Grimspace by Ann Aguirre Page B

yet, but they’re working on that while I find the founding class.’”
    â€œI expect you’ll refine the verbiage,” Loras puts in. “That’s part of your skill set, isn’t it? It’s why you were so good at making first contact.”
    And damn him, he’s right. I do have a knack for swinging luck my way. Always have had—it’s one reason I live through things that destroy everyone around me.
    â€œThe gray men—” I start to object, but March shakes his head.
    â€œYou won’t be traveling first-class anymore, Jax. No more clean Corp stations.”
    Takes me a minute, but I get it. We’ll be avoiding regulated routes, slinging out through the beacon nearest our objective, then scrambling signal so they can’t tell where we’ve gone. There are a pretty low number of potential destinations at each point, so they may locate us via legwork, but that will slow them down some.
    By keeping on the move, we stay one jump ahead of them. Literally. That means I won’t have long to convince the unregistered resources to join up. It sounds crazy; the Corp is just so big. How can we imagine, even for a moment, that we might muster the resources to challenge its monopoly? Grimspace belongs to the Corp; it’s an undisputed reality and has been, longer than I’ve been alive.
    I realize I don’t even know the details of how Clericon Stellar went down. They were a start-up like we hope to be, and they failed. If we’re going to do this, I need to find out why. Information may be our only hope. There might even be other renegade jumpers, although I’ve heard nothing. Stands to reason the Corp wouldn’t want that getting out. In fact, I bet I’ve been listed as officially flatline by now, so maybe they’ve called off the gray squads and are pursuing me through unofficial means.
    As my training informed me, Corp intelligence tracks our jumps into grimspace and there are pinch-faced men that go over flickering screens, trying to make the numbers match up. Of course, in revealing this, they were reassuring us that we wouldn’t get lost. But now it makes me wonder how many unsanctioned jumpers their data miners tallied and what happened to those people if they got caught.
    Deep down I don’t need to be told; I know. And unless I want it to happen to me, I’ve got to make this work. It’s a different life. No more am I Sirantha Jax, Corp superstar. Now I’m just Jax, and I need to prove myself all over again. Well, that’s fine. I’ve survived worse.
    I don’t let myself think about Kai.
    Glancing up from my silver mug, I find them all staring at me. “Okay.” I glance at Doc. “What’s the first planet on the list? And how did you find these sources? The Corp has tons of people constantly looking for the same thing. There aren’t enough J-gene carriers to replenish the pool, based on burnout rate. In about ten turns, there aren’t going to be enough trained jumpers left to meet demand.”
    Saul pulls a silk screen datapad from his pants pocket and slides it across the table toward me. I hit the lower left corner to increase resolution so I can read, and first it’s just a list of names: Marakeq, Gestalt, Freeley, Darengo, Collins, Sureport, Venetia, Lark, Belsev, Quietus. But after a moment, it sinks in.
    â€œThese are all either nonhuman or class-P worlds.”
    The Corp doesn’t interfere on class-P worlds, where native technology falls somewhere between Bronze Age and pre-Industrial. Once we make first contact, we log our findings, then categorize the planet as primitive. In most cases, we could determine that much from orbit, but the Corp likes to know the exact level of development: what sort of tools, customs, whatever we can learn in a single visit. After that, interstellar trade and travel remains restricted until such time as the citizens develop sufficient