nothing. He flashed his light over the high walls and attachment struts and began to feel the strange sensation that something he couldn’t see was missing. He stared for some time, trying to understand the instinctive warning. When it finally came, he felt the cold pit of despair open below him. The cargo hold was too small.

Hidden compartments were an old trick for smugglers but had fallen out of fashion in the space age. Most ship scanners were perfectly capable of mapping a vessel’s superstructure and all of its interior voids. The best solutions were old tricks; outrunning patrols, paying off or intimidating customs agents, or arranging more amenable ports of call through the vast web of connections that lay beneath the surface of the Helvetic League.

The only conceivable reason to use a false compartment, Jack concluded as nausea began to unbalance him, was to hide something from your own crew. Something that would pass as the most conspiratorial of rumors through an organization. Never spoken or acknowledged—only hinted at until the level-headed dismissed the talk as absurd at best and dangerous at worst. Something that—if proven to be true—would cause an entire room of dangerous men to turn with hatred against a once trusted leader.

Jack poked at the wall for a loose panel. He found the slightly raised lip of a pressure plate and pushed against it, stepping back as part of the wall swung loosely aside. He crawled through into a cramped space—obviously not too large, or the crew would have noticed it.

The light played over a box of handcuffs and a few dirty blankets. He wanted to weep and rage, smash his fists against the wall, or take a gun, run to Theodore’s quarters and get it over with. Once he had exhausted his emotions, he took ahold of himself, replacing the panel and returning to his bunk. A molten, lead weight sank into his stomach as he lay down, and he resolved that no matter what it cost him—no matter how the job worked out—there would be a final reckoning.

The mood on the bridge was somber as the vessel approached the end of its journey. Jack entered and took his usual seat near the edge of the compartment, from where he could observe the pilot’s console.

He met Theodore’s eyes and smiled the empty smile. It was an easy act, since Jack had long ago learned how to silence the parts of his brain that he couldn’t dare listen to.

They were all nervous, because the planet Xīn lù occupied a well-protected system, and they would have to dive in as close to the sun as they dared to lose any patrol ships that might chase them. It was a maneuver that required the utmost care in calculation and execution, and the slightest mistake would result in their deaths. Fortunately, they had one of the more experienced and talented pilots in Rashid.

“Three Osprey class interceptors ahead of us.” The older man announced, as they watched the distant ball of plasma grow to the size of an orange in the tinted-view screen. He suggested a few course adjustments to the helmsman, who manipulated the ship’s maneuvering thrusters. They were flying inverted, engines firing against the direction of travel to shed trans-light velocity as they followed a ballistic path that curved around the star’s gravity well. Should the need arise, they would slow down to the speed of an asteroid, allowing the immense stellar mass to drag them closer into its incandescent atmosphere as they flew past in the slingshot maneuver.

“Can I see the orbital track?” Theodore asked, and a holographic view appeared in front of the Master’s chair.

Riley, Jack, and others craned their necks, to see the bright red thread of their orbital trajectory passing through the star’s heliosphere, wrapping around in an as yet still loose curve.

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An alarm pierced the tense quiet of the bridge, then a male voice rang out. “Inbound vessel you are entering Wukong space—please identify yourselves and transmit your flight plan.”

He spoke in a professional tone; the Junker having given no indication yet that they were anything other than a regular merchant vessel.

Theodore motioned to the ship’s communication officer, who engaged in discussion with the border patrol. Then he turned to the pilot. “Let’s slow down a little—give them the impression we are complying.”

Jack watched, feeling helpless as the approach plan unfolded.

They would bluff the patrol ship until the last second, looking to gain as much time and space as they could before diving into the star’s corona. With temperatures ranging up to five million degrees, an active region of the star’s turbulent atmosphere would vaporize their vessel in a heartbeat.

Carefully monitoring the stellar flux, Rashid plotted several possible courses through the cooler inactive regions, where their electromagnetic shielding could handle the energy of the seething plasma. The problem was that, to discourage a determined pursuer, they would have to skirt as close to the hotter, more volatile regions as they dared. There, they ran the risk of a sudden flare, or shifting coronal loop catching them, leaving nothing but their trace elements drifting away in the solar wind.

The border agent began to get agitated as the comm officer stalled him. He wasn’t buying the fake identification tags, and the placating tone of the Junker’s crewman did nothing to allay his suspicions.

“I’ve heard enough Junker,” the official snapped as his patience wore out. “Burn to a parking orbit and standby for boarding.”

Theodore sighed. “Switch him off. Let’s see how much his paycheck is really worth to him.”

“Igniting engines,” Rashid ordered.

The ship shuddered as the engines fired, and their projected curve around the sun shrank into a suicidal dive. Thumps rang throughout the hull as the ship began to spin on its axis. Now the engines were facing away from their direction of travel, ready to add speed at the last second and increase the distance they would pass by the star. The custom’s officer would see what they were planning—a tense game of chicken with gravity.

Jack eyed the glowing sphere in the viewscreen which had grown to the size of a basketball. How safe their trajectory would be depended on how long they waited to burn according to Rashid’s calculations. The patrol ship would either lose his nerve, calling off his pursuit, or follow them into the maelstrom. Rashid continued his observations and calculations, calling out minor adjustments to the helmsman.

Jack took a great deal of comfort when he saw the man wasn’t even sweating, even as all eyes on the bridge watched him carefully.

“Still following us in,” the tactical officer called, referring to the patrol ship.

“Come on asshole,” Theodore muttered.

On Rashid’s console, Jack watched the countdown to their preferred course correction run to zero. It was replaced by another, with a few minutes to run—the backup maneuver.

“That’s maneuver one,” Rashid called, and the tension grew heavier.

Jack knew from experience that the pilot would have plotted three backup maneuvers and would fire the engines on the third regardless of what the patrol ship was doing. At that point, they would end up flying so close to a hot spot in the solar furnace that their chances of survival would be a dice roll.

“Maneuver two,” Rashid called as they blew through the next deadline. Jack eyed the disc that had grown to fill the viewscreen. The ship’s external cameras filtered out most of the visible light, resolving the blinding glow into a moody red and orange sphere. A darker fur like structure writhed slowly across the surface, while patches of bright yellow burst forth swaying loops of light. These strands of super-heated plasma shot out into space, swinging around to fall back towards the surface like an impossible rollercoaster. On the opposite hemisphere from their path, a solar flare the size of a planet spat gobs of coronal mass out into the void.

Jack tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

“That’s it, he’s waved off,” called the tactical officer, and the rigid statues that filled the bridge wilted, like dying flowers.

“Okay, burn it,” Rashid instructed the helmsman in a voice that neither cracked nor wavered. The ship shuddered again as it sped back up. All that was left now was for gravity to do its inexorable work.

“How does it look?” Theodore asked.

“This course takes us through a filament cavity,” Rashid explained. “It’s a narrow zone almost devoid of plasma, and difficult to hit precisely. I guess our friend didn’t have a lot of confidence in himself. A stroke of luck, really.”

Theodore nodded. “May the goddess Fortuna ever smile upon us. What’s up Jack? You look mesmerized.”

Jack glanced back at his brother, produced the empty smile again, and forced himself to play the role. “I think it’s beautiful, really.”

“Destructive beauty. Seems to be your thing, doesn’t it?”

This time, Jack couldn’t stop a genuine chuckle. “You’ve got me there.”

“Oh, fellas,” Rashid said, rubbing his hands as he stared at his console. “You’re in for a real treat. Don’t panic now—we’re well out of danger—but watch the upper horizon where that big loop is forming.”

As the churning ocean of light fluctuated around them, they turned to watch the coronal loop grow into an immense flare, thrashing out into space. The base of the flare writhed in turmoil, and a bright flash replaced the duller foam of plasma. The flash grew in intensity, then faded, leaving an immense shockwave that washed out over the surface in every direction, moving with appalling speed.

“Solar tsunami,” Rashid explained. “The wave front is moving nearly as fast as a bolt of lightning. A very rare phenomenon.”

Jack contemplated the display in silence. He wondered if such intimate visions of the universe’s terrifying majesty could only ever be witnessed by those willing to court death.