Read The Algebraist for Free Online Page B

of Fassin’s coinings - had top-percentiled her college classes but had already been halfway to being an officer in the Navarchy Military through Reservist credits gleaned after hours, at weekends and on vacations, even before she’d taken a short degree and gone to Military Academy for her final year; fast-tracked from pre-induction, bumped from years One to Two midway through term and rumoured, even at such an almost unprecedentedly early stage, to be in contention for a chance later to join the Summed Fleet, the directly Culmina-controlled overarching ultra-power of the whole galaxy. In other words as seemingly surely destined for martial eminence as Sal was scheduled for commercial prodigiousness.
    They’d both been out-system, too, making the journey to the Ulubis-system portal at Sepekte’s trailing Lagrange point for the transition to Zenerre and the Complex, the network of wormholes threading the galaxy like a throw of dark lace beneath the tiny scattered lights of suns. Saluus’s father had taken him on a Grand Tour on his long vacation last year, girdling the middle galaxy, visiting all the great accessible sites, encountering some of the more outré alien species, bringing back souvenirs. Taince had been to fewer but in some cases further places, courtesy of the Navarchy, its exercises and distributed specialist teaching facilities. They were the only two of their year to have travelled so widely, putting them in a little bubble of exoticism all by themselves.
    Fassin had often thought that if his young life was to be tragically cut short before he’d even decided what he wanted to do with it (join the family firm and become a Seer?… Or something else?), it would very likely be because of these two, probably when they were each trying to outdo the other in daring or élan or sheer outrageous showing-off in front of their long-suffering friends. Sometimes he succeeded in persuading himself that he didn’t particularly care if he did die anyway, that he’d already seen enough of life and love and all the crassness and stupidities of people and reality and would almost prefer to die a sudden, young, savagely beautiful death, with his body and mind as yet unspoiled and fresh and everything - as older relations still insisted on telling him - before him.
    Though it would be a pity if Ilen - achingly beautiful, wanly pale, shamelessly blonde, effortlessly academically accomplished, bizarrely un-self-assured and insecure Ilen - had to perish in the wreck too, Fassin thought. Especially before they had fulfilled what he kept telling her - and what, frustratingly, he even sincerely believed - was their destiny, and established between the two of them some sort of meaningful but intense physical relationship. At the moment, though - head craned out over the side of the flier, nuzzling the canopy - it looked like the girl was thinking about throwing up.
    Fassin looked away and attempted to distract himself from thoughts of imminent death and probably all too non-imminent sex by staring at the starry sweep emerging from the false horizon of Nasqueron’s shadowy, departing bulk and the quickly darkening sky being revealed beyond. Another burst of aurora activity sent shimmering shawls of light across the heavens, briefly fading out the stars.
    Ilen was looking in the opposite direction. ‘What’s that smoke?’ she cried, pointing beyond the half-collapsed nose of the fallen ship, where a tall, ragged strand of dark grey smoke leaned away from the breeze.
    Taince glanced up and muttered something, then busied herself with the comms unit controls. The rest looked. Sal nodded. ‘Probably the guard drone that got zapped earlier,’ he said, though sounding uncertain.
    The speakers crackled and a calm female voice said, ‘--lier two-two-niner… --sition? --ave you… --seven-five-three… --outh of Prohibited Area Ei--- -peat you are now or wi--- - ortly be off-grid… --firm your…’
    Taince Yarabokin leaned